rich guys like Harper who think they can buy people the same way they buy buildings can get crazy when things don't go their way and I don't do crazy.'
'At least talk to him. I told him that you would call him tonight. All you have to do is check out this dream project and he'll take it from there.'
'I load the gun and he pulls the trigger.'
'Just like when you were at the FBI and the U.S. attorney made the call. Why the attack of middle-age angst? You've spent your whole life going after bad guys.'
'I always knew whose side I was on and I was a lot better at figuring out the truth. Those lines aren't as bright when a billionaire draws them.'
'There was a philosopher who claimed that it was impossible to determine whether some things are true or false. He proved it by saying that all men are liars. If he was telling the truth, then he was a liar.'
'Yeah, but that doesn't make not knowing any easier.'
Simon took a breath, leaning toward me. 'This isn't about Wendy.'
Wendy was my daughter. She died early last year, twenty-plus years after her brother Kevin was murdered by a sex offender masquerading as a trustworthy neighbor. Every FBI agent in the Kansas City office attended the funeral, some out of respect, others because Wendy had been a fugitive, the last suspected member of a drug ring I'd helped take down before the Bureau kicked me to the curb, the only loose end being five million dollars that had disappeared into the ether. They were convinced she stole the money.
I never stopped thinking about her, wistful memories sometimes crossing into haunting flashbacks so real they stopped me in my tracks or dreams too vivid for sleep. A snatch of conversation, a familiar fragrance, even a sad-eyed junkie could put me back with her, replaying the moment, hoping for a different ending.
'I know that.'
'Then talk to him. That's all I'm asking.'
Simon had been good to me. I owed him that much. 'Okay.'
'Great.' He leaned back in his chair. 'So, how you doing with the. .'
'Shaking? Every day is an adventure.'
'How about that group of retired cops you told me about? You still get together with them?'
'We have lunch once a month. Somebody presents a case. Maybe one that was never solved or one where maybe the wrong guy took the fall. We play cop again, trying to put it together.'
'Any cold cases get solved that way?'
'No, but a lot of beer gets put away so everyone goes home feeling good about that.'
My cell phone rang, the caller ID reading
'Hello?'
'Mr. Davis, this is Milo Harper.'
'Hang on a second.' I covered the phone. 'It's your roommate. I thought he was waiting for my call.'
'I forgot to tell you. He's a little impatient. I gave him your number.'
Simon headed for the door. I put the phone back to my ear.
'Call me Jack.'
'For now, I'll call you late. I've been waiting to hear from you.'
I gritted my teeth. I'd promised Simon I would talk to Harper. I didn't promise to be nice. 'Simon just finished telling me about your situation.'
'Fine. I'll meet you for dinner at McCormick and Schmick at seven-thirty and don't be late.'
Chapter Four
Milo Harper was waiting for me in a booth, juggling screens on his Mac laptop while talking into a wireless headset, one hand darting in and out of an open briefcase on the seat, glancing at papers, jotting notes in a pocket-size journal. He motioned me into the booth, not breaking his multitasking stride. I slid in across from him, reached over the table, and closed his laptop. He clicked off his headset, scanning me with penetrating, dark eyes that didn't miss, the corner of his mouth twitching with what passed as a smile.
'That's called confirmation bias. What you did, closing my laptop. As predictable as the rising sun.'
'You're clairvoyant?'
'Not necessary if you know how the mind works. My phone call primed you to dislike me. You didn't want to come here, especially on a miserable night like this, but you came anyway, probably out of a sense of obligation to Simon. Instead of greeting you at the door like the hero he makes you out to be, I'm sitting here making good use of my time. But you see that as further proof that I'm a rude jerk. That's confirmation bias.'
'It wasn't just the phone call.'
'What else?'
'Kate Scranton sends her regards.'
Harper straightened. He still had the wavy hair and square chin. If he still had the pecs they were hidden under a bulky sweater. He was near my height, six feet, though thinner with a long angular face washed out with an indoor pallor earned from a lifetime spent in front of a computer screen. He hadn't shaved for a few days. The salt and pepper growth that gave actors a patina of cool clung to his sallow cheeks, aging him.
'Interesting. A woman who turns down my job offer trumps a man who thinks the only thing you're missing is a cape and a red S on your chest.'
I leaned back against the booth. 'I'm here but that doesn't mean that Kate's wrong or that Simon is right.'
'No, it doesn't. And, I didn't believe Simon anyway.' He pointed to a menu. 'You want to order?'
I shook my head. 'I'm not staying. Tell me about your problem. I'll tell you if I'm interested.'
Our server appeared, asking for our order and his tip with a smile, not saying a word. Harper laid his menu on the table, traced his finger down the selections, stopping at the lobster, raised his eyebrows at me, giving me another chance. I shook my head, Harper shrugged at the waiter and the waiter shrugged back, closing the curtain on our pantomime with another smile before leaving.
'Three people, three brains, not a word spoken, a million. .'
I raised my hand. 'I get it. A brain is a terrible thing to waste.'
Harper grinned. 'I can't help it. The human brain is the greatest evolutionary achievement and the mind, which is what the brain does, goes it one better. Spend some time with me and you'll learn to appreciate the mental organs. We study everything from basic brain anatomy, structure, and chemistry to behavioral disorders, genetic disorders, and anything else having to do with how the brain and the mind work and don't work. Most places that do brain research focus on one or two things. I'm trying to do it all because it's all connected, one neural miracle.'
'Including dreams,' I said.
'Including dreams and memory. I've got PhDs like Anthony Corliss who specialize in something called lucid dreaming. It's a way of recognizing when you are dreaming and then learning how to control your dreams.'
'Can he make dreams come true?'
'Not yet, but he's trying. He's working with Maggie Brennan, another PhD, who's an expert on memory and posttraumatic stress disorder. The brain makes memories, decides which ones to keep and which ones to toss out. Memories, especially traumatic ones, get a workout in our dreams. We're researching whether people can learn to control their nightmares and manage their traumatic memories through lucid dreaming.'
Maggie Brennan's name had the nagging familiarity of something I had heard, forgotten, and now wished I hadn't. It would come to me, probably in the middle of the night, waking me up, only to be forgotten again by morning.
'Simon told me that two people who've participated in the project have died.'
'Tom Delaney shot himself and Regina Blair fell off the top ledge of a three-story parking deck that was under construction. Both had responded to an ad we placed for volunteers.'
'What did they have to do?'
'Talk to us about their dreams. Fill out questionnaires. Spend a few nights sleeping in our lab wearing an
