Three hallways farther, Fitz caught up to her. She sat slumped on the floor near the security pad, deflated, her cheeks tear-stained. An overhead light cast a halo around her as she tapped numbers on her cell phone.Sweet Sara. She was the most dedicated scientist he knew. This time, however, her zeal wouldn’t save her.
She looked up at him. Calm replaced the fear on her heart-shaped face until she spotted the hypodermic needle in his hand. He always carried one, in case of emergencies.
Fitz drovethe BMW up the secluded road. The light from the full moon guided him toward Crestview Bridge above Edgewood Park Nature Preserve. Zach followed in a Blazer. No other car was in sight.
Fitz glanced at Sara in the passenger seat, her head lolling to one side. A wave of sadness washed over him. He would miss her.
He pulled to a stop by the metal railing, eased out of the BMW, and rounded the car to the passenger side. He unbuckled Sara’s seat belt and lifted her out.
At the railing, the expanse of pine trees, scrub brush, and stones below resembled a heap of black tar. Having Sara leap to her death would be ironic since she was devoted to the preservation of life. Her work, her dedication, would be a mere blip in the big picture. The police would find empty vials of Prozac in her car. The telephone call to her husband’s cell phone with Sara apologizing for taking her life would support the police findings:suicide.
Fitz smirked. Darned if drugs didn’t make people do and say the most amazing things.
“Sara, darling, it’s time for your husband to grieve. After all, you didn’t love Taylor. You loved me.”
She whispered, “Taylor . . .”
“He’ll be lost without you.” Fitz lifted her to the top of the railing and kissed her forehead. “Over you go.” With a quick shove, he launched her face first to her doom.
He waited until he heard thethudand then returned to the BMW, wiped down the driver’s seat, and, using the flashlight on his iPhone, checked for any trace of personal evidence. Afterward, he tossed strands of Sara’s hair onto the leather. To support the suicide angle, she would have needed to transport herself to the site. If the crime investigation units were clever enough to discover he had been in the Beemer, he had an explanation prepared, but they wouldn’t.
CHAPTER SIX
TUESDAY
While battlingTuesday morning traffic to her first appointment, Kayla couldn’t stop thinking about Sara. She’d failed to make their weekly breakfast date and hadn’t called to cancel. No matter how hard Kayla tried, she couldn’t erase Sara’s last truncated voicemail from her mind. The morning sun blazing through the windshield did nothing to calm her fears. Neither did seeing more holiday décor.
At a crosswalk, waiting for a parade of tuba-playing toy soldiers to pass, she pressed the phone button on the steering wheel and asked to connect to Sara Simmons. She reached her voicemail again. With lightheartedness she wished she felt, Kayla said, “Sara, it’s me for the umpteenth time. You’ll be glad to know I’m going on a blind date tonight. Call me.”
When the toy soldiers cleared, Kayla forged ahead.
In the parking lot for Guys Like Us, she noticed three flashy new sports cars, a stark contrast to the shabby state of the warehouse’s exterior.
Inside the cavernous building, heavy metal music blasted from a pair of Yamaha amplifiers. Kayla enjoyed a good sound system as much as the next geek, but every time she entered GLU, she regretted not carrying earplugs. She also regretted not remembering to wear a down parka. Jacob refused to warm the place. The choice wasn’t a matter of money. He’d spent a heap on the new leather-and-chrome furniture, which was way better than the cheap stuff they used to have. But artificial heat, according to Jacob, might alter the chemical transduction in the laboratory.
Kayla zipped up her bomber jacket and strode deeper into the warehouse, past the laboratory, which was visible beyond Plexiglas windows. The immaculate lab never failed to impress her. Along its walls were shelves holding Petri dishes, bottled chemicals, and small tools. Tests were conducted in a centralized area using expensive equipment like phase contrast microscopes, orbital shakers, or portable digital refractometers. One orbital shaker, swiveling back and forth, held a clear poxygrid test tube rack, its tubes filled with red liquid—Brain Juice.
Ruby, the redheaded receptionist, exited the lady’s room while buttoning her jeans. “Hi, Kayla. You’re early.”
“Don’t get to say that too often, do you?” Kayla joked. Most times, despite her best efforts, she arrived late. “Know where I can find my favorite control freak?”
Ruby motioned in the direction of a knot of men standing at the far side of the room, their hands working overtime as they communicated their points. Leonard Hoffman, a blond aging surfer who favored Hawaiian shirts, seemed to be the most vocal.
Through a split in the group, Kayla made out Jacob. When she’d met him in college, he had been a water polo player andavid sailor. Now, he was pale because he rarely spent time outdoors.
Ruby said, “Have you met the tan guy next to Jacob?”
“Once. Baker, right? His nickname is B?”
“Yep. I think he’s Jacob’s doppelganger, don’t you?”
Kayla couldn’t see the similarity. Granted, the two had comparable features—long noses and gaunt cheeks and both were sturdy in the chest—but B was bald. Jacob had curly hair.
“Good thing the three silent partners aren’t here,” Ruby said. “Can you imagine the cacophony?”
“Silent usually means silent,” Kayla quipped.
Jacob squinted in Kayla’s direction. His mouth turned down in a frown. No, not a frown, a glower. Was he upset with her? Why? But then he smiled and Kayla wrote off her worry as a misread. Perhaps her old college pal needed glasses.
