Under the Microscope

“So you decided to kill me.” As the final missing pieces of their theory clicked into place, Raine forced herself not to react, instead putting herself back into the suddenly ill-fitting role of a woman who put career first, business first, success first. “That’s not the only answer, you know.” She jerked her chin at Jeff. “He’ll tell you I’m a career- minded woman. Let me go back to work on the formula. Tone it down a little. Tweak a benzene ring here and there until it works well enough to sell, but not so well that it’s impacting your business. We can change the name, announce that we’ve fixed the problems we had with Thriller, and split the take. We’re talking hundreds of millions of dollars here, and I’ve already done the hard part.”

That got Forsythe’s attention. He narrowed his eyes. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’d rather be rich than dead,” she snapped. “And because I’m a practical woman. An ambitious one. I want in. I want access to The Nine. Power. Success. All of it.”

He stared at her as though judging her sincerity. As he did, the seconds ticked past beneath her skin.

Was Max coming out? Had Forsythe already sent other men in after him? How could she protect him? She had to think faster! What could she say to convince Forsythe?

Finally, the surgeon said, “How do I know you’re serious?”

“I’ll take you to the disks.” She shrugged as though it didn’t matter. “You can have them.”

“Are they here?”

“No, they’re someplace safe, up in Boston. I’ll take you to where they’re hidden-we’ve got it set up so only Max or I can retrieve them.” She was lying through her teeth on that one, but brazened it out. “I’ll hand them over as a gesture of good faith, but you’ve got to give me something in return. Otherwise, no deal.”

“If you want me to leave the other woman alone, too late. We’ve already taken care of her. There was a tragic ferry accident on the crossing from the Cape to Nantucket.” He tsked. “Such a shame.”

Raine’s heart constricted at Ike’s fate, at the emphasis of just what a dangerous game she was playing. But she feigned a shrug. “She would’ve been a complication either way. No, I want you to let Vasek go free, unharmed.”

Forsythe snorted. “Not a chance. If you know about our little group, then so does lover boy. And he’ll follow you, guaranteed. There’s no way you can keep him from interfering.”

“There is one way I can do exactly that,” Raine said, pulse pounding with sick dread at what she was about to propose.

“How’s that?”

“I’ll break his heart.”

Chapter Thirteen

Max awoke slowly when the lights came on, aware of the whole-body lassitude that came from good loving. His brain echoed with the words I love you. Had she said them, or had he merely thought them?

Either way, they were true.

He smiled and opened his eyes, then frowned when he realized the light wasn’t coming from the hotel room lights, as he’d assumed. It was coming from the window. It was daylight, and the clock radio was blaring.

And Raine wasn’t there.

She’s in the bathroom, he told himself on a sudden spurt of panic. He craned his neck to see her, but the adjoining room was dark, the door ajar. No sounds came from within, no signs of life.

She went downstairs for coffee, he tried instead. But logic told him it was well past sunrise, well past the time they’d agreed to leave the hotel for Boston. She’s-

Then he saw that his clothes were laid out beside the sodas and snacks.

And his duffel was gone.

“She didn’t, did she?” He sat up in the bed, sick incredulity echoing in his head. “I didn’t, did I?” He hadn’t fallen for it again, hadn’t trusted it again, had he?

He cursed, very much afraid that he had.

But where had she gone? Why? She still needed him to help build the case against The Nine.

Didn’t she?

An awful suspicion struggled to form in Max’s gut. He shoved it aside and climbed to his feet, cursing himself for having been exhausted, for having slept too deeply for far too long.

He dragged his clothes on and felt in the pockets of his jacket. “At least she left me the gun and the cash.” The truck keys were gone, though, along with the duffel. He tried to find humor in the irony. “Cheaper to replace the bag than five rooms worth of furniture, at any rate.”

But there was no humor to be had.

Fool me thrice and I’m an idiot, he thought on a burst of anger. He skipped the elevator, thundered down the stairs and shoved through a side door that dumped him straight into the parking lot.

The sight of the truck still parked in the far corner brought him up short. “What the heck?”

She’d taken the keys and left the truck? That didn’t make any sense.

Instinct prickled along the back of his neck as he approached the vehicle. The morning sun had melted the snow to water, which held no tracks. There were a few fresh-looking scuffs in the salt scum that covered the side of the truck. Maybe a sign of a struggle. Maybe a sign that she’d tossed the duffel onto the hood and it had slid off.

When he reached the truck and looked inside, he nearly sagged back at the gut-punch of emotion. Of anger.

The keys were in the ignition.

And a note lay on the seat.

He yanked the door open and grabbed the single sheet of paper. He was tempted to wad it up and throw it away unread, but some optimistic part of him wouldn’t allow the gesture, just in case it was an explanation that meant something other than gotcha.

Dear Max, it began, wringing a snort from deep within his chest.

Go back to New York, the job is over. I’ll wire payment from wherever Frederic and I wind up. You were right the first time-the plane tickets were mine. It was my idea in the beginning, everything except the dead women. I didn’t sign up for that, which is why I ran, and why my so-called partners tried to kill me. There’s no such thing as The Nine, that was all in poor Charlie’s mind, though Frederic was one of my partners. When it came down to the wire, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let the others hurt you. I love you-believe that if you believe anything. So I’m leaving. Let them have the drug. Tell Detective Marcus everything-it doesn’t matter anymore. Regardless, we’ll always have that night in Philadelphia.

She had signed it with her first initial.

I love you. The words danced on the page, mocking him. He cursed bitterly, wadded the paper and tossed it in a puddle of slushy water before he threw himself into the truck cab and cranked the engine. Then he cursed again, retrieved the note and flung the dripping mess into the foot well.

He drove to New Bridge, to her house, which was now nothing more than a deserted pile of blackened, charred rubble.

He left the ruined rental truck parked crosswise in the driveway and climbed into his own vehicle, figuring he and Detective Marcus would settle up later. Then he headed for the highway and took the westbound ramp, headed for New York City.

Headed for home.

DURING THE THREE-HOUR RIDE into Boston, there was only silence in the limo passenger compartment. Raine stared out the window, unable to look at Jeff, unwilling to converse with Forsythe. The men worked on cell phone-connected laptops instead of talking to each other, maybe because she was there, or maybe because there was nothing to say until they reached Logan Airport.

Once they were on the circular, convoluted network of airport roadways, an intercom clicked on and the driver’s