Page 95 of The Maverick
I knew he wasn’t a real officer based on his sneakers. As I watched him walk down the hallway, I called Detective Farmer to notify him about the fake officer.
I returned to check on Sam, but he was foaming at the mouth. I pressed the emergency button on the wall, and a doctor and a nurse rushed in.
As I paced in the waiting room, Detective Farmer appeared.
I rushed up to him. “How’s Sam?”
He shook his head. “He died of a poisonous injection.”
I cursed. “Did you get the fucker?”
“He’s in the back of my cruiser.”
“Can I have a word with him?”
“I’ll be busy interviewing the nurses and doctors here.” He dropped his keys on the nurse’s desk. “I’ll be looking for them in an hour.”
I picked up his keys and headed outside to his cruiser. Another police car was in the parking lot, but no officers were in sight. They were probably in the hospital. I approached the cruiser, opened the back door, and slid in next to the fake officer. He met my eyes but didn’t seem to recognize me.
“You just murdered Sam Thornton. If you don’t tell me who sent you and why, I’ll make sure you end up like him.” I offered a slow smile. “But your death won’t be that quick. Animals will feast on you limb by limb.”
The man looked confused for a moment. “What did I do?”
“You injected Sam Thornton with poison.”
Fear splashed onto his face. “I . . . I did that?” His eyebrows furrowed. “Why can’t I remember?”
I studied his trembling hands. Something wasn’t right with him. A brazen criminal usually remembered their crime unless they were lying through their teeth. But he didn’t look like he was lying. If he were an actor, he’d be the next Academy Award winner.
“What’s your name?”
“Paul Exinor.”
“Where do you work, Paul? Do you know Sam?”
“Sam and I work for the CIA. In their research labs.”
What did the CIA have to do with any of this? Then it occurred to me that the man who’d attacked Vanessa and me in Maui was also a CIA agent.
“Do you know Ryan Evans?”
“Yes. We worked together for a while. He volunteered for a well-paying project.”
“What kind of project?”
“I don’t remember.” He looked at me as though begging for help. “Something’s wrong with me. I can’t remember what I did this morning.”
“What kinds of research were you working on for the CIA? Where’s the location?”
“They’re working on innovative medicine, serums, and mind-control programs. There’s a base in Texas and . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t remember . . .”
Then a seizure overcame him.
Shit.I rushed out of the cruiser and into the hospital to alert a nurse.
CHAPTER FORTY
ATTIKUS
