GENE-ius

PURSUIT OF A SCIENTIST’S GENETIC RESEARCH JEOPARDIZES HIS CAREER AND ENDANGERS HIS FAMILY

GENE-IUS

Assistant Professor Deren Patterson hopes his ground-breaking research will guarantee his promotion at Buchanan College. Wrapped up in his own work, Deren and his wife Molly clash over domestic issues, mounting debt, and his time away from family.

Soon after Deren submits his manuscript and before being made public, a number of disturbing events occur. A scientist, whose research is similar to Deren’s, is brutally murdered. The next day Deren receives a generous offer to purchase part of his research. How did the caller get access to the privileged document? And why the interest in a mouse gene?

Deren’s indecision on how to handle the situation sets off a cascade of events. His research is stolen and his career is in jeopardy. Can he keep his family safe?

GENE-IUS

SHARON L. WENGER received her undergraduate

Sharon L. Wenger

degree at Thiel College and a Masters and PhD in Human Genetics at the University of Pittsburgh’s School of Public Health. Following a fellowship in cytogenetics at Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh, she joined the faculty at the University of Pittsburgh, then later at West Virginia University. where she was responsible for the clinical cytogenetics lab, teaching, and research. She is a member of Pennwriters and Sisters in Crime. An avid reader, Sharon and her cat Sherman live in Pittsburgh near her three grown children, brother, and twin sister.

Sharon L. Wenger

GENE-ius

Sharon L. Wenger

Publisher Page

an imprint of Headline Books

Terra Alta, WV

GENE-ius

by Sharon L. Wenger copyright ©2026 Sharon L. Wenger All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual people, places or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from Publisher Page.

To order additional copies of this book or for book publishing information, or to contact the author: Headline Books, Inc. P.O. Box 52 Terra Alta, WV 26764 www.HeadlineBooks.com mybook@headlinebooks.com Publisher Page is an imprint of Headline Books ISBN 13: 9781958914762 Library of Congress Control Number: 2025944859

P R I N T E D I N T H E U N I T E D S TAT E S O F A M E R I C A

To Nicholas, Holly and Andrea

Acknowledgements Many thanks to my current and past critique members Carol Silvis, Darla Grieco, Annette Dashofy, Peter Hayes, Audrey Snyder, and Anne Slates. The novel wouldn’t be what it is today without your encouragement and support. Thanks also to beta readers Holly Fromlak, Karen Wenger, Brian Colella, and Erin Krol.

A special thank you to Cathy Teets and her team at Headline Books for making this happen.

Chapter One Second Friday in May The clack of heels in the hallway grew louder and then stopped. Deren Patterson looked up from his paperwork to see Barbara Russo standing in the doorway of his office.

“Deren, I want to review your curriculum vitae and supporting documents.” The department chair held up her hand as if to ward off any protest. “I know the Promotion and Tenure Committee doesn’t meet until spring semester, but identifying any deficiencies now will give you plenty of time to fill in any gaps in your resume.”

“I’ll work on it over the summer.”

Her vigorous head shake threatened to unleash strands of gray hair from her messy bun. “I want the material on my desk first thing Monday morning.”

Really? His shoulders sagged. He planned on grading senior papers over the weekend. “B-but—” “You knew Keyes, didn’t you? Such sad news.” She clicked her tongue, pivoted, and walked away before Deren could object to her deadline.

He tossed his pen on the desk. Finals week was hectic enough.

He didn’t need anything else dumped on him. Besides, what was the rush to beef up his professional resume? The committee wouldn’t meet for another eight months. And what was her

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comment about Keyes? Deren checked the time. His heart raced.

Late for class, he grabbed his notes and sprinted down the hall.

While Deren gave his general biology lecture, Russo’s demand kept intruding into his thoughts. “Any more questions?”

He scanned the sea of blank faces. “Be sure to check the schedule for the date and time of your final exam. Have a good weekend.”

He couldn’t imagine the weekend before finals would be good for any of them. The classroom erupted in a mixture of loud chatter, jostled desks, and footsteps of students stampeding for the exit. The decibel level plummeted as the classroom emptied.

Back in his office, Deren located his CV document on the computer. His last entry was over a year ago. His stomach clenched. An update would take longer than a weekend.

He cradled his head in his hands. How could he get everything done during the final week of the school year? Then he remembered Russo’s comment about Keyes.

Seven years ago, Keyes spoke on recent advancements in genetics at a symposium held at the University of Pittsburgh.

Afterward, Keyes took the time to talk to each graduate student in the department. Deren benefited from the interaction with the accomplished researcher. He even utilized several of the man’s techniques for his Ph.D. work as well as in his current research.

What could have happened to Keyes? Had he been in an accident?

Deren ran a Google search and clicked on the first link.

Victor Keyes, Ph.D., pioneer of a gene isolation technique, has been murdered.

Murdered? Deren rocked back in his chair as if gut-punched.

How could something like this happen? He continued to read.

Keyes’ body was discovered late last night in his Berkeley laboratory by one of his graduate students.

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Keyes had been stabbed multiple times, his lab trashed, and animals released from cages. The dean of the university issued a statement. “This is a tragic loss for the school. Keyes was a gifted and well-funded researcher.

Police suspect animal rights activists.”

“Hey, Buddy.” Hands on either side of the doorjamb, Stan Edelman leaned into Deren’s office. “You hear the news about Keyes?”

“I just read about it. A huge loss for the field of genetics.”

Edelman’s eyes darted around. “You think we should be worried?”

“About what? Because we work in genetics, too?”

Edelman ran his fingers through his greasy hair. “Because we used his technique for our project.”

“Keyes developed a number of innovative techniques,” Deren said. “If it was activists, they wanted to save the animals, not make a statement about Keyes’ scientific work. Sounds like he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I hope you’re right. Gotta get ready for my next class. Catch you later.”

With his last two lectures of the semester to give, Deren couldn’t dwell on the death right now. Resting his chin on fisted hands, he stared at his notes. The words blurred. As hard as he tried to concentrate, Stan’s question reverberated in his head.

“You think we should be worried?” *** Deren hated spending this Saturday away from his family, but he needed files in his campus office. Shaken by the recent loss of a genetic giant, Deren had trouble focusing and even forgot his cell phone.

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In the mailroom, Deren made copies of Monday’s exam.

Checking his mail slot, he found two more senior papers stuffed inside. Back in his office, he pawed through the stack of documents on his desk, wishing he’d kept better records of his accomplishments during his five years at Buchanan College.

What was the title of the seminar he gave last year? He opened a side drawer and leafed through a folder. A copy of the flyer had to be around somewhere. Not many places to check in his closetsized room, which the college called an office. Just enough space for a bookcase, a filing cabinet, a desk, and two chairs—one for him and one for a guest.

He sidestepped the open desk drawer to get to the filing cabinet. The top metal drawer screeched in protest. Checking file tabs, he located a promising folder and riffled through the papers.

The ringing of his office phone interrupted his search. He tensed. He’d told his wife to call only in an emergency. Was there a problem at home? Were his sons all right? The folder slipped from his fingers. Papers scattered on the floor.

Diving for the phone, Deren smacked his knee on the open desk drawer. Spots danced before his eyes. Gasping in pain, he clutched his knee, then collapsed in the chair. He wanted to answer before the call went to voicemail. Would the news be worse than his own banged knee? “Molly?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Dr. Patterson. My name is Patrick Novack, and I’m calling about your gene.”

Your gene.

Unable to breathe as if in a vacuum, the pain in Deren’s knee took a back seat to this new situation. During the week, several callers asked for Eugene. Or so Deren thought. Had they all said “your gene?”

“W-who are you?” Deren winced at the sound of his childhood stutter, reappearing under stressful situations.

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“I’m Patrick Novack, CEO and founder of Recom, Incorporated, a successful biotech company headquartered in San Francisco.”

The confident voice put Deren on guard. The only person who knew about the work besides co-authors Stan Edelman and Peter O’Malley was Barbara Russo who provided departmental monies for the project. Deren couldn’t imagine they would discuss the research with anyone outside the college. “How do you know about the gene? My work isn’t published.”

Novack said, “Hmm, can’t recall where I heard about it, but it piqued my interest.”

“W-what are your plans for the g-gene?”

“Does it matter?”

Deren tightened his grip on the receiver. “I used that gene to demonstrate the efficiency of a technique for treating genetic diseases.”

“Hmm, yes, that’s wonderful, a truly noble undertaking.”

The slick tone of the man’s voice took on a hard edge. “But I’m interested in the gene.”

“B-but, it’s a mouse gene.” Punching the speaker button, Deren cradled the receiver, then wiped his sweaty palms on his khakis.

“I’m willing to pay one hundred thousand dollars.”

“For a mouse gene?” Deren swallowed hard. The conversation was going nowhere. Didn’t this guy get it? The value was the technique, not the gene. “I-I’ll have to think about it.” He drummed his fingers on the desktop—one more thing to deal with during the busiest week of the school year.

“Don’t take too long with your decision. I am not a patient man.” The threat oozed through the telephone line, followed by a dial tone.

Great. The last thing Deren wanted to do was talk to this Novack character again. Elbow on the desk, he propped his chin on a fist.

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Over the past several years, Deren, Stan, and Peter sacrificed evenings and weekends to perfect the gene transfer technique.

Recognition for the scientific breakthrough was important to Deren’s academic career. Dealing with the offer for the gene would have to wait. His other obligations had deadlines.

Deren rubbed and flexed his knee; the pain somewhat lessened. His concentration shot, he jammed papers into his backpack, anxious to distance himself from the office landline.

He scanned the room. Did he have everything? Heck with it.

His focus needed to be on finals week. He’d ask Russo for an extension on his CV. Besides, would the biology chair even look at the material over the summer? He doubted it. Slinging one strap of his bag over his shoulder, he hobbled out of the science building.

The walk home helped work some of the soreness from his knee. Deren mulled over the department chair’s request. By the time he arrived home, he decided to make an effort to update his CV to stay in Russo’s good graces. When he opened the front door, his wife Molly greeted him, novel in hand.

“Done with your work already?”

He took in her freshly cut hair, a wavy bob with every strand in place, just like she kept order around the house and their lives.

“Not yet. I need some quiet time to finish my paperwork. Don’t let the boys disturb me.”

“Mike and Tommy are outside. You have about an hour before we eat.” She poked him in the stomach. “And try to put on some weight. We’ll be seeing your mother next week. I’m tired of Arlene accusing me of starving you.”

He grinned and grabbed her finger. “My mom says that every time we see her. It’s just the way she is.”

“I know, but she shouldn’t compare you to your brother.”

Deren’s hand dropped to his side. He felt the same way. Why was he always being compared to his six-minute-older twin brother? “My mom should say something to Damien about his 12

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weight gain. He drives to work and sits at a desk all day.” He kissed the top of Molly’s head and breathed in the fragrance of her shampoo.

He retreated into a narrow room off the kitchen—a pantry converted into office space by modifying the shelves into a table and bookshelves. When Molly called him to dinner, he put aside his work and joined the family around the dining room table.

After helping six-year-old Tommy with his serving, Molly passed the platter. “I saw you brought home the laptop. Would it be all right if you worked at the dining room table tomorrow?

I want to use the desktop to complete the general store’s balance sheet.”

Deren placed a slice of meatloaf on his plate. “I wanted to work in the office where it’s quieter. Besides, my reference materials are in there.”

She tapped a finger on the table. “Bill Winslow needs the spreadsheet by Monday.”

Deren frowned—another demand on his time. “Tell you what. Let me get done what I can in the morning, and you can have the office in the afternoon.”

“Thank you.” Molly smiled. “But what about your work?”

“I don’t need the office to read senior papers.” Deren turned to his older son. “How’s your day, Mike?”

“Great.” Mike, eight-going-on-thirteen, set down his fork before responding. “I found the best hiding place. Tommy took forever to find me.” Mike went into great detail explaining his thought process for selecting the ideal spot, while Tommy made faces at his brother.

Deren took a bite of mashed potatoes. Feeling a vibration, he shifted in his chair and slipped his cell phone out of his back pocket. Holding the phone below the table, he stared at an area code he didn’t recognize. A scammer? Or was it Novack? The mashed potatoes in his mouth turned to cement.

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The boys’ giggles broke through his thoughts. He looked up to see Molly’s pursed lips.

“This is family time, remember?”

He stuffed the phone back in his rear pocket, berating himself for not leaving it in the office. As parents, they wanted dinner time to be free from the distraction of electronics. And here he was setting a bad example for his sons. “Sorry.”

“Do you need to take the call?” Molly asked.

“Not important. Just a persistent caller.”

Molly crooked an eyebrow, like she didn’t believe him.

“What’s persistent?” Tommy asked.

“It’s when you eat one bite after another until your plate is clean.” Deren ruffled his son’s hair.

“Like this?” Tommy shoveled a large spoonful of food in his mouth. A few peas fell onto the table.

Molly gave Deren a questioning look. He shook his head ever so slightly, not wanting to talk now. His mind raced. How could anyone, other than the editor, get a copy of his unpublished manuscript? Even more disturbing was how someone got his cell number.

His fork clattered onto the plate. Just like that, his appetite disappeared.

14

Chapter Two Deren looked up from a student paper when Molly entered the living room. “Are the kids in bed already?”

“Yes.” “How come the boys don’t settle down that fast for me?”

“Mike listens, but you know Tommy. He sees what he can get away with. He knows you don’t always follow through on any disciplinary action.” She collapsed on the blanket-covered sofa.

“Mind if I turn off the TV?” After Deren’s nod, she grabbed the remote lying on the scarred coffee table and hit the off button.

“Are you going to tell me about your phone call at dinner?”

“I think it might be about my research.”

“Your gene therapy project?” She tucked her legs underneath her.

He raised a finger. “A more efficient gene insertion technique.

Yes.” “And?” She made a circling motion with her hand, coaxing him to continue.

“Might be someone interested in the gene used in my research.

I can’t understand the interest when the protocol is the star. I developed a highly efficient method for inserting a functional gene into cultured mouse skin cell lines. This technique could help treat some genetic diseases. Current gene transfer techniques are inefficient and ineffective, either by not incorporating into enough cells or by only providing a temporary fix. My hope is 15

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to revolutionize treatment for recessive genetic disorders, like Tay-Sachs, cystic fibrosis, and sickle cell anemia. Two weeks ago, I sent our manuscript to a very prestigious journal for review, which I hope will guarantee my promotion.” He held up both hands with fingers crossed.

“I hope so, too. We could use a bump in your salary.” Molly planted her bare feet on the floor and rubbed an ankle.

“A promotion will increase my salary by ten percent.”

Her shoulders sagged. “That won’t be enough for me to quit my part-time job.”

He nodded in agreement, if only to avoid discussing finances, which could escalate into a heated discussion. The extra money would help pay off their debt faster, but wouldn’t be enough to change their lives.

Molly leaned forward. “Tell me more about this mouse gene.

What makes it special?”

“The best way to test my gene transfer technique would be to purchase mice with a recessive disease. However, they are expensive, and departmental research funds are limited.

To validate the gene transfer, I needed a measurable trait. I extracted DNA from the blood of an albino mouse, hoping to isolate the gene for coat color. The protocol I used was developed by a researcher out in California. Actually, the researcher was murdered recently.”

He heard Molly’s intake of breath as her hand covered her mouth. “What happened?”

“They think some animal rights activists let animals out of cages, trashed the lab, and killed the researcher.”

“How awful.”

“Very sad.” He paused a moment before continuing. “Getting back to my research, each gene we isolated was inserted into a mouse embryo, which was implanted into a surrogate mouse.

After birth, we looked for any unique physical or behavioral 16

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trait. One of the mice maneuvered through a maze faster than the others. That’s the gene we chose as our marker.”

“You isolated a smart gene?”

“Intelligence gene might be a better descriptor. Next, we wanted to determine how insertion of multiple copies of the gene would affect the Mus musculus genome.”

“Mus muscu-what?”

“Mus musculus, genus and species of the mouse.”

“I seem to recall from my general bio class that PCR can be used to mass-produce DNA. Is that what you did?”

Deren chuckled. “Polymerase chain reaction instrumentation is beyond the department’s limited research funds. With Stan’s background in culturing bacteria, we used a technique called recombinant DNA. The procedure’s been around since the 1980s, used to make products such as insulin.”

Molly leaned forward. “Really? How does it work?”

“A gene is inserted into a bacterial genome. A bacterium replicates every twenty minutes, resulting in another copy of the gene.” He spread his arms wide. “Rapid exponential growth.”

“Now you have copies. What did you do next?”

“We piggybacked the gene on a partial viral genome as a way to insert it into the DNA of mouse eggs. After fertilization and a few cell divisions, we transferred each embryo into a surrogate mouse to continue through gestation.” Deren paused when he saw Molly’s eyes start to glaze over. “It’s like making the dinosaurs in ‘Jurassic Park’.”

Molly perked up. “I remember the movie.”

“Peter ran tests on the transgenic mice. The time to maneuver through mazes seemed to correlate with the successful insertion of the gene. The mice quickly adapted to Skinner boxes.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a psych course. Isn’t the Skinner box used for positive reinforcement?”

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“Exactly,” Deren said. “Learned conditioning. I’ve transplanted this gene into different strains of mice, which all showed greater learning ability.”

Molly’s eyes widened, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs. “That’s amazing.”

“Intelligence is multifactorial, involving numerous genes.”

Deren placed his hands on his thighs. “Two weeks ago, I submitted our manuscript describing this work to the Journal of Recombinant DNA Research. I got a few calls this week that I thought were wrong numbers. Today, Patrick Novack from a biotech company in California offered to buy the gene.”

“How much did he offer?”

When Deren mentioned the figure, Molly jumped to her feet.

“You turned down a hundred thousand dollars?” She clamped her hand over her mouth and looked toward the steps. She eased back onto the sofa. In a near whisper, she asked, “If he was that interested, do you think you could ask for more? I’d like to get out of this money pit and move into a newer home.”

Deren teased. “You want to move after we’ve replaced all the windows and half the water pipes?” His smile faded. “But seriously, I don’t understand the frenzy over a mouse gene.

The protocol is what I’m interested in promoting, not the gene.

Besides, the college benefits, not me.”

“But it’s your work.”

Deren shrugged. “Intellectual property rights. It’s in my contract.”

Molly folded her arms across her chest, looking like she was spoiling for a fight. “You should negotiate something with the school. If it wasn’t for you, they wouldn’t benefit.”

Deren slapped his thighs. “What really fries my bacon is how these people got access to my paper in the first place. Unpublished material is privileged information until it is in print.”

Molly leaned forward. “Take advantage of this opportunity.

Let the school deal with the offers, but work something out with 18

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the dean so you can share in the profit. It’s your work. Don’t get left out of the negotiations.”

Deren huffed. “If the call at dinner was from Novack or someone else about the gene, how did they get my cell phone number?”

“Who is this Novack guy, and why is he so persistent?”

Deren welcomed Molly’s input since she often had a different viewpoint. He needed to think this through, but after his endof-the-semester deadlines. “Novack has a biotech company. We have a gene transfer protocol with an unprecedented ninety percent success rate, yet he and the other callers want a mouse gene.” He shook his head.

“Let the college handle it.” Molly used her take-charge tone.

Deren rubbed his temples. “What’s happened to research for the sake of knowledge? Everything’s so commercialized.”

Molly’s voice softened. “I’m sure the school will recognize your achievement regardless of the outcome of any negotiations.

Perhaps they could work out a deal for both the technique and the gene.”

Deren folded his arms and tucked in his chin, retreating within himself. What a time for all this to happen. He didn’t want to discuss the phone calls anymore. What Molly said made sense, but he had more pressing matters requiring his attention. “I’ll find out who at the college would handle something like this.”

“Don’t put it off.”

He glowered. His wife knew him so well, but she didn’t understand all the demands on his time. He liked to tweak old exam questions and add some new ones since the old ones were being passed from one class to the next. Besides updating his CV, he would have to grade exams, read a dozen research papers, and submit grades. “I’ll take care of it when I get the chance. Even if the college agrees, it won’t happen any time soon.”

Molly’s face crumpled, and her eyes filled with tears. “You’re telling me the school won’t share any money?”

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Deren instantly regretted his outburst. His wife had his best interests in mind. He sat next to her on the couch and placed his arm around her shoulders. “You worry too much about stuff.

Things will work out. You’ll see. I know our house needs a lot of TLC, but we have so much to be thankful for. We live in a town where there’s not a lot of crime. We may not have the same stores as downtown Pittsburgh, but you can always order online.”

She laughed and swiped at her wet cheeks.

He squeezed her shoulder. “We’ve got everything we need.

Right?”

“I know.” She leaned against him. “I don’t mind working. It’s just…we never seem to make any progress. Before one bill is paid off, another more costly expense pops up.” She tilted her head to look at him. “Maybe you could patent your technique. When you talk to the dean, ask if he’ll consider giving you a percentage of the royalties.”

Now who was being persistent? “I’ll take care of it,” he agreed, if only to end the conversation. The two of them approached problems from opposite directions. Molly liked to take charge and get things done quickly, while he needed time to weigh options and evaluate all possibilities before finalizing his plan.

“I’m going to bed.” Molly picked up her paperback and headed toward the stairs.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” he called out, hoping she’d let the matter rest. He massaged his temple, but there was no relief from the start of a tension headache. His knees were almost level with his shoulders since the springs had given out on one side of the sofa. He needed time to think about all this, but finals week had to be his priority. Maybe he could let Russo deal with Novack’s offer.

He leaned back on the couch. Why the interest in the mouse gene? Maybe the gene transfer protocol wasn’t as great an achievement as he imagined. Resting his aching forehead on his knees, he thought of all the time and effort he, Stan, and Peter 20

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put into the research only to have it discounted. With no time to complete another project before the promotion committee decided on his academic future, his career had a lot riding on this publication.

Too tired to think anymore, he rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t let Molly pressure him into making a hasty decision.

First, he had to get through finals week, then he could deal with Novack’s offer after his vacation.

Until then, he wouldn’t answer any phone numbers he didn’t recognize. *** Patrick Novack paced in his office on the top floor of his biotech company. He glanced at the manuscript lying on his desk.

His lab manager, Bernard Smittle, agreed that Novack’s pursuit of the gene could prove lucrative for the business. Although Recom, Incorporated’s well-equipped lab could handle the work, the materials and methods section of the article lacked enough information for Smittle to replicate the DNA sequence of the mouse gene.

Patterson’s reluctance to sell the gene was disturbing. Had others made a bid for the gene? Novack paid his source a large sum for the manuscript. So much for the exclusivity promised by his source. Frustrated at Patterson’s dismissal of the offer, Novack balled his fists. He knew the gene would be a huge moneymaker.

He also wanted to avoid college lawyers, with all their contracts and legal hoops. He needed to convince Patterson to hand over the gene. Thank goodness Novack had the foresight to send Leon Marcello to Buchanan, PA, to find some way to broker the deal.

The Star Wars cut from the Flight of the Valkyries playing on his burner phone stopped Novack in his tracks. He stepped behind the desk and settled into his leather chair before answering the awaited call from his associate. “Leon, have you 21

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learned anything from the listening devices you installed outside the scientists’ homes?”

“Sorry, Patrick,” Leon said, “So far, I haven’t picked up anything of interest. However, I overheard a few things when I was walking around campus. I have an idea how to get one of ’em to hand over the gene without costing you a dime.”

Novack rested an elbow on the cherry wood desktop and picked at a piece of lint on the sleeve of his Canali jacket. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“Seems some co-eds think this Dr. Patterson is a hunk.” Leon went into detail with his scheme.

Novack smiled at the simplicity. He liked the idea, especially the part about him keeping his money. It just might work. “I knew I could count on you. Remember, Smittle needs both the gene and the research notes. We can’t have someone else come along and duplicate our efforts. I want exclusivity. I’ll continue to work on Patterson while you move ahead with your plan.”

After disconnecting, Novack leaned back and stretched his arms over his head. First thing in the morning, he’d give Smittle the green light to prepare for the project.

Novack swiveled his chair to look out his floor-to-ceiling window. With a near-cloudless sky, the sun’s rays shimmered off the ocean. A sailboat disappeared under the Golden Gate Bridge.

Placing his hands behind his head, he envisioned his revenue stream from the gene. He had to get it, one way or another.

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Chapter Three Sunday Molly woke with a start. She pulled the blanket over her head to block the morning light streaming through the bedroom window. Why had Deren opened the curtains when she was still in bed? She rolled over. How long had she tossed and turned last night before finally drifting off to sleep? Too exhausted to move, the vivid dream that woke her replayed in her mind. White mice in a single file line, each taking turns placing its paw on a lever.

When the light flashed, each mouse grabbed the reward of a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill, then nibbled it to shreds.

Then she thought about last night’s discussion, which had digressed into a disagreement about their finances. Why did they always bicker about money? She flung back the covers, her thoughts on how they came to their current situation. After Deren completed his post-doctorate fellowship, he searched for faculty positions in the Pittsburgh area. Unable to find any openings, he expanded his search. He was accepted at Buchanan College, over five hundred miles away.

Their house was within walking distance of the college and public schools. Children rode bicycles down tree-lined streets or skateboarded on the sidewalks. A regular Norman Rockwell scene, so why wasn’t she happy? Maybe the upkeep on the house was wearing her down. Constant repairs devoured money faster than they could earn it.

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She grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed. Deren’s salary wouldn’t change until his promotion. Why was he reluctant to benefit from his discovery?

She stared at the mussed linen on Deren’s side. She hadn’t heard when he came in last night. He couldn’t have gotten much sleep.

She poked her arms into the sleeves of her robe. Her feet hit the cold floor, a reminder she needed to get a throw rug.

Would things have been better if they hadn’t left Pittsburgh?

She snapped the covers toward the headboard in a hasty attempt at making the bed.

She missed her friends and having her family closer. Now, the only time she got to see relatives was when her family travelled across the state to Pittsburgh. Although she understood, at times their busy schedules sounded like excuses not to make the trip.

At least Molly’s dad, a sales rep for medical supplies, had made a few brief stops when he was in the area.

Molly checked under the bed for her slippers. Not there.

And now her best friend, Kelly Edelman, seemed distant. She and Kelly used to get together at least once a week, sometimes with their families. What had changed? Was it something Molly had said or done? Was she losing another friend? This reminded her of public school. Every few years, she had to find a new best friend because her old one moved away—or worse.

After tying the sash of her robe, Molly gave up looking for her slippers and padded barefoot downstairs to the kitchen. She opened the cabinet doors and snatched the Bisquick box off the shelf. Hearing footsteps, she turned to see Deren coming out of the office.

“Oh, boy, pancakes.” He rubbed his hands together, a smile on his face. “Need any help?”

“Nope.” She returned to her task. He seemed in a good mood despite getting less sleep than she had.

The squeak of the China hutch door sent a shiver up her 24

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spine. How many times had she asked him to oil the hinges? She stirred the batter. When she heard the clinking of metal as Deren removed silverware from the drawer, the tempo of her whisking accelerated. He had a job he loved and thrived at, while she juggled everything else, the kids, housework, home repairs, bills, and a part-time job.

Last night’s discussion came to mind. Deren usually went along with her suggestions. Why was he resisting? Perhaps she should approach the issue in a way that would make him more receptive to her viewpoint. She ladled the batter into the skillet.

Deren’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Table’s set. Want me to call the boys?”

“Thanks.” Curls of steam rose from the sizzling batter. She lowered the heat.

The boys tore into the room and plopped onto the mismatched chairs, the legs scraping on the linoleum floor.

Molly shook her head at their exuberance.

“Yum,” Mike said. “I’ll get the syrup.”

“Look, Mom. My shoe is talking to you.” Tommy moved the loosened sole of his sneaker back and forth.

Molly gasped. How had she not noticed the condition of his shoes? Now she’d have to take Tommy shopping before they left on vacation.

“Let me see.” Mike set down the syrup, grabbed the shoe, then flapped the sole. In a falsetto voice, he said, “I’m persistent about no phones at the dinner table.” The boys giggled hysterically, clutching their middles. Tommy almost fell off his chair.

“Sounds like someone has a new vocabulary word.” Deren handed each son a napkin.

Mike laughed and tucked the cloth into the collar of his T-shirt.

Molly suppressed a smile. “Yes, Dad, you broke the rule by bringing your phone to the table. What should his punishment be, boys?”

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Tommy bobbed in his seat. “Take us to the park, Dad.” Molly settled Tommy in his chair. “What do you say, Dad? Do you accept your punishment?” She winked at Mike.

Deren raised his hands in defeat. “Okay, you win. The park it is.”

Tommy grinned, showing off the gap from a missing lower tooth.

After flipping the pancakes, Molly aimed the spatula at her younger son. “Don’t be wasteful with the syrup. Would you like me to pour it for you?”

“I can do it, Mommy.” Tommy reached for the bottle.

She placed two pancakes on each plate before taking her seat.

Tommy upended the bottle and squeezed. Syrup flowed over the entire surface of his pancakes, like molten lava covering everything in its path.

“Save some for everyone else.” Molly restrained herself from grabbing the container.

Tommy’s lower lip quivered.

She took in a calming breath. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She rubbed his back. “Please pass the syrup.”

With one final squeeze, Tommy handed the half-empty bottle to his older brother.

After breakfast, she told her sons to get ready for church. The boys pounded up the stairs, in a race to see who would be first to their bedroom.

Deren placed his hand over hers. “Things will get better. I promise.”

“You’re right. They will.”

She watched her husband swirl his finger in the syrup remaining on Tommy’s plate. He rubbed the liquid on his puckered lips. Leaning forward, he planted a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Eww,” she gasped and grabbed a napkin to wipe off the stickiness.

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“Gotta change for church.” Deren dashed out of the kitchen.

Molly shook her head as she cleared the table. Was he avoiding her, afraid she’d bring up yesterday’s issue? The fight was out of her now. *** On the way to church, Deren walked next to Molly while their sons skipped ahead. Although cool, the heat of the sun’s rays seeped through his suit coat. He reached for her hand. Resisting at first, her fist finally opened. Relieved, he clasped her open palm and swung his arm, their hands moving like a metronome, in sync with their steps. Clearing his throat, he tried a neutral topic of conversation. “Did you talk to the boys’ teachers about them missing classes next week?”

Molly kept her eyes on her sons up ahead. “I did. Mike’s teacher wasn’t happy, but how could she object when half the second graders were absent during the college’s spring break?

The boys still have another month before school’s out. Why the public school and the college are on two different schedules, I’ll never know.”

Deren shrugged. “That’s the way it is. Remember we talked about postponing the trip? Damien and Pam could use our help now. If we wait another month, my mom will be back in her own home.”

Molly said, “Tommy, don’t walk backward. The sidewalk up ahead is uneven. I don’t want you to trip.” She looked over at Deren. “I’m sure Arlene will need help when she moves back to her own home and is on her own. I understand recuperation after hip surgery is a lengthy process.”

“Caring for my mom with a three-year-old and nine-monthold underfoot can’t be easy.”

“No, it wouldn’t be.”

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Deren made an attempt to defend his statement. “You know how my mom is. Everything has to be done a certain way.”

“I remember. That’s where you get your stubbornness.”

“What? Me stubborn?” He sensed the direction of the conversation. Before Molly could bring up the topic of his phone calls, he said, “Hey, I have an idea. How about instead of leaving Sunday morning as planned, we start our vacation right after Commencement? We can have dinner at that restaurant with the porcelain countertops and stay at a motel along the way, one with a pool. The boys would love it.” He jiggled her arm, eager for a positive response. “What do you say?”

“The diner’s out of the way. Stopping there would lengthen the trip. No need to stay in a motel for a five-and-a-half-hour drive.”

He squeezed her hand, knowing she was thinking about the cost. “A night in a motel isn’t expensive. That way, our trip will seem more like a vacation. We won’t be able to do much in Pittsburgh with my mom having to use a walker to get around.

Besides, I need some downtime. Sounds like you do too.”

“True, otherwise we’d never see our families.”

“Maybe when my promotion comes through, we could take a trip out West. I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.”

“That’s a long drive.”

“It can’t be more than a four-hour flight.”

Molly snatched her hand away.

Drat. How could he forget about her fear of flying? As many times as he told her the chance of a plane crashing was exponentially less than a car accident, he couldn’t change her opinion of air travel.

“Maybe we could think about a train trip.”

Tommy yelled, “Choo, choo.” He bent his elbows and moved his arms, mimicking a locomotive.

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“Looks like another beautiful day. I’ll take the boys to the park after lunch. You’ll have uninterrupted time to work on the general store’s books.”

“What about your papers?” Her wary gaze suggested a suspicion of an ulterior motive.

He reassured her. “I can read them after dinner. Monday’s exam is done, and I finished tweaking questions for my other two exams. No way I can update my CV by Monday. I’ll ask Russo for an extension.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am.”

Molly’s fingers brushed his wrist. He took her hand and swung their arms.

“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.” She smiled.

Deren’s spirit soared, relieved at having skirted the sensitive subject of flying.

“But you have to promise to talk to someone about those phone calls. The sooner the better.”

He cringed inwardly. “I’ll mention it to Russo when I see her tomorrow.” *** Deren called out, “We’re going to the park now.”

Setting down the dried plate, Molly waved the dish towel at Deren and the boys. “Have fun.” Tossing the cloth onto the countertop, she left the rest of the dishes to air dry in the rack.

This was the break she needed. With several hours of uninterrupted time, she should be able to finish the store’s balance sheet for last month. She breathed in the fresh air coming through the window over the kitchen sink. What a shame to waste such a beautiful day indoors. Suddenly, the thought of sitting in front of the computer in a windowless room lost its appeal. Maybe if she 29

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limited herself to half an hour, she could enjoy the nice weather before settling down to work in the airless pantry/den.

Grabbing garden gloves and a few tools from the garage, she headed to the backyard. The warmth of the sun drained the tension from her body. She sunk the spade into the small plot and turned over the soil. The richness of the earth filled her nostrils. If the weather stayed warm enough, maybe she could plant vegetable seeds before they left on vacation. She’d have to ask the Edelman boys to water the garden next week.

The mindless chore helped her to relax and sort through problems. Her thoughts kept circling back to last night’s discussion with Deren. Why the interest in a mouse gene?

She unearthed a clump of dried roots. What would someone do with an intelligence gene? Make a lot of smart mice? That didn’t make sense. What if the gene could be adapted for use in humans?

A shiver shot through her body despite the warm temperature.

She sat back on her haunches. That had to be the answer. She recalled her biology professor discussing assisted fertilization.

Women who wanted to have intelligent children could select banked sperm from geniuses and prominent entrepreneurs.

However, intelligence could not be guaranteed since multiple genes influence that trait.

She tossed some dead weeds into the bucket. For over fifty years, numerous clinics and hospitals throughout the country have offered in vitro fertilization. Some clinics could test for a genetic disease from a single cell before implanting the embryo.

If multiple copies of an intelligence gene placed inside a fertilized egg could guarantee a smart child, some parents would pay the asking price. She couldn’t wait to discuss her thoughts with Deren.

But would such a practice be ethical?

She eyed the small garden plot, pleased with her accomplishment. The mindless task helped her work out what 30

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she could present to Deren regarding the importance of speaking to someone at the college. Rising, she dusted the dirt from the knees of her jeans.

Now she needed to get inside and crunch numbers while she still had access to the computer. *** Deren tossed the ball to Mike. “Good catch. Let’s see that again, right down the middle of the plate.” He squatted and punched his fist in the catcher’s mitt.

Mike wound his arm like a big leaguer.

Tommy stood with the bat on his shoulder, waiting for the pitch. “Are we really going to stay in a motel with a pool?”

“We might. Bend your knees more and hold your bat steady.

That’s it. Get ready now.” Deren heard a twig snap behind him.

He rose and spun around, catching the brief flutter of leaves on a nearby bush—probably a small animal. A sudden pain in his lower back made him gasp. He turned around and watched the ball roll to a stop.

Mike stood with his hands on his hips. “Pay attention, Dad.” Deren scooped up the ball and tossed it to Mike. “Tommy, keep your eye on the ball.”

“Like you did, Daddy?” Tommy gave him a toothy grin.

“Sorry, I got distracted. Remember how I told you to hold the bat?”

Tommy nodded and dug in his heels. He brought the bat back, ready to swing. Mike made an underhanded pitch over the plate. Tommy chopped at the ball. A dull smack confirmed contact. The ball dribbled a few feet and stopped.

“Nice try, Tommy. Why don’t you and your brother play catch for a while?”

“Can I have your glove?”

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Deren handed the mitt to his younger son. “You two play for now. I need to stretch my legs a bit.” He wanted to check out the bush. The snapping of twigs did not sound like a small animal. No, this sounded more like a two-footed varmint. He walked toward the shrubbery. Finding a gap in the hedges, Deren stepped through the foliage and studied the ground. Scanning the grassless area beneath the brush for paw prints, he noticed a sunken area. Stooping to get a closer look, the indentation looked like a partial shoeprint. Deren’s heart pounded. He spun around, looking for other signs. Through the uncut lawn, a path of bent blades of grass led away from the bushes, suggesting someone had been there. Was he being spied on? Why would anybody be interested in watching them play baseball? Scanning the area, he noticed other pathways crisscrossing through the grass. Maybe the tracks were from a couple of teenagers horsing around.

The phone calls must be making him paranoid. *** Crouching behind a bush, Sung Min spied on Dr. Patterson and his two sons in the playground.

Min and Dr. Young Park were in the small town of Buchanan, PA, to pick up a biological sample and bring it back to South Korea. The president of the NewGen biotech company had agreed to pay two million dollars in exchange for the gene. Dr. Park knew how to handle the sample. Min’s job was to arrange the transfer of funds and take care of any problems that arose. The meeting was scheduled for one o’clock next Sunday. Although he tried to move the exchange to an earlier date, their contact insisted the time could not be changed. He planned to wander around the campus and blend in with the mix of faculty and students. Maybe he could figure out how to move the exchange date. He didn’t want to spend a week just waiting around.

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Ow. What a time to get a charley horse. Rising to stretch his calf muscle, he stepped backward. A sharp crack of a dried twig startled him. His arms pinwheeling to maintain balance, he brushed against a bush and rustled the leaves.

He froze, worried the sound might give him away. Sung slipped from his hiding spot. Quietly opening the driver’s door of the rental Subaru, he drove back to the Motel 6 outside Buchanan, where he and the professor were staying.

Min sat in the parking space in front of the motel room and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He overheard Dr. Patterson tell his sons about plans to leave a day earlier. With Patterson’s change in plans, would their contact agree to move up the meeting? He’d have to run this by the company’s president, who had arranged the exchange. Being in the small town for only a day, Min was ready to go home.

33

Chapter Four Hearing the clunk of wooden bats on the porch, Molly pushed her chair away from the computer and went to meet the threesome returning from the park. Mike burst through the door and shouted, “We played ball and climbed the monkey bars. Then the ice cream truck came by, and I got a cherry ice ball.”

“Me, too.” Tommy bared his red-stained teeth.

Slouched against the doorframe, Deren appeared exhausted.

Or was it something else? Finals week must be more stressful than she realized. Half-listening to the boys’ ramblings, she noticed Deren’s hunched shoulders as he moved into the living room.

When the boys finished relaying their adventure, she said, “Sounds like you two had a terrific time. Mike, go help your brother wash his sticky face, and then you two can go play in the backyard.”

Mike yelled, “Beat you to the top!” The boys thundered up the steps, threatening to loosen plaster.

She stepped into the living room to find Deren slumped in his recliner, a garage sale find that should have gone directly to the local dump. She sat sidesaddle on the armrest and rubbed his shoulder. “What’s bothering you?”

Without shifting his position, Deren whispered, “I got the feeling we were being watched.”

“Why’d you think that? Did the hairs on the back of your neck stand up?”

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“I heard a twig snap and the bushes rustle, but I didn’t see any animals.”

“Why would anyone be spying on you?”

He shook his head. “Makes me wonder if it’s related to the phone calls. Before we left for the park, I got a voice message on my phone from someone with a foreign accent who wanted to purchase the gene. The man didn’t identify himself or leave any contact information.”

“Did you talk to anyone at the college?”

Deren snapped, “How can I? It’s the weekend. I told you I’d mention it to Barbara Russo tomorrow.”

Molly patted his shoulder. “That’s good. She’ll know what to do.”

“How do these callers know about my research?” The crack in his voice sounded like stepping on thin ice. “I haven’t given a seminar or published an abstract about this work.”

Molly moved to the sofa and sank into the cushion. “Then how could anyone find out about it? When did you send in your manuscript?”

“Two weeks ago. Reviewers have to agree not to share the contents before publication.”

“Then, how could anyone else get a copy?”

“That’s just it. They shouldn’t.”

“While you were out with the boys, I thought about all the interest in your gene. Couples would pay a lot of money if they could be guaranteed a future Einstein.”

Deren’s eyebrows furrowed. “This isn’t about making designer babies. The gene was chosen to quantify the success of the transfer technique using a variety of tests O’Malley has in his arsenal. Researchers have been working on gene transfer, or gene therapy as it used to be called, for well over thirty years with little progress. I’d like to think my breakthrough technique could provide the missing protein or enzyme for some genetic 35

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diseases—eliminating a lifetime of expensive medications, treatments, and hospitalizations.

“Besides, using the technology to change attributes such as intelligence is unethical. Next thing you know, people will want to select genes for eye and hair color for their offspring.”

“I’d like to change my brown eyes to blue like yours.” She batted her eyelashes.

Deren sat up straighter. “I love your brown eyes with the yellow flecks. What about height for a future basketball player?”

“What about musical ability? Get their kid on The Voice.”

“I know.” Deren snapped his fingers. “What would be better in wine country? Big feet for stomping grapes.”

They howled in unison. The laughter felt cathartic.

Molly rose. “I hate to break up this stimulating conversation, but I’ve got to start dinner. You want to fire up the grill for the burgers?”

“Sure.”

“Warm up the baked beans?”

“Anything else?”

“Make the lemonade.”

Deren placed a hand on his hip. “And while I am doing all that, what will you be doing?”

“I’ll sit at the table and eat.” She laughed and headed for the kitchen.

“You’re pushing your luck, woman.” He shadowed her to help with dinner preparations. *** With the regularity of an atomic clock, Deren called his mother every Sunday evening at seven. When she didn’t answer her cell phone, he called his twin brother. “Damien, how are you doing? How’s Mom?” 36

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“We’re all doing well, Bro. We’re all excited about your upcoming visit. I did manage to finagle a few days off while you’re here, but not until the end of the week. Mom wants you to stay at her house. She worries about it being empty. You’ll be doing us both a favor. She has me checking her house daily, taking care of the lawn, and getting her mail. I would welcome a break, even if only for a week.

“Did you call Mom’s cell phone?”

“It went to voicemail.”

“She must have forgotten to charge it. Here, I’ll let you talk to her on my phone.”

After a moment’s pause, his mother asked, “How are you, Dear?”

“Good, but I’ll be better once the term is over. Looking forward to our visit. How’s your physical therapy going?”

“I’m starting to get around a little better with the walker. Pam takes me to physical therapy three times a week and makes sure I do my exercises every day. I feel like I’m such a burden.”

“You’re not, Mom. Wish we could get there sooner, but we can’t leave until after Commencement.”

“Uh-oh, there’s a beep. I think it’s that call waiting thing. It’s probably Damien’s work calling about a computer problem. I’ll have to hand the phone over so he can take the call.”

“See you in a week, Mom.” Molly glanced up from her book. “What’s up with Arlene?”

After he recounted the conversation, Molly returned to her reading.

What about his own situation? Last week, he received calls at the college about his gene. Now calls were coming to his cell.

How did they get his mobile number? If he answered and refused to sell, would the calls stop? He doubted it.

Molly was right. Time to let someone else deal with this. He’d dump this on Russo. Then he could concentrate on his CV and the demands of finals week. Any more phone calls from numbers he 37

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didn’t recognize, he wouldn’t answer. After the commencement ceremony on Saturday, he and his family would be heading to Pittsburgh for a week’s vacation.

Pleased with having made a decision, now he needed to concentrate on more immediate matters. He headed for the dining room to grade senior papers. *** Novack paced the lab. Uncomfortable about being near all the breakable glass beakers and test tubes on the countertops, he steered clear of the workbench area. He studied his lab manager, bent over the benchtop. Due to an allegation of plagiarism, he had no advanced degree. But Bernard Smittle was a smart guy.

Novack had a similar experience. Fresh out of high school, he worked for a loan shark for a few years before branching out on his own. Over time, he acquired a handful of businesses by rescuing them from failure—a failure, which he occasionally helped create. Of all his successes, the biotech company had the most potential to make him a billionaire.

“How’s the manufacturing of the little blue pill coming along?” he asked Smittle.

“Your idea was spot on, cashing in on the expiration of the patent for erectile dysfunction medication. We can’t make them fast enough. I had to hire two new employees to meet current demand.” Smittle poured liquid into a graduated cylinder. “Any luck getting the gene?”

“Patterson refused to sell, but Leon has a few ideas.”

Smittle stuffed his hands in the pockets of his long white lab coat. “I’ve gone over the paper numerous times. As long as I have a sample of the gene, I’ll be able to handle our end of production.

Research notes may be helpful, but they’re not critical.”

“What about the protocol section of the paper? You sure you can’t duplicate the gene?”

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“No way. The materials and methods section is about the gene transfer technique. No details about the gene.”

“Hmm.” Novack considered the information. He stretched his arm toward the workbench, but withdrew his hand before touching the surface. Who knew what caustic chemical might be lurking on the surface? “So, you need the actual gene?”

“Yes. Once I sequence the mouse gene, I can compare the nucleotide sequence to identify a similar human gene.”

Novack asked, “How would you do that?”

“Mouse and human genes show a remarkable similarity. The human genome sequence is available online. I’ll look for similar nucleotide sequences between the two. Once I identify the analogous human gene, I can synthesize the string of nucleotides.

Once I make lots of copies, we’re in business.”

“We’ll be able to offer the intelligence gene to fertility clinics, right? I understand Great Britain’s laws regarding genetic modification of embryos have been relaxed.”

When Smittle smiled, the fluorescent light reflected off his bleached-white teeth. He brushed a strand of blond hair away from his tanned face. “What wealthy millennial wouldn’t want a high IQ child? If they can’t get access in the States, they’ll go overseas.”

Yes, Novack had no regrets hiring Smittle.

39

Chapter Five Monday Peter O’Malley checked his watch again. Patterson and Edelman should be arriving soon. He invited them to his laboratory to share some exciting news. Combing his fingers through his beard, he made a mental note to get a trim before the graduation ceremony on Saturday. He turned at the sound of a light tap on the door jamb.

He waved the two in, Patterson in a suit coat and tie and Edelman in a rumpled shirt with sweat stains under the armpits.

Edelman scanned the lab. “What’s this all about?”

Patterson asked, “Will this take long? My first exam is in thirty minutes.”

O’Malley rubbed his palms together. “This weekend, when one of my students ran a Morris water maze for an experiment, I decided to test our latest litter of mice.”

“Is that the test where you put the mice in a swimming pooltype setting, Buddy?” Edelman rocked back on his heels.

“It is.”

Patterson said, “My memory of the details is vague. Would you elaborate?”

“Better yet, I’ll show you.” O’Malley waved them over to the next lab bench. “Morris developed the maze to evaluate spatial learning and memory. A platform is submerged within a pool of water. The water is made cloudy by adding a substance, such as 40

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powdered milk. A mouse placed in the water will swim around looking for a way out. Once the mouse locates the platform, it’s removed from the maze. The next time the mouse is placed back in the pool, it will find the platform faster because of visual cues placed around the perimeter.”

“Are these the cues?” Deren pointed to the four walls, each with the image of a different shape.

O’Malley nodded. “Black and white posters with stripes or various shapes are generally used. The mouse remembers the location of the raised area relative to the surroundings. On average, after six times in the pool, the mouse will head straight for the platform.

“However, the last batch of transfected mice did much better.

They zeroed in on the platform after only the second or third trial. You should have seen it. I can set up a demonstration to show you. It’s absolutely amazing. It confirms the additive effects of transferring multiple copies of the gene. This is an invaluable finding. I wanted to see what you thought before I verified these results.”

Patterson closed his gaping mouth. “That’s incredible.”

Edelman nudged Patterson. “That’s some powerful gene we isolated, huh, Buddy?”

“Don’t forget, Peter provided the mouse whose gene we isolated.”

O’Malley turned toward a cage. “I have a few untested mice here. I can show you how they respond in the water maze.”

Patterson interrupted. “Can you show us later? I have to get to my class.”

“Sure. We can do this another time. Sorry, I didn’t think to run this test earlier to be included in the manuscript. When I confirm the results, you think we could submit a Letter to the Editor or something?”

Patterson scrunched his lips. “It’s a thought, which reminds me. Something I wanted to bring up. I’ve gotten a few phone 41

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calls from people interested in purchasing the mouse gene.” He frowned. “Apparently, some outsiders have gotten their hands on our paper.”

O’Malley stroked his beard. “Now that you mention it, I did get a few calls last week, but I deflected to you. I think you should speak to the editor about the leak. Don’t reviewers agree not to divulge the intellectual property prior to publishing? Could your email have been intercepted?”

Patterson shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on. You get any calls, Stan?”

Edelman shrugged. “A few.”

O’Malley leaned forward. “What are you going to do, Deren?”

“I was planning on talking to Russo to see what she suggests.”

“Sounds like a plan.” O’Malley smiled at the memory of his first week on campus, when Patterson approached him about collaborating on a project. How fortunate for O’Malley that after defending his dissertation, Buchanan College’s psych department had an opening. After applying and interviewing, he was offered the job. And now, at the end of O’Malley’s second academic year, he had a potential publication involving groundbreaking research. Things couldn’t have worked out better.

Edelman said, “We all worked on this. We should all benefit.”

O’Malley spoke up. “As first author, Deren should take the lead. I hope you can find some way for us to capitalize on any part of this research. It’ll take me decades to pay off my student loans and mortgage. Would be nice to get a little help.” O’Malley hoped Patterson made the right decision about the bids on the gene. And soon. O’Malley didn’t have a good feeling about the leak of unpublished information. *** Before leaving the psych lab, Deren asked, “Can you email me your results?”

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“I can do better than that,” O’Malley said. “I have a hard copy for each of you in my office.”

Deren and Edelman followed O’Malley down the hall.

O’Malley picked up several sheets from his desk and held them out.

Deren took one of the proffered pages. “I’ll look over your results and let you know what I think. Maybe the editor will let us add this to our paper. If not, it might make a nice Letter to the Editor. Sorry to have to cut this short, but my first exam is in fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah, back to the old salt mines,” Edelman said.

“Hold up, Deren.” O’Malley placed a hand on Deren’s shoulder. “I have a bad feeling about these phone calls. These guys will keep calling until they get what they want. As first author, this is your responsibility. Take action now before it spins out of control.”

“Sure, Peter.” Deren managed a half-smile. O’Malley sounded like Molly, harping on the urgency of dealing with the issue.

The demands on Deren’s time were piling up during the most demanding week of the semester. “As soon as my class is over, I’ll stop in Russo’s office and run all this by her.”

O’Malley slapped Deren on the back as he exited.

Bristling, Deren stomped out of the building. Everyone had an opinion on what he should do. Wouldn’t anyone let him make his own decisions? But O’Malley had a point. The phone calls would continue. While Deren didn’t see the urgency, the callers apparently saw a potential for the mouse gene, something Deren would have to deal with at some point. Hopefully, he could dump everything in his department chair’s lap. If not, he’d make an appointment to talk to the dean as soon as he got the chance.

Not wanting to be late for his class, Deren picked up his pace.

“Wait up there, Buddy.”

Deren slowed for Edelman to catch up.

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Edelman waved O’Malley’s paper. In between breaths, Edelman said, “These results are pretty remarkable. A real feather in our cap.”

“Pretty amazing.” Deren entered the science building and headed down the hall. He heard Edelman wheezing behind him.

In his office, Deren hovered over his desk. He had a few minutes before his molecular biology class. Out of curiosity, he picked up the log book and flipped through the pages to see how many copies of the gene had been incorporated into the last batch of embryos, the litter O’Malley used in the latest experiment.

Running his finger down the page, he found the information.

Deren scooped up copies of the exam and bluebooks. At the doorway, Stan’s bulk blocked Deren’s path.

“What were you looking up?”

Deren shifted his feet. “Seems we got about six copies of the gene into those mice. No wonder they did so well.”

“Really? I wonder what would happen if even more copies were incorporated.” Edelman’s eyes glistened.

Deren’s stomach clenched. “Don’t you have exams to prepare, Stan?”

“That would be truly amazing. We could try it, don’t you think?”

Deren stared at his friend. “What’s the point, Stan? The gene transfer technique works, which was the purpose of the research.

Pete’s additional study is icing on the cake. We don’t need to put the cake back in the oven. It’s done.” Stan’s focus on the gene instead of the transfer protocol mimicked the callers. Deren shifted the papers in his arm and stepped forward, but Edelman didn’t budge.

“Don’t you think we should do something more with these offers?” Edelman licked his lips. “Consider the interest being generated, all the offers being made. We could work a bidding war to our advantage. A win for us and for the college. Take advantage of the offer.”

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“It’s only a mouse gene.”

Edelman snagged Deren’s jacket sleeve. “Don’t you realize what you have here, Bud? You’re sitting on the mother lode, yet you’re content to walk away from unmined gold. What the hell are you thinking? You should milk it for everything it’s worth.”

“Research should be shared, not exploited for financial gain.

I really have to go.” Deren needed to dump this dilemma in someone else’s lap. And soon. He brushed past his colleague.

Edelman dogged him. “It’s not easy getting a promotion, you know. Take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Deren shook off his colleague. “This paper is important to me, too. I’m running late. I’ll talk to you later.” Securing the stack under his arm, he dashed down the hall. Great. Now Edelman was on his back. Sometimes his best friend’s attitude rubbed Deren the wrong way.

Why wouldn’t anyone let him make his own decision?

Everyone had an opinion. The badgering reminded him of grade school, being teased and taunted about his stuttering and Dumbo ears. Well, not exactly the same, but similar. He needed a break from it all. Vacation couldn’t get here fast enough.

45

Chapter Six Tuesday Molly handed Deren a plate of scrambled eggs and toast.

“What’s on your agenda today?”

“I’ve got another final and the rest of the senior papers to grade.” He shoveled in a forkful of egg.

“Did you talk to your department chair?”

“Every time I stop by her office, she’s not there.” Deren took a sip of coffee.

“Are you going to talk to her today?”

Slamming down his mug, liquid splashed onto his hand and the table. “I’ll talk to Russo when I get the chance.”

Molly jerked backward. “I don’t mean to tell you what to do.”

He mopped up the coffee with a napkin. “Sorry.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “With everything going on, I’m a wreck. Russo wasn’t in her office yesterday. I know what I have to get done before the weekend, and I don’t need reminders. I’ll take care of it and everything else I have to get done by Friday.”

“I understand.” She reached up to touch his cheek.

Before she could lower her arm, he snagged her hand and kissed the back of it. “Thanks for breakfast.”

She looked at the half-eaten egg and triangle of toast on his plate. “You haven’t finished.”

He rubbed his abdomen. “I can’t eat any more. My stomach’s in knots. Must be nerves.”

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“Have you gotten other phone calls?”

“If I don’t recognize the number, I don’t answer.” He carried his plate and mug to the kitchen counter. “I’ve got to get going.”

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Thanks for breakfast.”

In the midst of washing the dishes, she heard the screen door slap against the door jamb. Her heart ached to see him so uptight. She hoped his walk to work would help him to prioritize the demands on his time. How often had he told her he used the fifteen minutes to develop research ideas or to rehearse his lectures? The phone calls had to be stressful. Maybe she could convince Deren to let someone else handle the phone calls.

The boys would be down soon for breakfast. After setting the table, she opened one of the scarred and dented metal cabinets in search of the oatmeal. Would things have been different if they hadn’t moved? While the water heated, she stirred in the cereal.

She missed her secretarial job at the University of Pittsburgh.

Taking advantage of an employee benefit, she enrolled in night classes. Halfway toward a bachelor’s degree in accounting, she quit after Mike was born.

A bubbling sound snapped her out of her reverie. She yanked the pan from the burner before oatmeal cascaded over the rim.

“Time for breakfast,” she yelled to her sons.

Moments later, the two raced into the kitchen and sat before the steaming bowls.

Tommy sprinkled sugar on his cereal, forming a white coating on top. “Look,” he exclaimed, “a snow cone.”

She shook her head. Excess, just like the syrup. Mike had his hand out, waiting in silence for the sugar bowl.

Once finished, she sent the boys upstairs to brush their teeth while she made Mike’s lunch. Before hustling the two out the door, she checked to make sure Mike had his backpack. They would head to the Edelmans’ house a block away. From there, her sons, along with the Edelman children, would continue the 47

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few blocks to the elementary and middle schools. A past memory warmed her heart. At the beginning of this school year, Mike announced, “You don’t need to walk with us to school, Mom. I’m grown up. I can take care of my little brother. And don’t call me Mikey anymore.”

Molly stepped outside behind her sons and waved goodbye, already thinking about what she needed to accomplish before picking Tommy up after his half day of kindergarten. She gave the screen door a nudge with her wider-than-she-would-like hips. The door hadn’t latched shut for weeks. The last thing she needed now was another repair bill. She watched as her sons trekked down the block. Knowing Deren wouldn’t get around to fixing the door, she decided to give it a go before calling a repairman.

On her way through the house to the garage, her cell phone rang. She fished it out of her jeans pocket. Molly’s spirits lifted when she saw her caller’s name on the screen.

“Kelly, it’s good to hear from you.” How long had it been since they’d talked? She could picture her friend tucking a strand of her shoulder-length, chestnut-brown hair behind a diamondstudded ear. “How are you?”

“Busy, swamped with end-of-semester inventory. I wanted to tell you about this amazing website I found. Last night I ordered the cutest Coach purse and the most adorable green satin throw pillows for the couch.” Kelly said.

Molly’s euphoria evaporated. “How nice.” She tried not to sound underwhelmed. “Sounds like the perfect highlight.”

“I was thinking the same for you. Your living room could use a splash of color.”

Molly’s grip on the phone tightened. Must be nice to have extra money to spend on such frills. “Can we get together soon?”

“No time this week. I’ve got to run. Can’t be late for work.”

Molly tossed her phone on the kitchen countertop. Is that why Kelly called, to boast about another extravagant purchase?

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She understood Kelly’s busy schedule, with four children and a full-time job at the college bookstore. Despite their ten-year age difference, she and Kelly had become close friends, getting together often.

What changed? Over the past few months, Kelly seemed distant. They’d only exchanged brief phone calls, like the one today. Molly couldn’t figure out what was wrong. She missed the connection they used to share. Was it something she had done or said? She hoped the problem was fixable. She valued their friendship and hoped Kelly’s standoffishness was temporary.

Had Kelly found another best friend? Her stomach flipped, like stepping off a cliff—a familiar feeling. Throughout public school, every few years she’d lose her best friend by a family move or other ways she didn’t want to dwell on.

Being one of six siblings, she sometimes felt invisible. Even the closeness she had with her sister Lily changed when Molly moved across the state. If only she could arrange to meet with Kelly and find out what was wrong.

Molly stomped through the mud room and flung open the door to the garage. It smacked against the wall. Holding her breath, she checked to see the damage. Her shoulders sagged when she saw a hole in the drywall. Great. Another patch and repair job on her to-do list.

She took a calming breath before rummaging around in the toolbox. Not having checked the screw heads, she grabbed a Phillips and a flathead. Returning to the screen door, she tightened the hinge screws and retested the door. It closed with ease. Perfect.

Pleased to avoid another handyman’s expense, she stood in front of her work, hands on her hips, like Rosie the Riveter.

Bet Deren won’t even notice. *** 49

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The knock on his office door shattered Edelman’s concentration. He tossed his pen on the desk. “Who is it?”

Patterson walked in. “Stan, my man, you ready for your exam today?”

At least Patterson was in a better mood. Edelman patted the stack by his elbow. “One exam ready, working on the next.

What’s up?”

Patterson shifted his feet. “Did you know the college wants to offer science courses online?”

Stan crossed his arms and leaned back. The chair squeaked at his change in position. “Is that right? How is that supposed to work with the labs?”

“I’m not sure. That’s something to think about over the summer.”

“We don’t get paid to work over the summer, Champ,” Stan grumbled. Or maybe he should have said ‘chump.’ He couldn’t understand his friend’s obsessive-compulsive nature. Reaching for his pipe, he rapped the bowl on his desk.

“True, but an online class will take a huge amount of preparation. I hope they have support staff to help with this. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to develop a website.” Patterson bounced on his toes as if waiting for the sound of the gun at the start of a race.

Stan shook his head. “News to me. I know the English and poli-sci departments have been online for a few years.”

“Well, gotta run. My next class starts in five minutes.”

Patterson bolted down the hallway.

And he’s off. Stan flicked his hand to wave at Patterson’s back.

What’s got into him? He’s got more energy than a jumping bean.

Stan scanned his cluttered office. What a depressing sight.

He heard a student’s comment last year that his lectures were drier than biscotti. He gave them the information they needed.

He wasn’t there to entertain.

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Maybe a change was in the wind with this research. Like a tornado, he hoped. Who cared how others found out about the gene? Patterson should take advantage of the unique situation and start a bidding war for the damned gene. It was just a string of nucleotides. But knowing him, he’d stand on his principles— the fool.

Stan clenched his unlit pipe between his teeth and rubbed his forehead. Why had he stayed in academia? With no promotion after six years at another college, he moved his family to Buchanan, essentially starting all over again as an assistant professor. And here he was, five years later. His head dropped forward. He stared, unseeing, at the questions on the page. *** Deren opened the screen door, which no longer stuck. He shrugged. Must be a change in the weather. On his way to the office, he stopped when he saw Molly in the living room.

She set her book spine up on the coffee table. “You’re home early. How was your day?”

“Not as productive as I would have liked.”

He continued to the office, his wife trailing behind. His heavy backpack slipped from his fingers onto the floor, its weight vibrating through his feet.

Molly placed her palms on the desk. “I was thinking about your intelligence gene. Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do?”

He held his breath and counted to ten, not wanting to say anything he would later regret. “Can we talk about this after dinner? I have a lot to get done.”

“You really should do something, you know. It’s an amazing opportunity. If you patent it through the college, you’d get some of the royalties, wouldn’t you? Or else sell to the biotech company 51

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and have them sign an agreement restricting its usage. What do you think?”

He tapped a pen on the desktop. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Students came to my office all morning to find out their scores or ask questions about their upcoming final. I had to get away or I’d never finish my grading.” He emptied the contents of his backpack on the desk. The stack threatened to topple over.

He placed his hand on the pile. “This is only some of what I’ve got to do before noon on Friday.” The timbre of his voice rose.

He jabbed his finger into his chest. “I don’t need anyone telling me how to do my job.” Although he normally went along with his wife’s advice, this time he was going to stand his ground and make decisions about his own research.

She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not telling you what to do. I’m making a suggestion.”

He blew out a breath. “I know you’re trying to help. I wasn’t able to catch Russo in her office all day, and I didn’t get a chance to call anyone else. Please, don’t worry about this. I’ll get everything done before we leave on vacation.”

Not saying a word, she pivoted and left the room.

He slumped in the chair. Vacation couldn’t get here fast enough. *** Edelman arrived home after a long day. Upon entering the kitchen, he inhaled deeply. His stomach growled at the aroma.

“Something sure smells good.”

“It was dinner.” Leaning over the sink, Kelly vigorously scrubbed a pan, her face hidden by her shoulder-length hair.

“We already ate. The kids are upstairs in their rooms doing homework. I saved a plate for you in the fridge. You should’ve called to let me know you’d be late.”

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“Sorry.” He held up his hands as if in surrender but didn’t really mean it. The tension between them had been building over the last several months. He couldn’t seem to do anything right anymore. Since the letter, Kelly would fly into a rage with no apparent provocation. At least she had the wherewithal to yell at him when the children weren’t around.

“Kelly, how many times do I have to say I’m sorry? It’s not my fault.”

She flung the dishrag into the sink and turned around, her face flushed and hands clenched. “It is too your fault. You do just enough to squeak by. Coast through life. But with no momentum, coasting only gets you so far. It catches up with you.”

“We’ve been over this before, Kelly. Can’t you give it a rest?”

His wife glowered at him. “No. I. Can’t.”

“What about the intelligence gene Deren and I discovered?

We’ve been getting phone calls right and left from people offering to pay big bucks.” An exaggeration since Patterson received the majority of calls, but since he and O’Malley participated in the research, all three of them should benefit.

“Yeah, right. Just sit back and wait for things to happen. You think everything should just fall right into your lap, don’t you?”

She waved her hand in the air. “I should have listened to my dad when he said you wouldn’t amount to anything.” Turning her back, she submerged her hands in the dishwater, pans clanking together.

“Geez, Kelly, that again? Your dad’s insane work schedule ruined his health. I refuse to let that happen to me.”

“How dare you slander my dad’s good memory?” Kelly slammed the pan down into the sink. Sudsy water erupted like a geyser, pelting the floor. She stormed out of the kitchen.

Son of a gun, she got the last word again. Opening the refrigerator, Edelman removed the plastic-wrapped plate of lasagna and breathed in the enticing aroma of tomatoes and Italian spices. He set the dish in the microwave.

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At least he could eat in peace. He needed some quiet time to think about his academic future.

And his marriage.

54

Chapter Seven Wednesday Hunched over his desk, Deren opened the next molecular genetics exam booklet. After adjusting the goose-necked lamp, he read a student’s response to the first essay question and made a few comments. A light rap on his partially opened door broke his concentration. He looked up to see one of his general biology students in a skimpy halter-top, short shorts, and sandals. He blinked. When she turned in her answer sheet twenty minutes ago, she wore jeans and a T-shirt. Had she changed just to see him?

He cleared his throat. “Heidi, looks like you’re ready for vacation.”

She sashayed to his desk and flipped her wavy blonde tresses with her long, delicate fingers. “I wanted to find out how I did on my final.”

Talk about instant feedback. His forearm covered the stack of scantrons. “I-I haven’t run the answer sheets through the scanner yet.”

The temperature in the room seemed to increase by twenty degrees. He tugged at his tie and ran a finger under the collar of his Oxford shirt, but the action didn’t seem to increase the airflow into his lungs.

Heidi purred, “I wanted to find out if there was anything I could do to get a B in your class.” Her eyelashes fluttered.

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“Well, um, you could have turned in the extra credit lab report,” he stuttered. “That would have helped.” He tapped his pen on the desk blotter, which sounded as loud as the woodpecker at his backyard maple tree.

“Please, Dr. Patterson. I really need a B in this course to stay in my sorority. There must be something I can do to improve my grade.” Heidi’s plump, red-painted lower lip protruded in a pout. She rested her palms on the desktop, her fingers splayed, showing off red-lacquered nails that matched her lips.

Raising his gaze, he gawked at the cleavage from her lowcut top. Heat radiated off his face, like a supernova. Averting his eyes, he clamped his arm on the stack of exams. “I’m s-sorry. It’s too late to do anything about your grade.”

“Are you sure?” Heidi leaned closer. The graze of her breast on his hand felt like a hot poker.

Deren sucked in a breath. He yanked his arm back, toppling the stack of scantrons, a few cascading onto the floor. “Y-yes, I’m sure.” The college had a strict policy regarding faculty fraternizing with students. He didn’t want to become embroiled in a “he said, she said” situation. Several months ago, a student accused an English professor of impropriety. Despite the denial by the educator, the college favored the student. Even with tenure, the faculty member was let go. Deren couldn’t lose his job over something like this. One more thing for Molly to be upset about. He loved his family, but lately, in his wife’s eyes at least, he couldn’t do anything right. He didn’t need this on top of everything else he was dealing with.

After picking up the papers on the floor, he returned them to the desk. Heidi was still there. Embarrassed by the situation, he felt the heat creep up his neck. His hands flew up to make sure his hair covered his protruding ears. Gathering his courage, he looked her in the eyes. “Now is not the time to be concerned about your grade. You should have thought of this earlier in the semester when I gave extra credit assignments. It’s too late to do 56

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anything about your grade.” He shooed her away with a double flick of his hand.

Her lips, which had been plump and full when she pouted, now became a thin, straight line. Her red nails disappeared in her fists, and her eyes flashed.

Was she that upset about her grade? He watched her flounce out of the room, mesmerized by the rhythm of her hips.

Deren shook from the adrenaline coursing through his body.

Once his heartbeat returned to normal, he shut his office door.

Too shaken to return to grading, he felt something was off about the student’s visit. Although he didn’t know her well, Heidi’s dress and behavior seemed out of character.

Now that he thought about it, sororities required a C average, not a B, to remain in campus housing. Why had Heidi lied about grades? If she had problems in other courses, she should be kicked out of the sorority so she could concentrate on her grades.

Or was there more to this than her grade?

He leaned back in his chair. What could be her ulterior motive? Did she want to get him in trouble with the college?

Knowing he had to get ahead of the situation, he called the dean’s office to find out who he should talk to. While waiting for the information, he listened to the steady rhythm of computer keys in the background. The secretary gave him a name and number to call.

“Thanks. While I have you on the phone, I’d like to make an appointment with the dean. Is he available today?”

“Too bad you didn’t call earlier this week. His schedule is filled until the commencement ceremony, and then he’s away for a week.”

“Let him know this may involve a patent.”

“He’ll be pleased to hear that.” The rustling of pages filled the brief silence. “I’ll pencil you in for first thing Monday after next.

Eight o’clock work for you?”

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“Sounds great.” He’d have plenty of time to prepare his pitch for dealing with the phone calls and asking about a share of any profits from his research.

The stress of everything he was dealing with was getting to him. He felt like a juggler with too many balls who couldn’t keep them all in the air. He ran his hand through his hair. Not only did he have to wait to talk to the dean, but he hadn’t heard from Russo. Not finding the chair in her office all day Monday and Tuesday, he left his CV in her mail slot, along with a note about the phone calls. Why hadn’t the department chair gotten back to him? No longer able to focus on his grading, he leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. While he’d taken care of scheduling a meeting with the dean, he wasn’t sure what to do about Molly’s unhappiness. He seemed to be failing in the husband department.

He drummed his fingers on the desktop. What could he do to make her happy? *** Deren arrived home and hung up his coat. With his backpack in one hand and a shopping bag in the other, he gravitated toward sounds in the kitchen. After stashing his backpack in the office, he set the bag on the countertop near Molly.

She glanced at the bag, but continued chopping a carrot.

Standing behind his wife, he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his cheek on the side of her head.

“Mmm.” She removed her left hand from the vegetable and patted his arm. “How was your day?”

“Long.” He held her tight and breathed in the aroma of her herbal shampoo. He felt some of his tension drain away.

“Everything all right?”

“It is now.”

Molly used her knife to point. “What’s in the bag?”

He pushed it closer to her. “Open it up.”

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“What is it?”

“A surprise.” He stepped back so he could see her expression.

“A surprise for me?” Molly’s eyes widened. She seemed to glow with anticipation. Wiping her hands on her apron, she reached into the bag. When she pulled out a two-pound box of chocolates, her smile faltered.

Deren felt as if he’d been stomach punched. Another blow to his ego. “The caramel filling. They’re your favorite, aren’t they?

You haven’t had any chocolate for a while.” What had he done now?

“Yes. Thank you. It’s very thoughtful.” Her voice was flat.

Setting the box on the countertop, she pushed it away, then resumed chopping.

Dumbfounded, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say. Then he noticed her shoulders shaking.

In a panic, Deren moved closer. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffed. “Nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

He turned her around to face him and saw the tear tracks glistening on her cheeks.

“You are so wrapped up in your work, you don’t pay attention to anything else. I told you several weeks ago I was trying to lose weight.” When she returned to the cutting board, the chopping became more vigorous.

The cracks in his ego widened, like a skater on thin ice. He didn’t know what to say. Nothing he did was right anymore. He rested his hand on her back. “I love you, Molly.”

Sniveling, she cut an onion in half.

“I’d do anything for you and the boys.”

“I know.” She sniffed.

“I made an appointment to talk to Dean Madison.”

“That’s good.”

“Is it the screen door? It shuts fine now.”

“I fixed it.”

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“You’re so handy with things like that.”

No response.

What was wrong with her? Couldn’t she accept his peace offering graciously instead of making him feel like gum on the bottom of a shoe? “You let things bother you too much.”

Molly smacked the butt of the knife handle on the countertop.

“Your problem is not taking more control of your life. Growing up, I had to fight for what I wanted.”

“I get that. You and your five siblings battled for your parents’ attention. I’ve seen the way your mom immerses herself in a project. I can’t imagine how difficult it was when your oldest sister entered the beauty contest.” Deren stepped back from his wife. “But some things you can’t control.” Even to him, his voice sounded weak, timid.

Molly turned toward him. “What about your scientific experiments? Your own little world.” Her hand made a circle in the air. “Certainly, you control that.”

“I control the design, but not the results. Right now, my own little world is tilted off axis.”

“Well, mine isn’t on firm ground either.”

“As much as you try to control events, entropy always wins.”

He shrugged. “It’s a law of nature. Order turns into disorder.

Neatness into chaos.”

“I guess there are some things you can’t control.” Sniffing, she returned to her prep work.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

Molly shook her head.

Why wouldn’t Molly talk about what was bothering her?

They used to talk about everything. He retreated to the den to lick his wounds.

He remembered the crush he had on Molly when she was a secretary in Pitt’s biology department. He’d stop by to see her, more to hear her voice than to chat. She was so kind to him.

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he’d say without stumbling over every word. Their first date, he remembered the electrical charge when they held hands or their arms touched in the darkened theater. His love for her was as strong as ever, but different from when they were first dating, like the familiarity of a worn college jacket.

While he understood her frustrations of dealing with their finances, he was trying to excel at his job so he could make more money. They had different viewpoints. While his sights were on the future, she seemed to wallow in the past.

He graded a few essay exams before being called for dinner.

The meal was a new one-pot chicken casserole. While quite tasty, Deren didn’t have much of an appetite. Heidi’s cleavage invaded his thoughts. He pushed the food around his plate as the boys jabbered like magpies, crowing with excitement about the impending trip, or more to the point, time away from school.

“You know,” Molly said, her fork poised in the air, “since you boys will be missing a whole week of school, I planned some educational activities.”

“Aw, Mom,” Tommy groaned.

Mike asked, “Can we go to the zoo?”

“We’ll see.”

The boys continued chattering.

Deren picked at his biscuit, brushing at the crumbs scattered around his plate.

“Don’t you like the casserole? Your mother emailed me the recipe.”

“Oh, yeah? It’s really good.” He forced a forkful into his mouth. “Mmm,” he mumbled between chews.

The boys mimicked him, rubbing their bellies and screeching with laughter.

“After dinner, if you two help me clear the table, maybe your mom will agree on a trip to the zoo.” Deren winked at his wife.

She smiled back.

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Glad to see Molly’s mood improving, he took another bite of food. However, he couldn’t shake his earlier uncomfortable vibe with the student.

What was Heidi up to? *** Finished with the dishes, Molly joined the rest of the family in the living room and picked up her novel. Canned laughter from a silly sitcom made concentration difficult. Her book had to be returned to the library before their vacation. She glanced at Deren, who stared unseeing at the TV. Relieved when the show ended, she sent Mike and Tommy upstairs to get ready for bed.

Deren lowered the TV volume. “I’ll check on them in a few minutes.” He clicked through the programs, stopping long enough to view what was on. Molly tried to ignore the channel surfing. When she finished the chapter, she set the book down.

Deren turned off the TV and rose. “I’ll check on the boys now.”

“I’ll go with you.”

She tucked the covers around each boy. With a peck on their cheeks, she warned, “Any carrying on, and there’ll be no TV for the rest of the week.”

Tommy pouted.

“We mean business, guys,” Deren said.

Tommy groaned and yanked the covers over his head.

Mike said, “Night, Mom. Night, Dad.” She turned off their light and shut the door. She followed Deren down the stairs and settled on the couch.

Back in his recliner, Deren bent forward, elbows on his thighs and head in his palms.

Was he still sulking about her reaction to the candy? He was being thoughtful, and she snapped at him. Or was he worried about the phone calls?

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She felt the distance between them growing, a feeling she didn’t like. Breaking the silence, she tested the waters. “Thanks for the candy.”

He nodded.

“When I stopped in the general store today, Rita Winslow told me about a sale on lumber this week. I picked up a few two by fours. After our vacation, I thought we could replace those warped boards on the porch. I bought a can of water sealant, too.” Taking in a breath, she hoped she didn’t sound controlling.

“I thought we’d better take care of it before someone gets hurt.”

“Okay.”

“Are you upset because I didn’t like your gift?”

“What?” He lifted his head. “No.” “Something’s bothering you. Did you get another phone call?”

“No.” Setting the book on the armrest, she walked over to Deren and massaged his shoulders. “Your muscles are tight.”

“Mmm. That feels great.”

“What’s bothering you?”

Deren sighed. “I’m upset about something that happened today.”

She walked behind the chair and continued kneading his shoulders. “What’s wrong? Too much entropy?” she chuckled.

“It’s not a laughing matter. One of my students stopped by my office and made a flagrant pass at me.”

“Oh, yeah?” She was more amused than alarmed. “Is she attractive?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I say yes, then I’m a letch. If I say no, then I’m blind.”

She swatted at him. “Don’t be silly. What did she want?”

“A higher grade in the course.”

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“Well, maybe she needs the grade to get into an advanced biology class.”

“I have no idea what her major is, but it’s not science. Said she needed a B to stay in her sorority house, which is not true. I can’t figure out why she lied.”

“The little tramp. Maybe she likes staring into your baby blues, like I do.” She ran her thumbs up his spine.

“Ahhhh, I don’t think so. She sat in the last row and would be one of the first out the door when the bell rang. She never asked questions after lectures, never came to my office, and never gave me those doe-eyes like some of her classmates.”

“Oh, so your female students flutter their eyelashes at you, do they? Any little Indiana Jones-type message on their eyelids?”

She karate-chopped his neck.

“Nothing like that. We’re getting off topic here. What bothers me is she waited until the end of the course to decide she expected a better grade without putting in the effort.”

“What are you going to do?” Molly asked.

“I spoke to someone at the college about the situation. In case she brings sexual harassment charges against me. False, of course.”

“You think she would do that?”

“I don’t know what to think, but the situation made me so uneasy. It just doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t want to lose my job over her word against mine. I feel like there’s something or someone else behind it.”

“Sounds like you’re paranoid with everything going on, but you made the right decision and took control.” She grasped his shoulders. “I have an idea. Something to help those tense muscles and take your mind off your problems.”

He sighed. “Molly, I don’t have time for one of your little projects right now. I promise, after we get back from vacation, you can give me your summer to-do list.”

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Molly bent close to his ear and whispered, giving her best impersonation of Scarlett Johansson’s smoky voice. “I think you’ll like this project. It doesn’t require clothing.”

“You know, I can always finish grading exams tomorrow.”

Deren was right behind her as they raced up the steps.

65

Chapter Eight Thursday Stan Edelman entered his office. He kicked a crumpled fastfood bag over to the corner, next to an empty soda can and discarded jacket. Plopping the test booklets on his desk caused another stack of papers to topple over the edge like a slinky. The sheets cascaded off the desktop and skated across the floor. He stepped over the mess toward the desk. His chair creaked and rocked when he sat. Maybe he should put in a request for one of those ergonomic ones. He put on his reading glasses and began grading exams.

At the sound of a tap at the door, he looked up to see a young co-ed enter. He sat up straighter. Her nose scrunched up. Maybe it was time to clean the place up a bit. Maybe get an air freshener, one of the plug-in kinds.

“Hi, Dr. Edelman. I’m Heidi Smith. I’d really like to take one of your classes next fall, but it’s filled. Is there anything I can do to get in?” She leaned forward and pouted.

He gawked at her breasts, straining beneath the fabric of her skimpy top. She seductively wrapped a wavy blonde strand around her finger. He ogled her flawless skin, the pale blue eyes, and curves in all the right places. His reading glasses slipped down his nose.

One of his classes is filled? He couldn’t believe it. Patterson’s, yes, but never his. Although friends, Edelman harbored a grudge about Patterson being the more popular lecturer.

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Stan cleared his throat. “I should be able to arrange something.” He removed his reading glasses and sucked in his gut. “But it might require some extracurricular activity. Let me have your phone number.” He flipped a blue book over and pushed it toward her.

Heidi wrote down her number. “Don’t wait too long to call.”

She waggled a finger at him, twirled on the ball of her foot, and exited his office, long hair billowing around her shoulders, her buttocks swaying with each stride.

He was going to have a hard time focusing on grading papers. *** After dinner, Deren took his sons to the park, the same spot where they had been earlier in the week. He checked around for any signs of footprints or broken branches. He made a game of it with the boys, looking for a coin or trinket someone may have dropped. Not finding much, they tossed a football back and forth and talked about their upcoming vacation. The sound of a snapped twig put Deren on high alert. He scanned the surrounding area for any sign of movement. Was it his imagination, or was someone lurking in the bushes, spying on them? Deren caught the ball and hesitated, listening for rustling leaves.

“Come on, Dad, throw me the ball,” Tommy shouted.

Deren cocked his arm back and thought he heard another noise behind him. He hurled the ball over the boys’ heads. While they ran to fetch the ball, Deren checked out the shrubbery.

His sons returned with the football. Tommy complained, “Why are you checking the bushes again? All we found was a penny and a gum wrapper.”

“Sorry, guys. Guess I have my mind on other things.”

Mike asked, “Can we go over to the playground now?”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “I’d rather go down the slide than chase a dumb old football.”

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Deren agreed. While his sons ran ahead, he took a final look around the area. *** On Friday morning, Deren Patterson finished reading the last senior paper. All he had to do now was submit the final grades.

Leaning back in his chair, he reflected on his time at Buchanan College. The first year had been rough with all the time spent preparing lectures. Each year got a little easier, giving him more time for research and to advise seniors on their projects. His classes filled up quickly, a bone of contention with his friend Edelman—nothing he could do about that.

Rolling away from his desk, Deren stretched and let out a big yawn. He rubbed his eyes. His paranoia of being spied on at the playground had robbed him of a good night’s sleep.

Deren passed the department chair’s office. Seeing the open door, he peeked in, hoping to talk to Russo finally. She wasn’t there.

He continued down the hall to Edelman’s office and rapped at the open door. “Mind if I come in?”

Stan removed his reading glasses. His chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “Sure, Buddy. Make yourself at home. What’s up?” He laced his fingers over his paunch.

Deren dusted crumbs off the chair before sitting. “You know anything about Russo? I haven’t seen her all week.”

“I heard she had a family emergency.”

“Hope it’s nothing serious. Stan, I think someone was watching me and the boys at the playground last night. Just a feeling I got. You know the prickling sensation on your neck when you think someone is staring at you? I didn’t mention it to Molly this time because she would freak. Something similar happened on Sunday.”

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“Seriously?” Edelman rocked forward. “Why would someone be spying on you? All those phone calls are spooking you, Buddy.

It’s probably just some kids goofing off.”

“I don’t know. I’ve got an uneasy feeling about it. Have you gotten any more calls?”

Edelman reached for his pipe. “A few.” He ran his fingers along the stem. “Have you accepted any offers?”

“Of course not,” Deren snapped. “Well, to be honest, I haven’t been answering any outside calls.”

“This whole thing will blow over once the paper is published.”

“That could be six months from now.” Deren stood. Placing his palms on the desk, he leaned forward. “Maybe the bidders don’t want us to publish. Maybe they want to capitalize on the gene. Molly told me her ideas about using an analogous human gene for embryo transfer. You know, designer baby stuff.”

Edelman’s jaw dropped. “Whoa there, Bud. Sounds too scifi to me. Forget about it for now. You’ll be leaving on your trip soon. Put it out of your mind.”

Earlier in the week, Edelman seemed keen on taking advantage of the offers. Maybe he was right not to dwell on the calls. Letting out a breath, Deren sat back down. “You’re right.

The sooner I get away from all of this, the better I’ll feel. In fact, we’re leaving a day earlier than planned. Which reminds me, could you pick me up for Commencement? Molly wants to do some shopping before we leave.”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks, Stan.” Deren waved goodbye. His next stop was the psychology building. Breathing in the fresh scent of recently mowed grass, he sauntered down the paved walkway.

O’Malley’s office door was shut. Deren knocked. Not getting a reply, he continued down the hall to the lab. His nose wrinkled at the odor of animal excrement. O’Malley was bent over his work, observing mice running through a labyrinth. His colleague’s bushy beard needed a trim.

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O’Malley raised his head, red curly hair in his eyes. “This last litter is running through the maze like they have built-in GPS.” “That’s great, Peter,” Deren said dismissively. “I just got done talking to Stan. Have you been getting any more phone calls about the gene?”

“One or two, I think.” O’Malley fixed his gaze on a scampering mouse. “One left a message, the other call was dead air.”

“Anyone identify themselves?”

“Novack. He wants me to convince you to sell the gene to him.” O’Malley pointed. “Hey, look at that mouse go, will you?”

“Peter,” Deren raised his voice to draw his friend back to the conversation.

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I think I was being spied on yesterday, and that wasn’t the first time.”

“What?” O’Malley’s brow creased. “Why don’t you get in touch with these callers and find out exactly what they want? Arrange a meeting with the dean and the school’s lawyer, get everything out in the open. You know Dean Madison will do anything that would financially benefit the college or boost enrollment.”

“I’m sure Madison would love to pit one caller against the other to maximize what he can get out of all this. I have a meeting set up after my vacation.”

“You should have taken care of it sooner,” O’Malley said in a quiet but firm tone.

Deren’s jaw clenched. Why was everyone telling him what to do, like they knew better? Deren changed the subject. “Going anywhere this summer?”

“Don’t I wish. I would love to spend a month touring Europe, but with student loans, I’ll be teaching summer courses ad infinitum, unless I hit the lottery.” His grin could barely be seen among the forest of facial hairs. “When are you heading to Pittsburgh?”

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“I’m leaving after the ceremonies tomorrow. Can’t be soon enough for me. See you when I get back.” Deren walked to the door.

“Sure,” O’Malley’s attention returned to the gene-enhanced mice in the maze.

Back in his office, Deren double-checked the letter grades he’d entered into his computer. He paused when he came to Heidi’s name. Why had she waited until the last minute to talk to him about her grade? Did she think she could try to blackmail him for a higher grade? Thank goodness he talked to someone in administration about the situation. He hit the button to submit.

Done for another semester. He grabbed his backpack and headed home, whistling a tune from The Greatest Showman. *** Edelman dialed Heidi Smith’s number. “I have to talk to you about some options for how I can get you into my fall class.” He was stretching the truth. Something she didn’t need to know.

Hearing her eager reply, he said, “Meet me at the Economy Lodge at three. Room fifteen.”

Her melodic voice replied, “Sure thing, Dr. Edelman. I really appreciate this.”

Not half as much as he would. She had the body of a cheerleader. Rah, rah.

He stopped at the motel office to pick up the room key.

Hopping back in his car, he drove around the single-story motel and parked in front of the room. Perfect.

Inserting the key in the lock, he turned the door handle. His skin tingled with anticipation. As the door swung open, he was startled at the sight of a man planted in the desk chair a few feet away. “Sorry, Man, I must have the wrong room.” He backed out and started to close the door.

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up.

“You got the right room, Dr. Edelman.” The man’s arm swung

Edelman stared at the gun pointing at his chest. The blackinked, sinewy arm waved the weapon toward the bed before returning to him. “Shut the door and sit down, Chump.”

Edelman’s chest tightened. He could barely breathe. The snakehead tattoo on the forearm holding the gun appeared ready to strike. The black T-shirt stretched over taut biceps and sixpack abs. One scary dude. He looked lethal, even without the gun.

“Now!” the tattooed man barked.

Stan jumped, his heart hammering in his chest. He shut the door. Glancing around the small room, the only place he could sit and not have his back to this man was the corner of the bed.

He lowered himself onto the thin mattress, his knee almost touching the man’s thigh. “What’s going on?” he squeaked, his mouth suddenly dry.

“I have a recording here.” Tattoo tapped his iPhone. “Of you in a compromising position with a certain young coed. Trading sex for class placement. Wonder what the dean would say? Or your old lady?”

Tattoo hit a button, which played Edelman’s conversation with the co-ed.

“We need to work out the details. Meet me at the Economy Lodge at three. Room fifteen.”

“Sure thing, Dr. Edelman. I really appreciate this.”

At the sound of his own voice blaring from the recording, Edelman felt light-headed. He swiped at the sweat beading on his upper lip and swallowed. “What do you want?” Things were bad enough now. He didn’t need everything crashing down on him, like an imploding condemned building. He would lose everything. His life wasn’t great, but he couldn’t allow things to get worse. His marriage might be rocky, but now was not the time for Kelly to find out about his proposed indiscretion.

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“I want you to give me that gene you and your friends are working on.” Tattoo tugged the bill of his cap lower over his eyes.

Stan wiped more sweat off his face. What a mess he was in.

“It’s not mine to give.”

“Not my problem, Doc. I can ruin everything you have with this recording.” Tap, tap. “What’s it gonna be? It’s your life.”

Stan’s shoulders sagged. “All right. I’ll get it for you.” He had to think fast. What could he do? No matter what he did, he was screwed. What was he thinking, luring Heidi to meet him here?

He had to come up with something and fast. “I can get it for you Sunday afternoon.”

“How about now, Pal?” The gun barrel brushed Stan’s forehead.

Edelman jerked back. “Whoa, Dude.” He held his palms toward the threat, as if that would stop a bullet. “Wait, I can’t get it for you right now. Deren, Dr. Patterson, will know it’s missing.

But he’s going on vacation this weekend. Once he leaves, I can get it for you. Meet you at three on Sunday in front of the science building.”

“Okay, Doc.” The gun lowered. “You better be there Sunday at three. Sharp. Don’t try anything stupid, or this recording goes to the dean and your wife. This conversation doesn’t leave this room.”

Edelman watched the gun bounce against Tattoo’s thigh.

Edelman’s tongue wouldn’t work. Unable to speak, he nodded instead. He bolted to his car. Thank goodness he had a remote entry, but the tremors in his hands hampered a speedy retreat.

Once the car was in gear, he fishtailed away, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the tattooed Neanderthal. ***

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At the far end of the motel parking area, Sung Min sat in the rented Subaru. Edelman’s quick exit seemed suspicious. Min drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. What was going on?

Before he could decide what to do, a ball-capped man emerged from the room. Min tracked the man’s athletic, stealthy stride across the pavement to a Ford Explorer. Min’s skin prickled. He gripped the wheel. Was someone else trying to get the gene?

What should he do?

When the truck pulled out of the lot, Min followed at a distance. The vehicle parked at another motel, where the man entered a room. Min sped past, then pulled off the road at a gas station.

He hit one on his speed dial. “I followed one of the other professors to a motel. He was only in the room for a few minutes.

When he came out, he looked dazed, like he’d been struck by lightning. A minute later, another guy left the same room and drove to another hotel. I’ve got a bad feeling we’ve got some competition.” He paused. “I think we need to get the item before someone else does. I overheard the doc tell his kids they would leave a day earlier than planned.”

The gruff voice said, “Then we’ll change our plans, too. You and Dr. Park go to the lab tomorrow and get the package.”

Min hadn’t been happy about the scientist tagging along, thinking he could handle the job on his own. But the boss insisted Park had the know-how to handle the gene. Now, it looked like his boss’s instinct was spot on. “The college should be deserted after the graduation ceremony. We can grab it then.”

“Good. You’ll earn yourself a bonus if we can avoid a payout.”

Min’s chest swelled in anticipation of this windfall. He ended the connection and called Park, who was at the motel. “Professor, it seems you will get your package sooner than planned.”

“Did you change the time we meet our contact?”

“No, our contact is out of the loop. It will require a little extra effort on our part, but we won’t have to worry about a meeting.

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We’ll even save the boss some money. We should be able to locate the item from a few things the contact said.”

“This is excellent news, Sung. The money saved can be used for research and development.”

Or money for lining Min’s pocket. That wasn’t the only reason he was happy. He’d be home a day sooner.

75

Chapter Nine Saturday After lunch, Molly washed the dishes. Passing the rinsed plates for Deren to dry, she chatted about the arrangements she had made for their upcoming vacation. “If it doesn’t rain, I asked the Edelman boys to water the garden. We finished most of the perishables, but still have milk left. Do you think it will still be good when we get back, or should I freeze the carton? You can freeze milk, can’t you?”

“I would imagine so, but you need to allow for the liquid’s expansion.”

Molly grinned. “I knew there was a reason I married a scientist.”

“Good to hear,” Deren muttered.

What was going on with him? Nervous about Commencement?

He’d been through the pomp and circumstance enough times that it shouldn’t bother him. She shrugged it off. Maybe he was lost in his research world.

She looked out the kitchen window. “Do you think I should ask the Edelman boys to mow our lawn next week? I don’t want our property to look abandoned.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Something was on his mind. She watched him place the last plate in the cupboard.

He sat at the kitchen table, motioning for her to join him.

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She pulled out a chair and rested her elbows on the table, ready to listen to what he had to say.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about my research for the last few days.” He ran his finger along the edge of the table. “I have a meeting with Dean Madison after we return from vacation. I’ll talk to him about patenting the gene insertion technique and let the college lawyer deal with the gene and the phone calls.”

He clasped his hands together. “I’ll see if something can be worked out that might be financially beneficial to us. Even if something can be worked out, I don’t expect it would be a lot of money, but,” he shrugged, “we’ll see what happens.” He shifted in the chair. “What I’m trying to say is don’t hang your hopes on any immediate financial windfall.”

He wrapped his hands around one of hers. “You worry too much about money. Maybe this will ease your concerns. What do you think?”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you. That’s an excellent idea. The dean should give you a piece of the windfall, which they wouldn’t have except for your research. I mean, considering what’s been happening, you don’t want to let this discovery fall into the wrong hands. I’m sure the college would want to promote the research and keep you here to work on it. I’m just sorry you couldn’t meet with the dean sooner.”

“He’s a busy man. I think I’ve taken this research as far as I can, given the school’s limited resources. I’m ready to start another project.” Deren rose from the table.

“I’m going to trim the boys’ hair this afternoon.” Molly fingered her husband’s long locks, two inches above his shoulders.

“Sure you won’t change your mind and let me cut yours?”

Deren clamped his hands over his ears. “Nuh-uh, I can’t have loose hairs on my neck and down my shirt. I’ll be itching during the whole ceremony. That wouldn’t appear very professional, now, would it? Me sitting all distinguished-like in my cap and gown, 77

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squirming and scratching my neck and back like a monkey.” He hopped and flailed his arms like an ape.

The boys ran into the kitchen at the commotion and mimicked Deren’s antics.

“Honestly, Deren. You’re worse than the boys.” Molly swatted his upper arm. “I’ll only trim an inch.”

“No time now. Stan should be here any minute.”

“Have you seen the checkbook?”

“It’s in the glove compartment. I used a check to pay for the tune-up and new tires.”

Molly grimaced. “How can we need new tires? We don’t drive that much.”

“What can I say? The past owner probably bought cheap tires.”

Molly gulped. “I’m afraid to ask. How much?”

“A little over eight hundred dollars.”

“Eight hundred dollars? For tires?”

“We also needed new wipers, an oil change, and a tune-up.”

He ticked off each item on his fingers.

Bile rose in her throat. “Why didn’t you use the credit card? I don’t know if there’ll be enough in our checking account for our monthly bills and our trip.”

Deren blew out a breath. “You told me to stop charging stuff so you could pay down the balance on the card. That’s why I wrote a check. We’ll use the credit card for our trip expenses.” He turned on his heel.

“We’ll have to now,” her voice spiked. She shadowed him down the hallway, near tears. “But I’m the one who pays the bills.

You should have consulted me first.”

He turned to face her. “You want me to be decisive. We needed the tires and the tune-up and stuff. I’m not making that long drive on bald tires.”

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Molly fumed. “That’s not the point.” How could he be so blasé about their finances? The burden of juggling expenses always fell on her shoulders.

Before she could say another word, a horn honked outside.

Deren snatched his cap and ironed gown off the couch.

“That’s Stan. G-gotta run. Can’t be late for the ceremony. I have to finish some paperwork, but I’ll be home in time to stop at that diner for dinner.” The screen door latched shut behind him.

Great. He’s off to Commencement, and she’s stuck juggling the finances. Again. Why was she always the one stuck figuring out what bill got paid first?

Molly watched Stan’s car pull away from the curb before retrieving the checkbook from the glove compartment of their Chevy.

On the way back to the house, the sun warmed her skin.

Stepping onto the uncovered porch, she stared at the sky—a perfect day for Commencement—mid-seventies, a few billowy clouds to keep the temperature down. Even the beauty of the day couldn’t mellow her anger at Deren. Her husband, who went off to his ceremony as if nothing bothered him. The light breeze would evaporate perspiration from all but the graduates and faculty in their non-ventilated commencement robes. She hoped Deren roasted in his gown.

Molly rounded up her sons and headed for the department store on Main Street. After purchasing tennis shoes for Tommy, the three rummaged through the racks to find a shirt for Mike.

She liked to keep the purchases even between the two.

Tommy held up a shirt with an image and the words “The Amazing Spider-Man.” “Hey, Mikey, get this shirt!”

“Let Mike pick out what he wants.” She was in no mood for bickering. She still had to finish packing for their trip.

Tommy whined, “I don’t want to wear that.” He pointed at the offending garment in his brother’s hand. “If I have to wear 79

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Mikey’s clothes when he outgrows them, then I want him to pick this one!”

One glance at the tag made Molly gasp. How could a T-shirt cost more than a pair of Nikes? While the boys bickered, she remembered wearing hand-me-downs from her four older sisters and how self-conscious she felt wearing out-of-date clothes. Cringing at the memory, she did her best to appease her sons and her sanity.

Arriving home, she tossed in a load of laundry, trimmed her sons’ hair, paid a few bills, and retrieved suitcases from the empty spare room. Mike and Tommy packed their own suitcases, which she checked for completeness. Making three trips, she schlepped the luggage down the stairs and plunked it by the front door.

Her stomach growled. Five o’clock, and Deren wasn’t home.

She couldn’t imagine what paperwork could occupy his entire afternoon. Something else must’ve come up, but it wasn’t like him not to call if he was running late. He was usually considerate that way, something she didn’t have to train him to do either.

Then again, they did have a heated argument before he left. Was he doing this out of spite?

She called his cell, which rang but went to voicemail. She dialed his office phone, but there was no answer. Next, she tried the lab. Again, there was no answer. Furious, she wanted to throw the phone against the wall or Deren’s head. Not knowing what else to do, she called the Edelmans.

A resonant, nasal male voice greeted her with “Edelman residence.”

“Stan, this is Molly.”

“How you doing, Kiddo? I would’ve thought you’d be on the road by now.”

“Me too, but Deren’s not home yet. Did you see him when you left the ceremony?”

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“Said he was headed for the science building. As crowded as the football stadium was, I lost sight of him right away. I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

“Sorry to bother you.” Now she was worried.

“No bother. Who knows? Maybe he was cornered by an irate parent whose kid flunked his course.” He laughed at his own joke.

“Thanks anyway, Stan.” She hoped she didn’t sound as annoyed as she felt. “I’m sure you’re right. We’ll make plans to get together with you and Kelly when we get back.”

“Have a good trip.”

Her sons, mesmerized by a TV show, were oblivious to the time. She paced the hallway. What should she do? She shouldn’t have lost her temper at Deren, but she felt like a pressure cooker ready to release its built-up steam. Between being snubbed by her best friend, their financial difficulties, Deren’s phone calls about the gene, and the uncertainty of his promotion, the stress was taking its toll.

Chewing on her lower lip, she regretted having lost her temper. Was this his way of getting back at her? No, that was something she would do. Deren wasn’t the vindictive sort. Maybe he lost track of time planning his next project. Nothing to worry about. Right?

A feeling of dread made her stop in her tracks. Could he be in trouble? She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling.

She called Kelly. “Would you mind if I drop the boys off while I go to the campus to check on Deren? He should have been home hours ago, and he’s not answering his phone.” Molly’s voice quivered.

“I’ll be glad to watch them. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

Molly closed her eyes and said a brief prayer. “Thank you. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

She set her phone on the end table and snapped off the TV. Her sons groaned.

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“Come on, boys. I’m going to drop you off at the Edelmans’ while I get your dad.” Besides, she and Deren needed to continue their earlier conversation. It was a toss-up whether she would apologize for her harsh words or ream him out for being late.

Either way, she didn’t want her sons to hear.

“Can’t we go with you?” Tommy asked.

“No.” Tommy squawked as she corralled her sons out the door.

Grabbing the car keys off the entryway table, she followed them to the car.

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Chapter Ten In the science building, Deren bent over his desk, updating his CV to replace the out-of-date copy he left in Russo’s mailbox earlier in the week. In case Russo came in while he was away on vacation, he wanted to leave the requested material to stay in her good graces. Although he should have been home hours ago, he wanted to give Molly time to cool down from the checkbook fiasco before spending an evening in the car. The ringing of his office phone jarred him out of his thoughts. Expecting an irate Molly on the other end, he breathed a sigh of relief when the caller ID indicated a college extension.

“I didn’t know if I’d catch you,” Peter rushed his words, “but you’ve got to see the latest litter of mice, the ones with the highest copies of the gene. Their performance is incredible!”

Deren checked the time. His pulse raced. Almost five o’clock.

Now Molly would gripe about getting a late start. He would never understand her need to be in control. Things happen, but one needs to be flexible. “That’s great, Peter, but can’t this wait?

I promised Molly we’d leave this afternoon. I really should have left a few hours ago. I’ll check out the mice when I return. Just document your findings, would you?”

“All right. I’ll send you a videotape, and we can talk when you get back. You leaving now?”

“Yeah. I wanted to finish tweaking my CV for Russo. I’ll call you next week. Time for you to take a break. Go home and eat dinner.”

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“Is it that time already?”

Hanging up, Deren chuckled at Peter’s losing track of time.

He imagined that when O’Malley wasn’t lecturing summer students, he’d be in his lab. Once he started something, he became immersed. During the fall semester, O’Malley failed to show up for an eight o’clock class. The psych department secretary found him in the lab, where he’d been all night, engrossed in an experiment. Now she had a Post-it note on her computer to remind him about each class.

Deren stuffed a few journals and papers in his backpack, his desk clear of all but his computer. He froze at the sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway, which grew louder. Who could that be? The building had been silent all afternoon.

When the footsteps stopped, two men blocked the open doorway. The shorter, pudgy one said, “Dr. Patterson, we need to speak with you.”

Deren didn’t recognize the accented voice from any of the phone calls from the past week. “What do you want?” he stuttered, shifting his gaze from one to the other. He wet his lips.

Was this visit related to his research?

The slimmer one, wearing a ball cap and windbreaker, spoke.

“Give us the gene, and then we’ll be on our way.”

“W-who are you?” Afraid of the answer, Deren spoke barely above a whisper.

“That’s not important. Take us to your lab. Now.” Ball Cap reached inside his unzipped jacket and pulled out a shiny object with a long, cylindrical tube.

Deren’s eyes widened. A gun! He felt the blood drain from his face. Struggling for breath, he gawked at the gleaming metal of the gun barrel, which swayed like a cobra ready to strike.

“Move,” Ball Cap barked.

Deren jumped. He skirted his desk and trudged down the hallway as if his shoes were made of lead. The two men followed close behind. Deren’s steps slowed as he approached the 84

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laboratory. Fumbling with his keys, he managed to unlock the door, then switched on the overhead lights. The thieves followed him inside. The pneumatic hinge hissed as the door closed, followed by the loud click of the latch.

Would things have been different if he’d already met with the dean? He should have gone home right after Commencement.

Why had he felt the need to finalize the paperwork for the promotions committee? Russo had family issues to deal with, she could have waited another week. And to think Deren accused his wife of being controlling. He was just as guilty, and look where it got him.

“The gene, Dr. Patterson. Now,” Ball Cap growled.

Before Deren could move, he recognized the muffled ringtone of his cell from his office.

Ball Cap cocked the gun. “Someone know you’re here?”

“N-n-no,” he lied. He heard the ringtone from his office phone. Someone was definitely looking for him. Had to be Molly.

He winced. She must be even angrier with his delay getting home.

Just because he decimated their bank account to pay for new tires instead of using the credit card, right before their vacation— Ball Cap snapped his fingers. “No more stalling. We’re on a tight schedule.”

Deren took a step, but halted when the phone in the lab rang.

He turned toward the sound. Ball Cap side-stepped to block Deren’s progress and extended his gun arm.

Paralyzed with fear, Deren stared into the barrel leveled at the center of his forehead. His rapid heartbeat pounded in his ears and drowned out the ringtone. He glanced at Ball Cap, whose cold and lifeless eyes looked like pebbles of obsidian. The gun didn’t waver. With the sleeve of his new white dress shirt, Deren wiped away the sweat streaming down his face. Would he ever see his family again? He blinked back tears. Why hadn’t he listened to Molly and spoken to someone at the college earlier?

Spots swam before his eyes.

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The portly man motioned to his partner to lower the gun.

Ball Cap’s eyes narrowed. Although his arm dropped to his side, he had a firm grip on the gun, finger on the trigger.

Threatening.

Deren took in shallow breaths. Feeling lightheaded, he grabbed the edge of a nearby workbench. He’d never fainted before, but felt close to it now.

“This will go easier if you cooperate,” Pudgy said. “I’m a scientist, too. I understand your reluctance, however,” he shrugged a shoulder, “I have my orders, and now you have yours.”

Noticing the small cooler clutched in Pudgy’s hand, Deren’s pulse pounded in his head, incensed that someone would steal his research. Something he spent several years working on.

Although he knew he needed to cooperate, he’d stall as long as possible. Maybe a security guard or faculty member would enter the building. Until a few moments ago, he had been the only person in the building. Realizing he wouldn’t be rescued, his stomach clenched. Once the Commencement ceremony was over, the college turned into a proverbial ghost town. Deren tried to swallow. Would he escape with his life?

Ball Cap’s face reddened, and his gun hand shook with his rage. “So-du-ne-se-yo!” Spittle flew from the man’s mouth.

Deren backed up a step. He didn’t know what the man said and didn’t want to know. The tone was threatening enough. His shoulders slumped in resignation. Walking toward the back of the lab, he opened the door to the small prep room. Workbenches ran along three of the walls. A portable liquid nitrogen freezer resided underneath a bench top. The container housed all of his research samples. At minus 180 degrees Celsius, the isolated mouse DNA segments could be kept indefinitely. The wheeled canister glided effortlessly from its cubbyhole. He pulled his logbook from the wall shelf above the workbench.

“What is that?” demanded Ball Cap, suspicion creeping into his words.

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“It’s his record book, Sung,” Pudgy said.

Ball Cap gave his partner the evil eye while spewing a string of profane-sounding foreign words.

Ball Cap, or Sung, must’ve been upset because his partner spoke his name. Deren’s throat constricted, and his mouth went dry. He’d seen enough cop shows to know what was next.

Now they’d have to kill him.

87

Chapter Eleven Pudgy held out a small cooler. “Put the samples in here.”

Deren thumbed through the pages to find the freezer entry for the location of the vials containing the intelligence gene.

From the countertop, he snagged a plastic facemask and heavy asbestos gloves to protect his eyes and skin from splashes of the bitter cold liquid and its vapors. Contact could result in severe frostbite. He lifted the freezer lid, wiggled the stopper from the tank, and set it on the bench top. From the designated basket, he pulled out a thin metal rod, which wobbled in his shaking hands.

White vapors bled off the bitter cold inch-long white tubes snapped onto the rod. He popped off a tube and dropped it into Pudgy’s container, which held dry ice. There goes years of work.

Pudgy jiggled the container and scowled. “I know there’s more than one.”

Deren glared at Pudgy, then at Sung, whose face looked hard and cold, as if chiseled from stone. Deren’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Watching the vapors rise from the three remaining tubes, he felt his energy drain from his body. He dropped each tube into the container. Returning the stopper, he slid the freezer back under the tabletop, overcome by the finality of the act.

Pudgy said, “We must hurry. I don’t want the vials to thaw. If you’d given me time to prepare, Sung—” “Let’s go, Professor,” Ballcap barked.

Deren swallowed. He had a name and could identify the two.

They would not let him live.

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Sung waved his gun and shouted, “Let’s go.”

“You don’t need me now. I gave you what you wanted.” Deren pleaded.

“What’s to stop you from calling the police as soon as we leave? You are our guarantee to get out of the country.”

Out of the country? Deren’s stomach dropped. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

Sung’s arm swung up, the gun almost touching Deren’s nose.

“I said move!” *** Molly parked in front of the science building, several car lengths behind another vehicle. Was that why Deren was late?

Had he gotten into a conversation with another faculty member and lost track of time? That still didn’t excuse him. She climbed out of the car, hit the lock button, and slammed the door.

Jogging to the entrance of the building, she tugged on the front door. Locked. She moved to the third window to the left of the front door and peered in. The light in her husband’s office was on, but he wasn’t at his desk. He must be in the lab, but why hadn’t he answered the phone? She sprinted around to the back of the building, cursing Deren with each step.

Peering into the lab windows, she viewed the rows of clean, black lab benches devoid of beakers, test tube racks, and dissecting trays, ready for the next school year. Not seeing Deren, she continued to the next window. In a smaller lab, she saw her husband with two other men. The scowl on the thinner man’s face suggested the meeting was not friendly.

She ducked down, hoping she hadn’t been seen. Her heart thumped in her chest. Rising until her eyes crested the windowsill, she peered into the room. Studying the face of the thinner man, she noticed his almond-shaped eyes. Seeing the gun in his hand, her breath caught. She plastered her back against the cool, rough 89

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brick. Her breathing became ragged. She had to call the police.

Her stomach clenched. Why had she been in such a hurry? Her phone was at home in her purse.

Once her breathing slowed, she took another peek. The two men were a head shorter than her husband. The slimmer man’s dark eyes tracked Deren’s motions. She watched him drop something small into a container held by the other man. Could it be the mouse gene? She wished she could read lips to know what was being said. When the slim man thrust a gun in Deren’s face, her jaw dropped. Would these men kill Deren for his gene?

Molly ducked down. She waited for her runaway heartbeat to slow before taking another peek. The room was empty. Head low, she dashed to the next window and saw the men exiting the lab. She jogged around the side of the building and hugged the wall. At the click of the front door, she peeked around the corner.

The man with the gun gripped Deren’s arm and led him toward a parked car. The heavyset man waddled behind, clutching the container in a stranglehold.

Frantic, Molly searched the area for a weapon. She picked up a rock the size of a softball, ran toward the trio, and hurled the missile.

When the rock hit the center of the man’s back, he stumbled and released Deren.

“Run to the car!” Molly shouted. Glancing back, she saw the man close behind, waving his gun. Molly’s heart rate skyrocketed.

Before she could take another step, strong fingers gripped her upper arm and yanked her backward. Off balance, her left foot twisted. Mind-numbing pain shot up her leg. “Deren,” she cried, clutching her ankle.

At the hood of their car, Deren glanced back. “Let her go.” He pivoted and seemed to stumble.

She caught movement in her peripheral vision.

Bang!

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The gun firing near her ear was deafening. She watched in horror as her husband pitched forward and his head smacked the pavement.

Molly felt as if a knife had been plunged into her own heart.

She screamed but could barely hear her voice. Deren lay there, motionless. Her heart thumped in her chest. Was she next?

“Sung, you fool,” the rotund man lashed out. “What have you done? I needed more information from him.”

The man named Sung jabbed his gun into Molly’s neck. She stiffened at the touch of the cold steel against her skin. Squeezing her eyes shut, she silently recited the Twenty-Third Psalm and waited for the sound of another gunshot that would take her life.

“You’re the scientist,” Sung sneered. “You figure it out. I can’t handle both of them. We only need one to help us escape.

Besides, she’ll be easier to control.”

“Chi-gum!” Sung barked in Molly’s ear, still ringing from the gun blast. He yanked her to her feet.

As soon as Molly put pressure on her left foot, a searing pain shot up her leg. Gritting her teeth, she took a step forward. Gun at his side, Sung dragged her toward a green Subaru.

“You didn’t have to shoot him,” she sobbed. “Please help my husband. Don’t leave him there.” Each time she tried to wrestle from Sung’s iron grip, he pulled her forward. Looking backward, she saw Deren lying on the pavement. Not moving. Tears blurred her vision. “Please help him. You can’t leave him there to die.”

Nearing the getaway car, she made another attempt to escape, but Sung’s grip was firm.

He yanked open the back door, shoved her inside, and slammed the door. “Hurry up, Professor. We can’t miss our flight.”

Heart in her throat, Molly peered out the back window and stared at Deren’s still body. Something dark spread on the asphalt beside him. She gasped. Is that blood? Blinking back tears, she pounded her fists on the seatback. “Please help him. At least call 911.”

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The heavyset man, still wheezing from the run, slid the small ice chest on the passenger side of the back seat before climbing in. He set the container on his lap, cradling it in his arms.

Sung slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. The vehicle rocked from the impact. After turning the ignition key, Sung rammed the console stick into drive.

As the car propelled forward, Molly beat her fists on the seatback and screamed, “Why did you have to shoot my husband?”

The man next to her muttered, “Good question.”

Molly stared at the pudgy man. What did that comment mean? Weren’t the two men working together? Would Sung kill her once they got away? Sniffling, she collapsed back into the seat. She needed to come up with an escape plan to help Deren and get back to her sons.

The car made a sudden U-turn. The centrifugal force threw her against the professor, who clutched the container like a treasure. She clung to the armrest as the car jettisoned onto the main road, weaving at reckless speed, as if being chased by demons.

“Slow down, Sung,” the man next to her said.

“I am not going to miss our flight, Professor.”

Professor? So, this man next to her was a scientist like her husband.

Her whole body shook while she fervently prayed. She couldn’t recall a time in her life more frightening than now. Protect Deren. Let him be alive. But she hadn’t seen any movement. A sob escaped her lips as more tears fell. Her sons needed a parent, but she wasn’t sure she would survive this ordeal.

The professor reached over the front seat and grabbed a small metal can. She watched him pour its contents into the ice chest.

Her nose scrunched at the noxious vapors that smelled like fingernail polish remover. Clouds of cold smoke cascaded down the outside of the container before he closed the lid.

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Molly sniffed and wiped her cheeks. “You have the gene.

That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You don’t need me.”

The professor’s thick eyebrows seemed to fuse. “My comrade is doing what he feels will help us leave the country.”

Leave the country? Molly’s pulse quickened. A wave of vertigo had her grabbing the armrest. These men were foreign spies!

Sung glanced in the rearview mirror. “Professor!” A string of gibberish followed. The way he spat out the words made them sound profane. The professor’s body stiffened. He stared ahead, like a student disciplined by a teacher.

The car barreled out of town and onto a two-lane highway.

The scenery on either side of the road blurred, the car’s speed too fast for her to safely jump out. If she could. She rubbed her throbbing ankle, hoping nothing was broken. If only she knew where they were going, she could plan an escape.

Was Deren still alive? How long would he lie there before being found? Would he bleed out before then? Whatever it took, she had to return home, at least for the sake of her sons. Recalling her last conversation with her husband, she bit her lip. Is this how it would end? Would she forever regret those final angry words? Overwhelmed with guilt, her lips quivered. Tears blurred her vision. She had no idea how seriously he was injured—or if he was dead. She couldn’t imagine the latter, but dreaded the possibility.

Molly sniffled and searched her pockets for a tissue. Nothing but her car keys. She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

She studied the professor’s shabby attire. How could this man be a spy unless his outfit was a disguise? Or maybe he was a researcher, like he said, and was forced to steal the gene. The pronounced bags under his eyes suggested the pressure he must be under to deliver the goods.

She couldn’t let her defenses down. “Professor, where are we going?”

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He turned toward her and opened his mouth. Before he could speak, Sung snarled, “Enough! You don’t need to know that.”

“Be patient. We will let you go.” The professor leaned back in the seat as if to end the conversation, hugging the ice chest.

She moved closer to the professor to prevent Sung from hearing and attempted another question: “What are you going to do with the gene?”

“Time will tell,” he muttered and patted the side of the ice chest. “Time will tell.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, ending the discussion.

The car whizzed by a sign. Her body tensed.

They were headed toward the regional airport.

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Chapter Twelve Seeing the sign to the airport, Molly hyperventilated. Now was not the time to panic. She had to be alert for any opportunity to escape. She could not get on an airplane.

She rubbed her clammy palms on her jeans and tried to slow her breathing. How could she escape? When the car stopped, she could jump out. But how far could she get with a sprained ankle? Although relatively confident that the professor had no ill intentions, the driver was another matter. He was dangerous, and he would kill her with no regret, like squashing a bug.

She had to stay focused. She couldn’t fathom her life without her husband or her sons growing up without their dad. At the thought of their petty argument, regret overwhelmed her. God forgive me if he’s dead. She didn’t know if she could forgive herself.

The car screeched to a stop, slamming her into the backside of the front seat. She flung her hands out to soften the impact.

Instead of contemplating how to leap out of a speeding car with a sprained ankle, she should have buckled her seatbelt.

Up ahead, a single-engine plane sat on the runway. The image of the aircraft taking a nosedive flooded her mind. She tasted bile.

Sung walked to the rear of the car and opened the trunk. Molly watched the professor inch his stocky body across the backseat while gripping the cooler’s handle. Should she try to escape now?

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Too late. Sung opened her door. He had a carry-on satchel over his shoulder and a small suitcase by his feet. Swinging her legs out of the car, she startled when Sung yanked her to her feet.

He pointed to the airplane and barked, “Bee-haeng-ku.” Then he pulled her toward the plane.

When Molly put weight on her left foot, she sucked in a breath, almost collapsing at the pain. Struggling to keep up during the short distance to the small aircraft, Sung’s firm grasp on her arm kept her moving forward. While approaching the plane, she scanned the area—not a soul in sight. The terminal was too far for anyone to hear her scream. At this point, her chance of escaping seemed virtually nil. Her only option was to go with them.

Arriving at the plane, Sung motioned for her to climb the airstairs. She grabbed both rails to minimize weight on her ankle.

She froze on the first step, her legs threatening to buckle under her. What did she fear more? Flying or being shot? Sung jammed the gun into her back. She gasped. The gun won. With a firm hold on the railing and favoring her injured ankle, she pulled herself up one rung at a time.

Once through the cockpit door, the pilot swiveled around.

Dressed in a dull black, fissured leather jacket that hung on his narrow shoulders, he appeared to be of the same nationality as the kidnappers.

The cabin had six seats in three rows separated by a narrow aisle. Molly took a seat in the middle row. The professor claimed the seat across the aisle from her, resting the cooler on his lap.

Sung stowed the luggage under the two front seats and shouted for the pilot to take off.

When the pilot rose to retract the staircase, she noticed the sheen on the backside of his gray polyester trousers. Returning to the cockpit, he hit a switch.

A loud whine filled the plane. Molly felt a vibration through her body.

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Sung briefly leaned over the pilot’s shoulder before taking a front row seat. He turned and yelled, “Buckle up.”

The professor leaned over the aisle as the plane taxied down the runway. “You don’t like to fly, Mrs. Patterson?” He had to yell above the noise of the plane’s engine.

“How did you know?”

He pointed to her white knuckles gripping the armrests.

She tried to swallow. No spit. She managed to reply. “When I was in fourth grade, my best friend and her family died in a plane crash on their way home from Disney World.” Acid churned in her stomach.

The plane wasn’t the worst of it. Even if she survived the flight, she had to worry about Sung’s temper and his gun.

The aircraft started moving. The engine noise increased as the plane gathered speed, plastering her back against the seat.

She closed her eyes and prayed.

Once the plane leveled off, she relaxed her grip and flexed her fingers to work out the stiffness. The plane’s constant vibration didn’t relieve her anxiety.

Her thoughts went to her sons, who were with the Edelmans.

Kelly would call to find out where Molly was. Not getting an answer, Kelly and Stan would look for her and Deren. Wouldn’t they?

Her sons were looking forward to their vacation. Their disappointment would be replaced by worry for their missing mom and dad. Would they see either of their parents again? Or would they be orphans? Her throat tightened as tears spilled down her cheeks.

Would Deren be found alive? A choking gasp escaped, and she pressed a hand over her lips. She couldn’t think about him, or she would fall apart. She needed to focus on her own predicament. How much longer was the flight? Then it dawned on her. The plane still had to land. Her muscles tensed. Another opportunity for the plane to crash.

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Oh, God. Please let the plane land in one piece. Help me get back to my sons.

Sung turned and talked to the professor. The constant thrum of the engine drowned out their brief conversation. Then Sung reclined his seat. She glanced over at the professor, who was scribbling in a notebook, absorbed in the task. Would he tell her anything? As much as she wanted answers, she couldn’t risk Sung overhearing their conversation.

She remained alert for any change in the plane’s noise or vibration—anything that might indicate trouble.

She didn’t like the feeling of being powerless and not in control. *** Deren opened his eyes. What was he doing lying in the road?

Raising his head to look around, his temple throbbed from the effort. His fingers probed a lump the size of a golf ball. When he attempted to sit up, a searing pain tore through his shoulder.

His hand covered the area, which felt wet. He stared at the blood coating his palm and staining the road. How did this happen? He struggled to sit up and looked around.

Then he remembered the theft and Molly appearing out of nowhere. When he turned to rescue his wife, the knee that he had slammed into his desk last week buckled. The last thing he remembered was feeling a punch to his shoulder and falling.

How long had he been unconscious? On full alert now, he looked around, but didn’t see the getaway car or Molly. The crooks must have taken his wife.

Deren struggled to stand without jostling his shoulder. A shiver ran through his body. So cold. Everything started going in and out of focus. He had to find his wife. Too woozy to stand, he crawled to the Sonic.

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He inched the short distance across the pavement, each movement sapping more of his strength. Almost there.

When he reached the driver’s side, he tugged on the handle, then collapsed. *** Near the end of his shift, rookie officer Matthew Turner made his final drive through the quiet campus.

Up ahead was a car he hadn’t noticed on his previous driveby. He slowed. A man was sprawled on the pavement, a red stain in stark contrast to the man’s white shirt. Turner’s chest tightened.

He slammed on the brakes and jumped out, leaving the squad car door wide open and the engine running. He recognized the injured man as his former college professor. “Dr. Patterson?”

Patterson’s eyes opened. He clutched Turner’s shirt sleeve, leaving a red smear. In a barely audible voice, he said, “M-my wife has been k-kidnapped. We have to stop them.”

Turner’s insides churned like clothes in a dryer. He ran back to the cruiser and popped the trunk for the first-aid kit. Kneeling next to the injured man, he tore open a sterile packet and placed the gauze pad over the wound. He set Patterson’s hand on top.

“You need to keep pressure on the wound. Who shot you?”

“Please find my wife.” Patterson raised his head a few inches off the concrete. “Don’t let them get away. They already have a head start.” He slumped back.

His former teacher looked pale. Was he going into shock?

Turner’s hand shook as he keyed dispatch. “I have a gunshot victim. Request an ambulance at the college science building.”

Relaying pertinent information, Turner hoped he sounded in control. “Dr. Patterson, what happened? Who shot you?”

“Two men. Stole my research. Kidnapped my wife. Tried to save her. Shot.” Patterson gasped for air in between each sentence.

Every word seemed to take more out of the man.

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Turner, a townie, born and raised in Buchanan, couldn’t recall any shootings on campus. And he had to find the first one in his second week in uniform. “An ambulance is on its way, Dr. Patterson. Can you describe the kidnappers’ vehicle?”

“Green Subaru Outback.”

“Good. Why did they take your wife?”

Patterson clutched at Turner’s uniform. “My gene. They stole my gene.” The words came out raspy, one at a time. His eyelids fluttered.

Stole his jeans? His old prof wasn’t making sense. He wore dress slacks. Was that a trait of shock? He thought for a minute.

Was that his wife’s name? Or as a biology professor, was he referring to DNA? Turner’s heart rate ramped up as he clamped another wad of gauze over the wound. He looked around. Where was the ambulance? The man needed help now.

At last, he heard the wail of a distant siren. The tightness in Turner’s shoulders eased, relieved that help would arrive soon.

The ambulance screeched to a halt. Two paramedics jumped out of the cab and bustled around the back to grab their equipment and a stretcher. They set to work. The efficient motions of the medics, like those of seasoned dance partners, reflected a rhythm developed from a history of working together. The male EMT relayed Patterson’s vital signs to the hospital while the female checked the wound and asked what happened.

Dr. Patterson became incoherent. Turner answered as best as he could to help with the EMTs’ triage.

The medics slid the gurney into the back of the ambulance.

Turner read the name on the female’s nametag before she gracefully hopped into the back. Sheila. Turner admired the snug fit of her uniform over her posterior. Once the back doors closed, the ambulance tore away, siren blasting.

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scene. This was Turner’s first big case, his chance to shine. His chance to show the more seasoned cops that he could handle the job. *** Detective Henderson issued an APB for a green Subaru and had roadblocks set up in the area. He drove to the hospital, then pulled into a spot close to the emergency entrance.

He headed to the intake desk to inquire about the gunshot victim. The receptionist made a phone call.

A nurse came through the automatic doors.

Henderson said, “I need to talk to Patterson.”

“He’s on his way to radiology.”

“Any chance I can talk to him before then? It’s important.

He’s a witness to a kidnapping.”

The nurse frowned. “Sorry. The CT area is restricted due to the radiation field.”

“When will I be able to question him?”

“After the scan. The doctor’s concerned about a TBI.” The nurse must have picked up on Henderson’s puzzled expression because she rushed to explain. “Traumatic brain injury. He’s got quite a knot on his head. We’ll notify you when he’s back in his room.”

Seated in the waiting room, Henderson checked his phone.

There were no responses to the alert on the wife. Henderson reflected on what Patterson told his officer. They stole my Jean.

He’d see if he could locate any relatives in the area for Deren and Jean Patterson.

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Chapter Thirteen After twenty minutes’ flight time, the plane began to shake, as if ready to come apart. Molly’s stomach churned. Swiping at the perspiration on her upper lip, she dug her nails into the hard plastic of the armrests. How long would the turbulence continue?

The professor rose and set the ice chest on his seat. Swaying back and forth as if stepping off a Tilt-a-Whirl, he approached the front of the plane. Bracing his hands against the wall, he leaned over the pilot.

The shaking of the plane increased. Molly imagined the plane being ripped apart piece by piece.

Sung, who had been asleep in the front seat, rose and stood behind the pilot with a wide stance to keep his balance. The three huddled together.

Each pitch of the plane was more frightening than the Phantom’s Revenge roller coaster at Kennywood Park, which Molly rode. Once. Her stomach roiled. Peering out the window, the treetops looked close enough to touch. The veins in her temples pulsed. Why were they flying so low? Were they going to crash?

She leaned over the professor’s seat in order to look out the window on the opposite side. Her gaze fell on the ice chest containing the gene, dry ice and acetone. She recalled that dry ice was frozen carbon dioxide. When warmed, solid carbon dioxide changed directly to gas, skipping a liquid phase. CO2, a 102

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gas heavier than air. If the gas escaped and the vials thawed, the DNA would degrade. She had a feeling Deren would never get his gene back.

Could she ruin the gene and make it worthless to the thieves?

She glanced up front. The three men seemed to be arguing about something. If she did anything, it had to be now.

As soon as she opened the stopcock, wisps of white fog spewed from the spigot. The escaping vapors chilled her skin.

In an attempt to mask her sabotage, she rotated the ice chest to point the valve toward the window.

At that moment the plane’s floor seemed to drop away. Her stomach flipped and her legs buckled. She grabbed the headrest of the seat in front.

At that moment, Sung swung around. His eyes widened.

Waving his arms, he bellowed. Spittle flew from his mouth.

Molly froze. She didn’t have to know a foreign language to recognize a curse by Sung’s tone.

His dark eyes blazed. “Get back to your seat!”

She stepped across the aisle and collapsed in her seat, her heart thumping.

In sync with the sway of the plane, the professor staggered back to his seat. “Buckle up. The pilot said we have more choppy weather ahead.”

Molly nodded. When the professor placed the container on the floor, she cringed. Would her tampering be discovered this soon? As a distraction, she asked, “Why are we flying so low?”

The professor lowered his bulk onto the seat and snapped on his seatbelt. He sniffed the air.

Uh, oh. She hyperventilated.

From across the aisle, she got a whiff of the pungent smell.

Acetone must have escaped from the stopcock during the turbulence. Her heart hammered in her chest. Afraid to look at the professor, she stared ahead. Stealing a glance, she watched him check the seal around the lid of the container and prayed he 103

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wouldn’t notice the open stopcock. He lifted the lid and checked the contents. She held her breath. Would he discover what she had done?

He replaced the cover. “Do you smell the acetone? The air pocket we hit must have caused the liquid to splash out, although I’m not sure how.” He studied the seal around the lid. “Maybe the ice chest needs a seatbelt.” He chuckled.

She let out the breath she’d been holding, thankful he hadn’t checked the valve. She gave him a weak smile.

“You look pale. Quite an experience for your first flight. Relax.

Close your eyes and take several deep breaths.” The professor slid the chest under the seat. “We should be landing soon.”

Molly stared out the window, lost in thoughts about her family. The jostling continued for several minutes before the ride smoothed out.

They’d been flying over farmland for a while. She checked her captors. Sung’s eyes were closed and his mouth was open. The constant drone of the engines must have lulled him to sleep. The professor had his head turned toward the window. She studied his well-worn clothing. Was this man a spy? She could believe the man with the gun was, but not this mild-mannered man sitting beside her.

Leaning over the aisle, she whispered, “Professor.”

He turned toward her. The minimal interior lighting emphasized the bags under his eyes.

“What’s going to happen to me?” She raised her voice to be heard over the engines, but not enough to wake Sung.

“Don’t worry. You will not be harmed. We have what we came for.”

“Where are we going?”

After glancing at Sung, the professor said, “We have another plane to catch.”

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land. She didn’t want to repeat the experience. She had to figure out how to get away once they landed. “What are you going to do with the gene?”

“Why so many questions?” Removing his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose, reclined his seat, and closed his eyes.

She wished she could do the same, but her heart was racing.

Thoughts bounced like a ping-pong ball between the fear of crashing, what awaited her upon landing, Deren’s fate, and getting back to her boys.

The sun neared the horizon as the plane’s right wing dipped in a sweeping turn. A thump and a whirring of the landing gear startled her. They approached a single landing strip with a large hangar and a small building at one end. Her spirits soared with the hope of being rescued. The engines screamed louder.

The deceleration plastered her against the seatback. Clutching the armrests, she prayed for a safe landing. When the wheels hopscotched along the tarmac, her stomach churned.

Once the aircraft stopped, Sung unbuckled his seat belt and stood to stretch. When the engines shut down, the quiet was almost numbing. The pilot unlatched the aircraft door and lowered the steps.

Sung grabbed the suitcase and threw the satchel’s strap over his shoulder. After muttering something to the pilot, he turned to Molly. “We leave the plane now. Be quick.”

Sung scurried down the steps. Molly took each step one at a time, with the professor close behind. A few times, the ice chest smacked her in the head because of her slow pace. Sung waited on the tarmac, gun in hand. He grabbed her arm and gestured at the suitcase on the tarmac. “Professor, you carry your own luggage.”

In the waning light, Sung propelled her toward a car parked on a narrow road parallel to the runway. Another getaway car?

Molly glanced back at the hangar, hoping to see someone, but 105

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the little airport appeared deserted. The possibility of her being rescued was disappearing faster than the sinking sun.

Sung yanked her arm. “Get moving.”

Behind her, she heard the professor’s labored breathing as he struggled to keep up.

Arriving at the car, Sung holstered his gun and dug keys out of his pants pocket. He hit the remote. After two soft chirps, he opened the back door on the driver’s side and motioned for Molly to get in.

The professor opened the door on the other side and set the cooler on the seat. He cried out. “Po-se-yo! The valve is open!”

Sung’s grip on her arm loosened.

This was her chance to get away. Using the side of her hand, she chopped at his throat.

Sung’s hands flew to his neck as he gasped for air.

She took off across the field toward a wooded area. Every other step sent a jolt of pain through her ankle. The tall grass and dimming light slowed her progress. Biting back the pain, she pumped her arms, intent on escaping.

She heard the professor’s raised voice. “Let her go, Sung. We don’t need her now. She will only delay us.”

Halfway across the field, she glanced back. In the waning light, she saw Sung in pursuit. Adrenaline coursed through her veins like a raft shooting the rapids. Her lungs burned and her breath ragged, but she kept running. She could not let him catch her. As spooky as the dark wooded area appeared, it couldn’t be as frightening as an angry man with a gun.

Molly heard a loud bang. Up ahead, a piece of bark splintered off a tree. Blood roared in her ears. Biting through the pain in her ankle, she zigzagged through the field. After the next shot, her left upper arm burned. Tears threatened to blur her vision, but still she pushed on. He couldn’t win. She had to get home to her family.

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Once past the tree line, she felt her way around trees and bushes. Several times she almost tripped over tree roots. Lowhanging branches whacked her face while thorns clutched at her clothes and clawed her skin. Taking in gulps of air through her dry throat, she pressed ahead, afraid to stop. If caught, he would kill her. A sob escaped her lips. How much farther could she go?

Her chest burned, and her aching ankle threatened to buckle.

Blindly, she kept going.

Until she tripped.

Unable to catch herself, she fell. Her knee slammed into something sharp. She cried out in pain. Too exhausted to continue, she rolled under a bush and curled into a fetal position. Clutching her knee, she muffled her sobs and slowed her breathing. Any sound could lead Sung right to her. Had he followed her into the woods?

The recent self-defense show that she watched came in handy.

The instructor described various ways to fend off an attacker.

He demonstrated an upward thrust to the nose, jab to the voice box, and knee to the groin, and stressed that the elbow was the strongest part of the body. Too close to Sung to use her elbow, she improvised. The show, however, lied about a zigzagging target couldn’t be hit.

Once her breathing slowed and her heart rate returned to normal, Molly heard the crickets. She listened for any unnatural noises. No snapping branches, no rattling bushes, or crunching leaves suggesting further pursuit. Just the loud chirping crickets.

Touching the wound on her arm, her fingers came away sticky. The gnawing pain of her wounds and the fear of being discovered helped keep her vigilant. Was she safe now?

Her heart ached for her family. Would she ever see them again? *** 107

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Deren took in his surroundings. He was lying on a bed next to a countertop with a box of gloves and sterile pads. Bustling noises from outside the small room made him suspect a hospital.

The door opened. A Doogie Howser look-alike in scrubs entered, mask dangling from his neck.

“When can I leave, Doc?” “Not so fast. You had some tissue damage. You’re fortunate no major arteries or tendons were involved. You’ll have to wear a sling while the wound is healing. After that, physical therapy will help you regain the function of your arm. But that bump on your head is worrisome. Your CT scan didn’t show any evidence of brain swelling, but I’m concerned about a concussion. I want to keep you overnight, just to make sure.”

Brain swelling? Deren didn’t remember any CT scan. Could he have amnesia? “I’m fine, Doc, really. I need to find my wife.” He struggled to sit up. The explosion in his head was accompanied by a visual fireworks display. He eased his aching head back on the pillow.

Doogie didn’t have to say “I told you so.” His smirk said it all.

“We’ll move you up to the floor as soon as a room is available. In the meantime, a detective wants to talk to you.”

Before the doctor left, Deren asked for his bag of possessions.

Finding his phone, he called Stan. “Two men robbed me and took Molly.”

“You get too much sun today, Buddy? You’re not making any sense.”

“Two men showed up at the science building.” Deren highlighted the events leading up to the theft and kidnapping.

“My God, that’s terrible. Molly dropped the boys off with us before she went looking for you.”

Deren was relieved to hear his sons were safe. “Would you mind keeping them overnight? The doctor wants to admit me for observation.”

“Sure, no problem. You need anything?”

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“I’ll let you know if I do.” He heard a rap on the cubicle door.

“I appreciate you watching the boys. I gotta go. I think a detective is here to talk to me.”

A man wearing a tweed suit jacket and tie entered the exam room. “Dr. Patterson, I’m Detective Henderson.”

Deren stared at the sparse hair on the man’s upper lip. “Did you find my wife?”

“Not yet. The FBI has been notified.”

“FBI?” “The Feds get involved when there’s a kidnapping.” Henderson pulled a pair of reading glasses from his breast pocket before reaching inside his suit coat for a notepad and pen. “To help with the investigation, I need to ask you some questions.”

“Please, you have to go after the men now. Bring my wife home.”

“I’ve got officers looking for a Subaru Outback. I’d like you to start from the top and tell me what happened. But first, I need a description of Jean and these two men.”

“Describe the gene? My wife is more important.”

The detective’s lips puckered. He flipped backward in his notebook. “My officer reported that you said—and I quote—‘the men stole my Jean’.” He peered at Deren over his readers. “If Jean’s not your wife, who is she?”

Deren massaged his pounding forehead. “The officer misunderstood. The men stole vials containing a mouse gene I used for research purposes and kidnapped my wife, Molly.”

Henderson nodded his understanding and poised his pen over his notepad. “Describe your wife.”

“Molly’s five foot five, one hundred forty-five pounds. Short brown hair cut in a Meg Ryan style, only curlier. Her lips are like Cameron Diaz’s and her laugh reminds me of Julia Rob—” “Umm, er, yes,” the detective stammered. “What was she wearing?”

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“When I left the house this morning, she had on a pink T-shirt,” Deren hesitated, “or was it blue? Gray sweatpants and white sneakers.”

“What’s so special about this gene of yours?”

“I was perfecting a protocol to treat genetic diseases by transferring a functional gene into body cells. To demonstrate success, I had to use a gene for a measurable trait.”

What effect would the theft have on his research? But Deren couldn’t think about that now. The kidnappers had to be caught.

How much time had elapsed since Molly was taken? He clutched at the thin mattress. If only he had listened to his wife and spoken to the dean sooner, this whole scenario might have been prevented. He had to find Molly. Attempting to sit up brought on a wave of vertigo. He rested his head back on the pillow.

The detective cleared his throat. “They took a mouse gene, but not this technique of yours?”

“Yes.” Henderson tapped the pen on his notepad. “What trait were you measuring?”

“I isolated a mouse gene for intelligence.”

Henderson’s eyebrows rose. “I imagine the thieves thought it was worth something.”

“For the past week, I’ve had calls from people interested in the gene. My wife thinks they want to modify the mouse gene for use in fertility clinics to create designer babies.”

“Let’s get back to the kidnappers.” Henderson took notes while Deren described the two men. “Any idea where they were headed?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you see the license plate number?”

“I was too busy trying to rescue my wife.”

“Dr. Patterson, what I don’t understand is why they kidnapped your wife instead of you?”

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“They were going to abduct me, but Molly got in the way. I suppose they grabbed her as insurance.”

The detective nodded. “A hostage in case they’re cornered.”

“In case?” Deren envisioned a shootout between the good guys and the bad guys with Molly in the middle. He shuddered.

“Please, you can’t let anything happen to my wife. You have to find her.”

“We’ll do everything we can.” Henderson clicked his pen.

“Anything else you can tell me about the kidnappers?”

“The one waving the gun said a few foreign words.”

“That could be helpful. Do you remember what he said?”

The increasing pain in his shoulder made it hard to concentrate. The numbing agent must be wearing off. “The only words I caught sounded like soda and nest. Everything else was gibberish.”

A brief smile flickered across the detective’s face. “I’ll pass that along. Maybe it can help nail down their nationality.” Henderson studied his notes. “You said you received calls about this gene of yours. I’ll need those names.”

“The only one I remember is Patrick Novack, but the numbers of the other callers are still on my office phone.”

“Any way I can get those numbers?”

“I guess campus security could let you into my office.”

“I’ll check into that. Thank you for your time. Any family member or friend I can contact for you?”

“Thanks, Detective. I already called a friend.”

Henderson pocketed his glasses and notes. “By the way, a sketch artist from another township should be here tomorrow morning. We want to get those faces on the news.” He reached into his jacket pocket and held out a business card. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

Deren clutched the card. “You’ll call me as soon as you find Molly, won’t you?”

“Count on it. You concentrate on healing.”

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*** Henderson walked out of the hospital, the electronic doors swishing closed behind him. Seated in the car, he radioed the police station. Referring to his notes, he passed along a more detailed description of Patterson’s wife and the two kidnappers.

“Notify all patrol units. Anything new on your end?”

The duty officer said, “No reports of the vehicle or anything suspicious at the roadblocks or bus station. Turner’s at the airport now, checking out a vehicle abandoned since early evening.”

“I’ll bet it’s a green Subaru.”

He heard the shuffling of paper. “How’d you know?” He heard the surprise in the officer’s voice.

“You run the plate?”

“I checked with the rental company. Turns out the man used a fake ID.” No surprise there. “Get another officer out there to help Turner. The FBI agents should be here in the morning.”

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Chapter Fourteen Deren stared at a ceiling he didn’t recognize, then took in his surroundings. The ER cubicle. The last thing he remembered was a nurse giving him a pain pill. Must have been strong stuff.

His mind replayed the events that landed him here. The two men at his office door, handing over the gene, being led out of the science building, Molly distracting the gunman. He recalled the details of his attempt to rescue his wife. Pivoting away from their car, the knee he smashed into his desk drawer buckled seconds before he felt a pain in his shoulder. The last thing he remembered was hitting his head on the pavement.

He had to find his wife.

With great care, he eased to a sitting position and slipped his legs over the side of the bed. When he stood, the room began to spin. He lay back down and waited for the dizziness to pass.

The young doctor entered the room. He shined a light in Deren’s eyes, then checked his heart and lungs. “We have a room for you upstairs.”

“I can’t stay. My wife’s been kidnapped. I need to find her.”

With his good arm, Deren pushed to a sitting position.

The doctor pocketed his stethoscope. “You’re in no condition to go gallivanting around.”

Deren’s jaw clenched. “I need to find my wife.”

“Let the police do their job. You have a mild concussion. It’s best we monitor you overnight.”

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Deren straightened his back and his resolve. “I’d like to sign myself out.”

The doctor frowned. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

“I have to help the police retrieve information from my office at the college so they can figure out who the kidnappers might be. I can’t do that if I’m in the hospital.”

The doctor huffed. “Fine. I’ll send a nurse in with a form for you to sign.”

Deren picked up his cell phone. “Stan, can you pick me up at the hospital emergency entrance?”

“Kelly just got your boys to sleep.”

“Don’t wake them. Can you let them stay overnight?”

“Sure. I’m on my way.”

“I’m not sure how long it’ll take for the paperwork. Wait for my text.”

How could Deren tell his sons that their mother was kidnapped because of his research? What was taking so long with the paperwork? The phone in his hand rang. Had the detective found Molly already?

“This is Patrick Novack from Recom, Inc. Have you given my offer any more consideration?”

“I just want my wife back.”

“Excuse me? What are you talking about?”

“You have the gene. And my wife.” Deren yelled, “T-two of your men showed up at my office this afternoon and forced me to hand over vials with the gene. Don’t deny your involvement.”

“What are you talking about?” Surprise registered in Novack’s voice. “Who stole the gene from you? When?”

“Don’t act innocent. Your thugs shot me and kidnapped my wife.” The pain in Deren’s shoulder was getting worse.

“You’ve been shot? Dr. Patterson, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’re all right. And kidnapping? I am deeply disturbed about this unfortunate turn of events.”

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“But you have accessed my privileged document and harassed me over the phone. I’ve given your name to the police.” Deren heard Novack’s intake of breath.

“Let me assure you that I run a reputable company.” After a brief silence, Novack continued. “Did you give the thieves your entire supply of your gene? If not, I’ll buy what you have. Just name your price. I’ll even help you find your wife.”

Deren’s grip on the phone tightened. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s gone. Along with my wife. Find her, and you’ll find the thieves who have my gene.” He disconnected.

A nurse rushed into the cubicle, breathless. “Are you all right?

I heard shouting.”

“A phone call I wasn’t expecting.”

“I have the release form.”

Deren signed and handed the paper back.

She held up a little paper cup, rattling the contents. “This is for pain.”

Deren chased the pill with a gulp of water.

She handed Deren a sheaf of papers. “These are discharge instructions for your care. Call the number listed to make a follow-up appointment in a week. Here’s a script for Percocet.”

She checked her watch. “I hope your pharmacy has late hours.

Don’t let the pain get too bad before taking the medication, or it won’t be as effective. I’ll have an orderly wheel you to the entrance.”

Deren waved her away. “Don’t bother. I can walk.”

Her eyes became slits. “I doubt that. You have someone to pick you up?”

“Yes.” “I’ll get that wheelchair for you,” she said on her way out.

After texting Stan, Deren fidgeted as if ants crawled over his body. He couldn’t wait to get home. What was keeping that wheelchair?

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About ten minutes later, a young man in pale blue scrubs arrived with Deren’s transportation. The orderly maneuvered the wheelchair down the hall and out through the electronic sliding doors. Deren shivered at the outside temperature.

Stan’s car idled at the curb.

Deren slid into the front seat and passed the prescription form to his friend.

Stan took in Deren’s sling and bandaged head. “What happened?”

Deren recapped the earlier events.

“What did the men look like?”

“They were both shorter than I. One of them said he was a scientist, the other had a gun. I guess they needed a hostage to help them get away, maybe out of the country. I wish they had taken me instead.” Deren managed to stifle the sob ready to burst from his throat.

Stan pulled into the Patterson’s driveway and got out of the car.

Handicapped by his immobile arm, Deren struggled to get out of the car.

Stan grabbed Deren’s uninjured arm and helped him to his feet. When they reached the front porch, Stan opened the screen door. The screen door that Molly fixed. Deren’s vision blurred.

Fumbling with his keys, he dropped them.

Stan picked up the keys and unlocked the door. “Would you like me to stay with you?”

Deren blinked back tears, overwhelmed by his friend’s generosity. “Thanks, but I’m fine. I’ll call if I need anything.” He didn’t feel like having company with his wife missing. How would he find her? Where would he even begin looking? His stomach was in knots, and he rubbed at the ache in his chest.

“Don’t worry; they’ll find her.” Stan patted Deren’s good shoulder. “Be strong, Buckaroo.”

“You’re a good friend, Stan.”

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“I’ll bring the boys over in the morning, along with your prescription.” Stan closed the front door.

Deren stared at the suitcases lined up by the front door, like soldiers at attention. A reminder of their disrupted vacation. His vision blurred. He blinked back tears. With no energy to climb the stairs, he sank into his recliner.

The house was eerily quiet. He covered his face with his right hand. What could he do to help with the search? He had no idea where his wife was or whether she was safe. Then he remembered the numbers on his college phone. He should have asked Stan to take him to the science building so he could retrieve the numbers of those who called about the gene. In no condition to walk the distance in the dark and with no car, he’d have to wait.

A heaviness blanketed him. Was it the drug?

Tears dripped off his chin. He didn’t wipe them away. *** Novack tapped his Montblanc pen on his lips. The recent conversation with Patterson was very disturbing. Leon had been right. Someone else was interested in the gene. And they took it before Leon could.

Novack paid a lot of money to receive copies of scientific papers submitted to the journal’s editor, being assured of exclusive access prior to publication. Apparently, the ungrateful little snit was doling out the manuscripts to others willing to pay.

Time to set Plan B in motion. He picked up his disposable phone.

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Chapter Fifteen Sunday Detective Henderson stood next to the manager of the regional airport and admired the pink hue of the clouds at sunrise. “Thanks for meeting me here, Charley. I appreciate you getting here at this early hour.”

The white-haired man in a flannel shirt and baggy pants yawned. “The FBI’s investigating a kidnapping at my airport?” “’Fraid so.” The whine of engines broke through the morning quiet. Henderson spotted the small aircraft as it came in for a landing. His jacket flapped open from the backdraft as the private plane coasted to a stop.

Two men made their way down the retractable stairs.

Henderson introduced himself and the airport manager, Charles Hunter.

The shorter agent in a suit, vest, and tie, held out his hand.

“I’m Special Agent Frederick Fletcher, and this is my partner, Special Agent Robert Sanchez. Any update on the kidnapping?”

Henderson said, “No news about the kidnapping, but Mr. Hunter can tell you about the aircraft the kidnappers used.”

Hunter hitched up his pants. “Yesterday morning, we cleared a six-seater commuter plane to land. The aircraft parked at the end of runway number one.” He pointed to the spot. “The pilot said his name was Dong Lee. I didn’t think anything of his nationality at the time because he had no accent. He hung around until late 118

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afternoon. From my office window, I saw a car drive up to the plane. A minute or two later, it took off. I wasn’t able to see who all was in their party.

“I checked the logbook this morning. The pilot listed Allegheny Regional Airport as his destination, same as the point of origin. When I checked with that airport this morning, they had no record of a plane with that tail number taking off or landing.

“I wondered who his passengers were. I looked back through our records. Dong Lee landed that same plane here a week ago, dropped off two passengers, and took off. Could be the same people he picked up yesterday. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

Hunter motioned down the runway. “The Subaru is still where they left it.”

“Let’s look at the vehicle first, then we’ll take a look at your records.”

Hunter looped a thumb in his belt. “Sounds like a plan.”

Henderson led the others toward the vehicle, with all four doors hanging open. “My officers should be about finished examining the vehicle.”

Hunter hiked up his pants. “Those two officers here last night searched the surrounding area for the kidnapped victim.” He shrugged. “Like I told them, it was only a matter of minutes from the time the car arrived to when the plane took off. If the woman was in the car, she must have boarded the plane.”

Henderson’s steps briefly faltered. Would the kidnappers force Patterson’s wife into the car, only to dump her before they got to the airport? Seemed unlikely, unless they were certain they hadn’t been followed. He ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. Two gloved beat cops were busy inside the abandoned car.

Various paraphernalia spilled out of a large open duffel bag.

Sanchez asked, “I’ve been thinking about how little information the pilot gave you. Isn’t that unusual?”

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Hunter said, “’Fraid not. Flights that don’t use radar, that is, flying lower than eighteen thousand feet, aren’t required to file a flight plan or declare passengers. I obey all the aviation laws and do my best to make sure everything runs without a hiccup.

Since my heart attack last year, I’ve had to cut back on my hours.

I can be a stickler when it comes to regulations, and I trust my employees to get any necessary information.”

Henderson approached a young, uniformed cop dusting the door handle for prints. “This is Officer Turner, the one who found Dr. Patterson. Have you found anything?”

“Nothing around the airport, Sir. The only item we found in the car was a metal container under the front seat.” He held up a brown bag.

Fletcher snapped on a pair of latex gloves, then lifted the container out of the bag. He read the label. “Acetone? What would they be doing with that? Can’t be right.” He twisted off the cap. Fanning his fingers over the neck of the bottle toward his nose, he sniffed. “Acetone, just like the bottle says.” He replaced the cap and handed the bagged item back to the officer.

“A rather unusual find.” Sanchez rocked on his heels. “If the kidnappers have been here for a week, they certainly didn’t leave much behind.”

Fletcher said, “Or they didn’t spend much time in the car. We can only hope they left some prints.”

Turner said, “I’ve lifted quite a few.”

Fletcher nodded. “Great. We can run them and hope they’re in our database.”

Sanchez replied, “If the thieves are from out of the country, they may not be in the system.”

Not what Henderson wanted to hear. He hoped to resolve this as quickly as possible. The kidnappers already had half a day’s lead.

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*** Deren woke with a start. Who was pounding on the front door? Light streamed through the picture window. Struggling out of the recliner, the pain in his head and shoulder reminded him of yesterday’s events.

As soon as he opened the door, his sons rushed in.

Tommy took one look at his dad and started bawling.

“What happened, Dad?” Mike looked around. “Where’s Mom?” His sons’ anxiety sucked all the marrow from his bones. This was the moment he dreaded. He wrapped his good arm around Tommy, who clung to his leg.

Stan held up a small brown bag. “I picked up your prescription.

You and the boys go in the living room, and I’ll get a glass of water so you can take a pill.”

“Thanks, Stan.” Deren’s shoulder throbbed. He sat on the side of the couch with the better cushion, his sons standing in front of him.

Stan returned with a glass of water. “Do you want me to stay?”

Deren washed down the pain pill, praying it would work fast.

“Thanks, I’ll call if we need anything.”

“Hang in there, Pal.” When the front door closed, Deren broke the news to his sons. Seeing their wide eyes and gaping mouths, Deren felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest. Mike’s lower lip quivered in an attempt to hold back tears, while Tommy curled up in Deren’s lap, thumb in mouth. Deren motioned for Mike to sit on his right side, where he could wrap his good arm around his older son.

“The FBI will find your mom.” Deren’s attempt to reassure his sons sounded hollow even to his ears. He kissed the tops of their heads.

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If the kidnappers escaped, they’d let Molly go, wouldn’t they?

He closed his eyes, not wanting to imagine the danger his wife could be in.

Why was Molly at the biology building? Then he remembered the ringing phones in his office and the lab. Molly was checking up on him since he wasn’t home. Receiving no answer, she must have suspected something was wrong. Molly, why did you have to interfere? He swiped at the trickle of tears with his thumb. He prayed she got away from the kidnappers and was somewhere safe.

All the painstaking work of isolating mouse genes with Stan, perfecting the technique of inserting the gene into mouse ova, and O’Malley’s testing of the transgenic mice, only to have his wife in harm’s way. If only he’d used another gene that wouldn’t attract interest.

Through the blur of the drug, he tried his best to recall the events of yesterday afternoon. Did the men know Deren was in his office in the science building, or was it his misfortune? And how did they get into a locked building?

He should call his mom and Molly’s parents, but he wasn’t ready. At least not yet. Why worry them? If the police found Molly soon, then this would all seem like a bad dream.

Tommy was getting heavy on his lap. After telling the boys to watch TV, they sprawled on the floor like rag dolls in front of the set.

Deren needed some answers. After moving to the comfort of his recliner, he tried to fit pieces of the puzzle together. Why had the men come to visit him right when he was ready to leave? He couldn’t shake the nagging thought of O’Malley’s call minutes before the intrusion. O’Malley, who had a lot of debt, was the only one who knew he was still in the science building.

Moving to the kitchen, he dialed O’Malley. Receiving no answer, he tried the lab.

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As soon as O’Malley picked up, he launched into the latest feats of the mice.

Deren interrupted. “Pete, something terrible has happened.”

He recapped the recent events and Molly’s kidnapping.

O’Malley said, “This is terrible. Any word about Molly? How are you doing?”

“No word about Molly yet. I’m doing all right.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Thanks. The boys and I are good for now.”

“When the kidnappers get away, they’ll let her go,” O’Malley said.

“I hope you’re right.”

“You didn’t give them all the amps, did you?” O’Malley asked tentatively.

Deren’s grip on the phone tightened. Before he could respond, a beep announced an incoming call. “I’ve got another call, Pete.

It could be the detective to say they’ve found Molly. Talk to you later.” Deren disconnected and took the other call.

“Dr. Patterson,” Detective Henderson said.

“You’ve found Molly already?” Deren’s voice rose with hope.

Henderson cleared his throat. “Sorry, no. The dark green Subaru Outback you described was found on one of the runways at the regional airport. The men took off in a private plane last night. My officers searched the area, but found no sign of your wife, so it’s likely she’s with them. Two FBI agents arrived this morning. We have the tail number, so they’re checking where the plane originated, hoping it will return to its home base. Once we’re done here at the airport, I’ll bring the agents by to speak with you. A police artist from a nearby township will be over later this morning. We’ll give sketches of the two men to the news media. Sorry I couldn’t give you better news.”

“Thanks, Detective.” Deren returned to his recliner. A constant throb gnawed at his shoulder. His sons crowded around.

“When’s Mommy coming home?” Tommy asked.

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“The police and FBI are still looking,” Deren said.

Tommy cried, and Mike bit his lower lip. After a few minutes, the two returned to their TV show.

Deren didn’t care about the gene; he just wanted his wife back. Leaning his elbow on the chair arm, he rested his head in his hand. How had the interest in the gene turned into an insane competition? That competition put his wife in harm’s way.

The ringing of his cell phone jarred him out of his thoughts.

He answered, expecting to hear the FBI agents or sketch artist were on their way. Once he answered questions and gave a description of the kidnappers, he’d help with the search. Maybe Stan and Kelly would watch the boys again. Seeing his sons’ sad faces, he hesitated to leave them. But he had to find his wife. He didn’t know what to do. If the detective had good news, then he wouldn’t have a dilemma.

“Morning. I’m Andy Schiff, a reporter for WBNG-TV in Binghamton, New York. I’m truly sorry about your troubles. I promise not to take up too much of your time, but I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”

Remembering what the detective told him, Deren said, “Sorry. No press.” He started to move the phone away from his ear.

“Professor,” the reporter pleaded, “this story will be on the noon news whether you talk to me or not. I know there are some things you can’t tell me, but give me some detail not in the police report. Someone may have seen something. It may help reunite you with your wife sooner.”

Deren considered this. Getting the information out to the public might help more than his bumbling around with one arm.

He moved to the kitchen, out of earshot of his sons. “I’ve seen you on the evening news. I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t told the police.”

“I understand they took something from your lab. Why did they take your wife?”

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Deren ran through the same facts he told the police and would have to repeat to the FBI. “So, after they had your mouse gene, they were going to kidnap you, but your wife appeared out of nowhere to save your ass?”

Deren sputtered. “Well, it wasn’t quite so flashy, but while we were running away, one of the guys grabbed her. Before I could tackle the guy, he shot me.”

“And took your wife hostage?” Andy asked.

“Yes.” “What was so important about this gene?”

Deren didn’t feel like going through all this again, but if it helped get his wife back, he would. He explained what his wife thought was the reason for the thieves’ interest in his mouse gene.

“An intelligence gene to make designer babies?” Schiff whistled. “Are you serious?” The reporter sounded like he had his scoop. “Text me a photo of your wife, and I’ll show it on air.

It may help bring her home sooner.”

Deren sent the same photo on his phone that he’d shared with the detective. When he thought about this information being on the noon news, his stomach flipped. He had to notify his family before they saw it on TV. How many times had he gone through the details? Well, he would have to go through it all again. He called his brother to explain why he had to postpone the family’s visit.

“I’ll come out to stay with you,” Damien offered. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll call work. I can spend the week, or however long you need me.”

“But Mom’s hip. She shouldn’t be making the trip.”

“I’ll check with Pam, but I’m sure she’d be all right staying home with Mom and the kids.”

“I couldn’t ask you to take vacation time.” Deren bit his lower lip to stop the trembling.

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“This is a family emergency, and you need me. I’ll ask for family leave and save my vacation time.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow.” Deren looked forward to the moral support. Before calling Molly’s family, he toasted a slice of bread. After applying butter and jelly, he took a bite. His phone rang. Seeing who the caller was, he almost choked on the food. “P-Peggy.”

“Deren, Arlene just called and told me the news.”

Massaging his forehead, he should have known his mom would call Peggy. Molly’s mother was the proverbial hard-to-getalong-with mother-in-law. The woman could be formidable. He made a point to avoid controversial topics, but at times, any topic turned into kryptonite.

“Why didn’t you call sooner? How could you keep this from me? She’s my daughter.” Peggy’s voice was thick with emotion.

“I was shot and taken to the emergency room.”

“What?” She gasped.

Deren didn’t think his injury would garner him much sympathy from Peggy, but that piece of news seemed to render her speechless. “The police and FBI are doing everything they can to find her.”

“Good. That’s good. How are my grandsons dealing with this?”

“They’re upset, of course.” As am I. Why hadn’t the men taken him instead? He took in a steady breath before continuing.

“We’re hopeful the police will find her soon.”

“I hope so, too. Be strong for your sons. I know my daughter.

She is resourceful. She’ll figure a way out of her situation.” He heard the catch in Peggy’s voice.

“I’ll be strong for the boys.”

“Without their mother, my grandsons need a woman’s touch.

I’m coming out with your brother. Be sure to update me as soon as you hear anything. Understand?”

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“O-okay. T-that will be good.” Deren buried his head in his hands. Just great. The last thing he needed right now was a visit from his mother-in-law without Molly as a buffer. Why did he always feel inadequate around Peggy? Did he not measure up compared to her other sons-in-law? He folded his hands and prayed Molly would be found before his brother and Peggy left Pittsburgh. Save them a trip, and himself some agony.

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Chapter Sixteen Molly woke to aches and pains throughout her body. The flashback of the previous evening was like watching a horror movie. Thankful to have survived the night, she wriggled out from the underbrush.

Multiple cuts from the thorny bushes covered her forearms.

She plucked burrs off her sweatpants. When she lifted the torn flap of her sweats, stiff with dried blood, the sight of the jagged cut on her knee made her stomach flip. Wincing at the pain, she made a futile attempt to pick off specks of dirt and grass embedded in the inch-long laceration in her upper arm. Her fingers raked through her hair, dislodging a few leaves.

Her kidnappers must have left. Her stomach growled, a reminder that her last meal was lunch yesterday. She checked her watch, surprised at the time. How could she have slept until ten o’clock?

Assessing her situation, all Molly had on her was a watch and car keys. She could kick herself for not bringing her purse, or at least grabbing her phone. In a hurry, she ran out of the house, figuring she’d get Deren and return home. Now, she had no idea where she was, with no money or identification. She wanted to find a phone to make sure her family was safe.

Not knowing if Deren was alive brought tears to her eyes.

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her knee soaked her pant leg. Crying wouldn’t do any good. She needed to stay focused. Be resourceful. The constant monetary worries had worn her down into a whiny wimp. She gritted her teeth with resolve. The only person who could help her right now was herself. She had to be strong and get back to her family.

The airport should have a phone. She scanned her surroundings, unsure of what direction to take. The immediate area was dense with trees, as if they were knitted together. With no sense of direction, how would she find her way out of the woods? She had to get back home. What if she were the only parent her sons had? She needed to be there for them.

The swelling in her ankle seemed to have gone down some.

Removing her socks, she wrapped them around her foot to provide some support.

Scanning the area, she spotted an exposed root where surrounding dead leaves and pine needles appeared disturbed.

A sharp-edged rock had a dark splotch, most likely dried blood.

Facing the opposite direction of her fall, she weaved her way through dense bushes and trees in the dim light.

Was she following the same path as last night? With an urgency to find help, she looked for signs such as broken branches or trampled ground cover, anything that would indicate she’d been this way before. Not seeing any was discouraging. Her heart felt heavy. She longed to be home. She bent back an overhanging branch and continued forward. Just when she started to lose hope of getting out of the wooded area, the surroundings seemed brighter. Up ahead, the trees seemed to thin out. She quickened her pace.

Emerging from the edge of trees, she shielded her eyes from the blinding sunlight. The sight of the terminal up ahead buoyed her spirits.

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a sense of relief washed over her. She was safe now. She limped toward the buildings at the end of the landing strip.

The total silence was unnerving. With no one in sight, the little airport looked like a ghost town. Her heart fluttered. Had they landed at an abandoned airstrip? A moment of panic set in until she remembered the date. The airport must be closed on Sunday. She hobbled toward the building, hoping to find a phone.

A noise caught her attention. She turned to see a man emerging from the hangar. At the thought of rescue, she waved her arm and called out, “Hey.” The man’s eyes widened in astonishment. He jogged toward her, a scowl on his face.

The man’s jacket looked familiar. When she remembered, she froze in her tracks.

Yesterday’s pilot. Molly’s heart beat faster. He wasn’t going to help her. She turned back toward the field and started to run as fast as she could. Tears blurred her vision. Exhausted, dehydrated, hungry, and hurt, she wouldn’t be able to outrun the young pilot.

Suddenly, she felt his grip on her arm near the gunshot wound. Molly gasped at the pain.

The pilot yanked her close and clamped his other hand over her mouth. He hissed, “Don’t scream.”

She struggled in his grip.

“I have a gun, and I’ll use it.”

Molly froze. Her heart hammered in her chest.

The pilot dragged her toward the hangar and through a side door. The cavernous room contained several aircraft and roller carts. He led her past the plane she recognized from the day before. From a nearby work cart, the pilot snatched a coil of heavy rope and forced her into a wooden chair that faced the center of the building. With the threat of being shot, she held still while the pilot wrapped the thick cord around her waist, hands, and feet. He bent down and grabbed something from a toolbox 130

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on the floor. She gasped as he stuffed a dirty, foul-tasting rag into her mouth. The overpowering stench made her gag, but if she threw up, she would asphyxiate. A caustic substance on the rag made her eyes tear. The pilot wrapped a piece of duct tape around her head several times to secure the rag. She heard the echo of his retreating footsteps. The overhead lights went out. When the door slammed shut, the hangar became eerily quiet. Her breath caught in her throat. She was alone.

Some light filtered in from narrow windows positioned near the ceiling. Molly struggled to free herself from the ropes, but to no avail. She would be stuck in this chair until someone found her, most likely not until the next day unless the pilot came back sooner. She shivered at the thought. Her chest heaved as she started to weep.

Thoughts ran through her head. Spending time with her precious family, the upcoming trip to Pittsburgh, and her goal to do something meaningful with her life. With frightening clarity, she feared she might not have a future.

She blinked back tears. Enough thinking like this. She had to focus on getting out of the ropes. *** Novack’s burner phone trilled. “What news do you have for me, Leon?”

“I checked out a nearby airport yesterday and got to chatting with a pilot. Said he’s a flight instructor out of a private airfield about thirty miles from Dulles. Turns out he was there to pick up some passengers he dropped off a week ago. He had no clue what they were doing, and for a G-note, he didn’t care. I hung around and saw two men board the plane with a woman in tow.”

Novack sat up straighter. “Who were these men?”

“I didn’t know then, but since I knew where the pilot was going, I drove to the Virginia airstrip. When I got there, I found 131

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out where the pilot lived and paid him a visit. I asked about the passengers. The men’s names were Smith and Jones, but the pilot knew those were aliases, because one of them grew up near his hometown in South Korea. Said the man who called himself Smith wanted to make sure they arrived by a certain time. He flashed tickets for a flight out of Dulles to LAX, booked in the names of Li and Wang, aliases as well, since he knew those were Chinese names, not Korean.”

Novack wrote down the information. “Anything else?”

“You bet. Some chick was on their return trip. He wasn’t sure what that was all about, but thought she was forced onto the plane.”

“Did the pilot know who the woman was?”

“No idea, but the three headed for a parked car. They had luggage and a cooler. The next day, when the mechanic was checking out the plane, he got wind of the extra money the pilot made for the trip. When the mechanic demanded a cut, the pilot shut him up. Then the woman showed up at the airport, and he detained her in the hangar.”

“Who else knows about this?”

Leon barked a laugh. “No one, and the pilot’s lips are sealed.

Permanently.”

Novack smiled. Maybe he had a shot of getting his hands on the gene after all. “Terrific. I’ll see what I can find out about Li and Wang’s destination.”

“Already done. The two Koreans boarded a Continental flight from Dulles to LAX, with a connecting flight to Tokyo, and a final destination of the Gimpo International Airport in Seoul, South Korea.”

Novack pumped his fist in the air. He had a head start tracking the thieves with the information Marcello extracted from the pilot. If he could access the information, the FBI could as well. He needed to stall the manhunt until he could track the thieves to their destination.

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He drummed his fingers on his desktop. “I’ll have my IT guy hack into the airline’s database and erase their names from the Dulles flight. Once the thieves are on their connecting flight, I’ll have him delete that information.”

“Good thinking, Patrick. What about any security cameras in the airport?”

“Hadn’t thought about that. I’ll have him scramble the CCTV recordings.”

“That should throw off the Feds.”

Novack leaned back in his chair and planned his next move.

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Chapter Seventeen When Deren answered the doorbell, Henderson and two dark-suited men stood on the porch.

The detective made introductions. “Special Agents Fletcher and Sanchez need to ask you some questions.”

Deren’s head throbbed. “But I already told you everything.”

“This is standard protocol,” Fletcher explained.

“Let’s talk out here.” Deren stepped outside. A light breeze rustled through the bushes, carrying the sweet scent of lilacs.

Fletcher motioned for Deren to sit on the lawn chair while the two agents sat on the porch swing. Henderson remained standing. The three lawmen pulled out notebooks and pens.

Henderson slipped on his reading glasses.

Fletcher started the conversation. “We have the information you gave Detective Henderson. Going through the events again could jog your memory about something you might have left out the first time. Any extra detail could help us find the criminals.”

Deren repeated his description of the two men and how they forced him at gunpoint to hand over the gene, grabbed Molly, and shot him when he went to rescue her.

“Do you recall if they touched anything when they were in the science building? Door handles, walls, or other surfaces?

Were they wearing gloves? We’ve got a lot of fingerprints and no matches in the database.”

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Deren thought hard. “I don’t think either of them wore gloves. I can’t recall that they touched anything in the lab, but they had to enter somehow. The front door was locked.”

“We compared prints from the front door of the science building with those found in the car abandoned at the airport,” Sanchez said. “No matches, which would suggest they wore gloves, at least when entering the building.”

Fletcher tapped his pen on his notepad. “Dr. Patterson, did they call each other by name?”

Deren rubbed his forehead. “‘Sung’ and ‘Professor.’”

“Sung. Is that his surname?”

Deren shook his head. “No idea.”

Sanchez asked, “Did the men have any identifying marks or tattoos?”

“Not that I noticed.”

Henderson checked his watch. “The sketch artist should be here soon.”

Fletcher asked, “Does the college have surveillance cameras?”

“No,” Deren said. Bet the college will invest in CCTV now.

“Okay. At least we have one name to work with. We’re in the process of checking airports in the surrounding area. Let’s hope we receive some positive feedback to help us track the kidnappers.”

“What about all the phone calls I got?”

Fletcher perked up. “What’s this about phone calls?”

“For about a week, I got a few phone calls that I thought were asking for Eugene. After the call from Novack, it dawned on me that the other callers were saying ‘your gene.’”

“We’ll need those numbers.”

Deren stood. “I can take you to my campus office.”

Henderson tilted his head toward the house. “What about your sons?”

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Deren glanced at the closed front door. Could he leave his sons alone for twenty minutes? What should he do? He felt torn between helping to find his wife and keeping his sons safe.

Henderson decided for him. “Stay home and take care of your sons. Can you give us the keys to your office? We’ll retrieve the numbers.”

Deren handed them over. “I hope this helps to find my wife.”

Fletcher pocketed the keys. “We’ll track down the callers and let Detective Henderson know what we find out. He can relay the information to you to see if you know the callers. We’re also checking airports to see where the plane landed.”

“Don’t they have a record of that kind of stuff?”

“What information they gave was incorrect.”

Henderson said, “This must be the sketch artist.”

Deren turned to see a man getting out of his car.

When the man reached the porch, Henderson made the introductions.

The sketch artist asked, “Is there somewhere I can set up my computer?”

Deren pointed inside the house. “The kitchen might be best.”

Fletcher stood. “Dr. Patterson, thanks for your time.”

“Please keep me updated.”

Henderson said, “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

Deren watched the detective and agents climb into the cruiser. The theft and kidnapping occurred almost twenty hours ago. Wasn’t the first twenty-four hours the most critical? Deren wanted to help with the search, but he had no idea where to start looking. At least he could be some comfort to his sons.

He felt a tightness in his chest as he watched the car disappear down the street. Those three men were Deren’s only hope of getting his wife back. The sun disappeared behind a dark cloud.

The wind picked up, sending a chill through his body.

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He led the sketch artist into the house. Walking past the living room, he heard the soundtrack from Toy Story Three. At least Tommy and Mike could be distracted.

Deren worked with the sketch artist for about an hour. “The drawings look like the two men.”

The artist closed his computer. “Very good. I’ll get these to the detective.”

Deren walked the man to the door, then joined his sons in the living room. Reclining in his chair, he tried to concentrate on the movie. The steady patter of raindrops beating against the windows matched his mood.

After a short nap, he checked the time. He wanted to catch the five o’clock news but didn’t want his sons to hear. “Hey, boys, how about you play in your room for a little bit before dinner?”

Tommy griped, but Mike urged his brother along.

Deren turned to the New York channel. Andy Schiff led the news with the kidnapping. A picture of Molly from last summer flashed on the screen. His heart nearly broke at the sight. When would he see her again? Next came the sketch of the kidnappers.

He hoped someone had seen these men.

What could he do to help find his wife? He felt torn between staying home with his sons or joining in the search for his wife.

But where to begin? He had no idea who the kidnappers were or where they went. Novack seemed surprised about the theft, so he wasn’t involved. Hopefully, the FBI would be able to track the kidnappers through the phone numbers on his office phone.

His chest heaved. What was he supposed to do without his wife? Overwhelmed with grief, he blamed himself again for Molly’s kidnapping. If only he hadn’t isolated that gene.

Deren saw a parallel to his past. He was the same age as Mike when tragedy struck his family. He prayed his sons wouldn’t have to go through a similar trauma.

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worked day shift at a lumberyard. After a long day, his dad spent his evenings tossing a football or helping Deren and his brother with their homework.

Deren vividly recalled that fateful Saturday morning. A warm, sunny spring day, his family planned a trip to the zoo as soon as his dad got home from work. His mom was packing a big picnic lunch for their outing when the phone rang.

“How are you, Joe?” his mom said to his dad’s boss. Her face paled, replaced by a look of shock. Leaning against the kitchen wall, she slid down to the floor. “No! No! No!” she kept repeating.

His dad, the victim of a fatal heart attack, never stepped through the front door again—a devastating blow to the family.

The next few days were the worst of Deren’s young life.

Numbed to his core, he attended the viewing and the church service as if on automatic pilot. The overcast sky darkened, turning into a deluge by the time the family arrived at the cemetery for the burial—fitting weather for the somber occasion.

Could history be repeating itself? Would his sons have to deal with the loss of a parent? Would he have to raise his two boys by himself, just as his mother had?

His mom was strong for both him and his brother. With only a small life insurance policy, they moved into a smaller house.

She landed a sales job at Kaufmann’s department store and worked her way up to a manager’s position.

Deren’s Uncle Jeremy, his mom’s older brother, helped out when he could, especially with house maintenance. When his beloved uncle died, Molly helped Deren through the trauma. But he had no family in Buchanan to help him now, or at least not until his brother arrived—with Molly’s mother.

He heard footsteps on the stairs. His sons came into the living room. Tommy whined, “When are we going to eat? I’m hungry.”

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offer for dinner. “Let’s go see what we can rustle up.” He made an effort to sound upbeat.

Tommy said, “Not peanut butter and jelly again.”

Bracing the armrest with his good arm, he struggled out of the chair and went to the kitchen. Opening a cupboard door, he spotted a package of macaroni and cheese on the top shelf.

When he grasped the box, it slipped out of his hand and onto the floor, rattling the contents. He bent down to retrieve the box.

“Argh.” The pain in his shoulder took his breath away. Wedging the carton between his slinged left arm and chest, he attempted to rip open the top. He held on to the box, waiting for the pain to subside. How was he going to do this?

Tommy tugged on Deren’s shirttail. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Let’s see what else we have.”

Mike took the box and read the instructions on the back.

“This seems easy enough. I help Mom cook sometimes. You read the directions to me while I fix it.” He handed the box back to his dad.

“Sounds like a plan, Sport.” Deren felt as if a huge burden had been lifted off his shoulders, or at least one of them. When did his eight-year-old son get so grown up?

A knock at the front door sent Tommy racing out of the kitchen. Deren peered down the hallway to see his son frozen in front of the screen door where Paul Krafczk stood on the other side. “Let Pastor in,” Deren said.

Tommy held the door open and trotted after their guest, who carried a foil-covered plate and a large carryall bag.

The aroma of a home-cooked meal made Deren salivate.

Maybe he was hungry after all.

Paul set the goodies on the table.

“Mmmm, fried chicken.” Tommy’s eyes brightened. His fingers wiggled in anticipation of grabbing a drumstick.

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“Kelly Edelman mentioned that you men were on your own for a while,” Paul said. “Connie made more food than we could eat tonight, so I brought our leftovers.”

“Thank you, Pastor,” Deren’s voice croaked. He set down the box of pasta. When Paul removed the covering, the number of pieces on the plate looked like an entire chicken, which meant Connie fixed extra for them, after feeding her own large family.

A lump rose in Deren’s throat.

“It doesn’t look like you’re in any shape to cook, Deren. How are you holding up?” Paul asked.

“It’s been tough. We’re managing all right, but it’s hard to concentrate on anything, if you know what I mean.”

“I can imagine. Any word yet about Molly?”

“No,” Deren’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Fists on the table, Tommy appeared eager to dig in. Mike set the table while Paul lifted a bowl of mashed potatoes and a container of green beans from the bag.

“We’re all praying for Molly’s safe return. Let me know how we can help. We’re just a phone call away.” Pastor rested his hand on Deren’s arm. “Any time, you hear? You don’t have to face this alone.”

Deren nodded his understanding while fighting back the tears. He remembered attending church the first Sunday after moving to Buchanan. Pastor Paul and his wife Connie made them feel welcome, as if Deren’s family were already a part of the community. “Thank you,” was all he could manage to say.

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Chapter Eighteen Edelman tossed his cigar butt on the manicured lawn. He’d been standing in front of the science building for hours, next to an ice bucket containing a few random frozen vials. The campus was quiet. He strained to hear the sound of an approaching car.

His one o’clock appointment was a no-show, and his three o’clock was over two hours late.

Having been there so long, he worried that his loitering would appear suspicious. Every time he spotted a police car patrolling the area, he ducked inside the building. Checking the time again, he wondered how much longer he should wait.

Each time he dialed the buyer’s number, Edelman got a recorded message that the number was no longer in service. The nameless voice had promised money in exchange for the gene. If he wanted it so bad, where the hell was he?

Edelman kicked the container at his feet, then slumped against the building. What should he do now? His decision to sell the gene was prompted by the committee’s letter denying his promotion. No exchange meant no two million dollars. He was counting on that money. If invested wisely, he’d never have to work again.

And now the goon from the motel was late. Edelman wiped the sweat on his forehead. If the thug didn’t show, would he follow through on his threat to send the incriminating tape to the dean or his wife? One would immediately destroy his academic career, the other would ruin what was left of his marriage.

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He thought about Patterson’s descriptions of the men who stole the gene yesterday. Were they the same ones who arranged the swap with Edelman? If so, why had they changed their plans?

Was it to avoid paying for the gene? And what about the thug?

He seemed eager enough to get his hands on the gene Friday afternoon. What happened there? Or were these men all working together?

Edelman felt ambivalent about his marriage. He and Kelly were having some difficulties, made more acute in the last couple of months since he received the letter terminating his contract after the next school year. What were his options? Selling the gene would have been his ticket out of here. If that didn’t happen, he’d have to start the arduous task of applying for another academic position. Although his enthusiasm for teaching had waned, he could do another stint if he had to. But it would mean another move. If Kelly filed for divorce, he figured she would soak him for everything, so there was not much motivation for finding a well-paying job.

What was he going to do now? He had planned to disappear with the money and start over somewhere else. With no money and the threat of his academic career and marriage being ruined, he was unsure of his next step. He paced in front of the science building’s main door. Perhaps the buyer was delayed. Deep down, Edelman knew the exchange wouldn’t happen. His chin dropped to his chest.

With a final check of the time, he decided he’d waited long enough. Besides, he was hungry. He headed home.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Kelly spun around with hands on her hips, her face an ugly mask. “Where have you been all afternoon? You just disappeared. Did you even think about calling? Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? The kids and I have already eaten.” When Edelman didn’t reply, she raised her arms in defeat. “Why do I even bother?” She pointed at the covered dish on the countertop. “Make yourself useful. Take this 142

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tuna casserole over to Deren and the boys. Use the potholders, it’s still hot.”

“Deren will love this.” Breathing in the aroma, Edelman’s mouth watered. He’d eat over at the Pattersons.

“Deren might not be hungry, worrying about Molly, but I’m concerned about the boys.”

“I’ll take it right over.” Stuffing his hands in the oven mitts, Edelman grabbed the casserole and headed out the door. The warmth of the dish seeping through the mitts could not measure up to the heat of Kelly’s wrath.

Edelman drove the few blocks to the Pattersons’ house.

Balancing the casserole dish in one oven-mitted hand, he knocked on the doorframe and peered through the screen. Seeing Deren struggle out of his easy chair, he said, “Hey, Buddy, it’s me. I’ll let myself in.”

Edelman walked into the living room. “You doing okay?

Kelly made a tuna casserole for you and the boys.”

“Thanks for thinking of us and be sure to thank Kelly for making it. Smells great, but we’ve already eaten. Pastor Paul dropped off some fried chicken about an hour ago. We’ll save this for tomorrow.”

Edelman’s stomach rumbled. He’d have to settle for something at McDonald’s before going home. He followed Deren into the kitchen. “Any word about Molly?”

“The kidnappers flew out of the regional airport. The police suspect Molly was with them, but they don’t have any other information. The FBI is involved. They’re tracking down calls on my campus phone.”

“Hang in there. I’m sure Molly will be all right.”

“I hope so. I’m worried since she’s an eyewitness to my shooting.”

“You said both men were Asian?” Edelman asked.

Patterson stared at his friend. “Why? Did you see them hanging around on Saturday?”

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“Nope. I went home right after Commencement.” Edelman slid the casserole into the refrigerator. “You can return the dish later. No rush. Call me if you need anything, Buddy. Anything at all.”

“Thanks, Stan. You are a true friend.” Patterson walked him to the door.

Edelman climbed into his car. Was there a connection between the person whom Edelman arranged to sell the gene and the men who robbed Deren and kidnapped his wife? What about the goon at the motel? Was he working with the thieves or on his own? Edelman’s thumbs tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel while his mind raced. He had no way of knowing who was behind his offer to purchase the gene—a nameless, faceless gruff voice.

Edelman slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Had he been double-crossed? What the hell was going on? *** What a long day. Deren sent the boys to bed at eight and plodded up the stairs behind them. Taking the prescription bottle out of his pocket, he struggled with the lid. In utter frustration, he dropped the vial on the bathroom floor and stomped on the plastic container. Bending over to gather the handful of pills, his shoulder protested every movement. With the pills on the countertop, he used his foot to push the plastic fragments toward the wall. He swallowed a Percocet and stumbled to bed. Too exhausted to change into pajamas, he eased under the covers to minimize jostling his shoulder. Once settled, yesterday’s events raced through his mind, faster than O’Malley’s mice in a maze.

The theft. The kidnapping. The gunshot.

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movement, a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. How long would it take for the pill to work? What if the detective or the FBI called? He didn’t want to miss the call, especially if they had good news.

He struggled out of bed, hung onto the railing, and plodded downstairs.

With the phone clutched tight in his grip, he trudged up the steps. He thought about the kidnapping. Where had they taken his wife? Was she safe? Unharmed? Alive? The fact that O’Malley seemed more concerned about the stolen gene than about Molly’s abduction pervaded his thoughts. Were either of his friends somehow involved? He needed to keep a positive frame of mind.

Tomorrow, he’d stay off the pain meds and figure out how he could help with the search for his wife. *** Molly struggled with the rope binding her wrists behind her back. As best she could, she explored the knots with her fingers.

With each move, the ropes tightened, numbing her hands. She wrestled with the binding for what seemed like hours until she finally felt the rope start to give. She pushed back the pain shooting up her arms with each movement. She couldn’t lose sight of her goal—to get back to her family. The rope felt slick from her blood. She wiggled her fingers to restore the circulation. By slowly tugging and rotating her wrists, she managed to wriggle one hand out from its binding. The other hand followed.

Before the pins-and-needles sensation eased, she peeled the tape away from her mouth and removed the foul-smelling rag.

She gagged, then gulped in a much-needed lungful of fresh air.

The removal of the tape wrapped around her head pulled out clumps of hair. Her eyes watered. Next, she bent over to pick at the rope around her ankles. Unable to loosen the knots, she scanned the area for a tool to help cut herself free.

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In the fading light, she spied some metal objects on top of a work cart near the wall. By repositioning her feet, she scooched the chair toward the cart. Searching for anything sharp, she grabbed a metal file to pick at the knot. She used the tool like a saw to fray the thick rope.

She picked and sawed until the rope fibers gave way, then she unwound the rope from her legs. While resting her heels on the rung of the chair, she rubbed the numbness from her ankles. The improved circulation brought pain. Her hands came away slick with blood.

Next, she tackled the rope around her waist. Rotating the knot to the front, she used the file to pick at the binding. By the time she was free, objects in the hangar had become invisible. She rose stiffly from the chair. With outstretched hands, she groped in the direction of the wall until her fingers touched the cool surface. With one hand on the wall, she headed toward the door.

Suddenly, her foot caught on something. In a split second, she flashed back to the root in the wooded area. Her arms pinwheeled to maintain balance. Unable to stop her momentum, she pitched forward.

She landed on something firm, with some give. Her hands roamed over the lump covered in fabric. Sniffing, she scrunched up her nose at the stench of urine and a metallic scent.

Horrified, she tumbled off the body and crab-walked away.

This nightmare just went from bad to worse. Sobbing, she scrambled to her feet. She had to get out of this place and get help. She hurried along the length of the building, sometimes stumbling. Reaching a corner, she knew the door had to be nearby. She continued until she located a handle. Flinging open the door, she stumbled outside into the cool night and breathed in a lungful of fresh air.

Nothing was going to stop her from getting home to her sons.

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Chapter Nineteen Monday The light breeze brushed over Molly’s skin. She hugged herself to keep warm. Was she shaking because of the cold or the body she touched? The tears blurring her vision gave the stars halos. The twinkling pinpoints of light reminded her of the song about diamonds in the sky. A chorus of chirping crickets filled the night air.

Not far from the hangar, a light shone from the windows of a nearby building. Tired and weak, Molly hobbled toward the structure. A gust of wind blew from behind, as if urging her forward.

Through the plate glass in the top half of the door, she saw a pot-bellied man in a brown uniform slumped at a desk. Probably a security guard taking a nap. She pounded on the door to get his attention.

The man’s head jerked back. He removed his cap by the bill and rubbed his partially bald pate. After repositioning his cap, the man rose and ambled toward the door. He stared through the grimy window. “Airport’s closed.”

“Would you call the police for me, please?” she held her hands as if in prayer.

Arms folded across his chest, he scanned her up and down.

“This is private property. What do you want the police for?”

She hesitated. Did he have anything to do with the body in the hangar? Could she trust this man? With no cell phone, what else 147

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could she do? If she wanted help, she had to rely on this stranger.

“I was kidnapped by two men. They forced me into a small plane, which landed here last night. I escaped and spent the night in the woods. This afternoon, when the pilot recognized me, he tied me up in the hangar, and—” “One of our pilots, you say?” The guard’s voice was tinged with disbelief. “Why would he tie you up?”

Thinking of all she had endured over the last few days, she couldn’t stop crying. What must this man think of her?

“Please. You’ve got to believe me.” Molly wiped her cheeks.

Her chest heaving, she tried to control her runaway emotions.

“There’s a body in your hangar. I think he’s dead.”

The guard’s eyes widened. “You serious? Okay, Lady, calm down. Come on in and I’ll call the po-lice.” The bolt snapped, and the door opened. Taking in her appearance, his face scrunched up as if detecting a foul odor.

When she glanced down at her dirt- and blood-stained clothes and hands, she understood the man’s revulsion.

The guard scuffled behind the desk, keeping her in his sight.

“What’s your name?” The man cradled the receiver under his chin while he dialed.

“Molly Patterson. I live in Buchanan, PA.” She studied the man. His face was as wrinkled as his uniform. The top button of his shirt was undone, most likely due to the folds of skin under his chin, reminding her of a turkey wattle.

The security guard scratched at the white stubble covering his jaw. “Is that you, Mel? I thought I recognized your voice. This here is Earl at the Upperville Airport. There’s a woman here, a Molly Patterson. Says she was kidnapped yesterday, tied up in the hangar by one of our pilots, and that we have us a dead body in the hangar.”

She watched the folds of his neck jiggle with each nod as the guard agreed with whatever Mel was saying. “Really? Yeah, okay.

That’s great, Mel. See you soon.”

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The guard hung up the landline. “Okay, Lady. That was the sheriff, who’s a good friend of mine.” He puffed out his chest, straining at the buttons on his shirt. “He’s on his way over. Says there’s an APB out on you. By the way, my name is Earl. Earl Bugsby.” He extended his hand, a welcoming smile on his face.

As if reconsidering, his arm dropped to his side. “I’d shake, but your hands are all bloody.”

She stared at her dried blood-encrusted fingers. Out of reflex, she rubbed her palms on her sweatpants. “Could I wash up?”

Bugsby’s forehead wrinkled. “Best you wait for the sheriff.

He’ll need to take pictures and samples for evidence.”

As much as she’d like to scrub the blood off her hands and the dirt from her face, no amount of soap would ever erase the smell and feel of the corpse. She shivered at the thought. “May I call home?”

Bugsby turned the phone around and handed her a paper towel.

Using the towel to hold the receiver, Molly dialed Deren’s number. She listened to the rings before it went to voicemail. Was he asleep or in a hospital? Had she misdialed, or would he never answer his phone again? Her throat constricted. She didn’t want to think the worst, but Deren always had his phone with him.

Too upset to leave a message, she replaced the receiver. On the edge of tears, she took in a ragged breath. She’d call Kelly if she knew her number—the problem with being dependent on cell phones rather than memory. She slumped in the chair in front of the desk.

Bugsby moved toward a small table near the wall. He picked up a carafe. “Want some coffee?”

“Water would be great.”

He grabbed a Styrofoam cup and hurried to the restroom.

She heard the water running for a while before he hustled back with her drink.

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“Thank you.” Molly held the cup in both hands. After the first sip, she gulped down the rest.

Sitting behind the desk, Bugsby opened a drawer and rummaged through the contents. “Hungry?” He held up a package of crackers and smiled, as if his find was the biggest fish in the pond. “Sorry I don’t have anything else. Tryin’ to lose some weight.” He patted his ample girth. “Can’t have a lot of snacks around, or I’ll just sit and eat all night.” His grin revealed stained teeth.

Molly’s hands shook as she opened the cellophane wrapper.

She gobbled the crackers, not having eaten in a day and a half.

Bugsby refilled her cup and handed it back along with another package of crackers. “Sorry, that’s the last one.” He scrunched his lips, appearing to be deep in thought. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. “Now I remember. Last night at dinner, the missus mentioned a news report about a kidnapping in Pennsylvania.

That must be you.” He pointed his finger at her and slapped his knee. “Don’t that beat all. Ain’t that something, I mean, you showing up here?”

The purr of a motor and the muted thud of a closing car door announced the arrival of the cavalry. A large-framed man in a brown shirt and jacket, taupe pants and tie, and a trooper hat burst through the door. His more-salt-than-pepper hair suggested a seasoned lawman. A caterpillar mustache stretched between two puffy cheeks, reminding her of Yosemite Sam, gun and all. “Hey, Earl.”

The sheriff removed his hat and settled into a chair. “Mrs. Patterson, I’m Sheriff Melvin Hetzner.” He took a pen and a notepad from inside his jacket. “Want to tell me how you got from PA to Virginia?”

So that’s where she was. “The kidnappers forced me onto a plane that landed here. Do you know what happened to my husband?”

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“He reported your kidnapping. Last I heard he was taken to a hospital.”

“He’s alive?” She placed a hand on her chest. “Thank God.” “Did the kidnappers tie you up?”

“No. Yesterday evening, after we deplaned, the kidnappers headed for a car on the road. I heard them talking about heading to another airport. I managed to escape. Spent the night in the woods. The kidnappers drove away in that car. This afternoon, I made it back to the airport, where I saw the pilot. He grabbed me and tied me up in the hangar. By the time I freed myself, it was dark. As I felt my way out of the building,” she swallowed,” I tripped over a dead body. I couldn’t see who it was.”

“Okay, Ma’am.” The sheriff pocketed his notebook. “Let me check the hangar, then I’ll drive you to the ER to be checked out.

I’ve notified the FBI that you’ve been found.”

Bugsby thumbed his cap farther back on his head. “FBI. Holy moly. Don’t that beat all.” *** Sheriff Hetzner flung open the hangar door, which banged shut behind him. Aiming the flashlight beam along the wall, he flipped on the light switch. The overhead lighting brightened one side of the room while the bulbs on the other side flickered. He panned the flashlight’s beam along the wall until spotting the prone body in bib overalls. Oxidized blood darkened the victim’s chest and neck area. A puddle of congealed blood surrounded the victim. Maintaining distance to prevent contamination, Hetzner surveyed the area. Smeared streaks on the floor fit Mrs. Patterson’s description of crawling away from the body.

He called the station. “Have the CSI techs and the coroner come out to the hangar at the Upperville Flight School.”

Returning to the office building, the sheriff described the body to Bugsby. “You know who that might be?”

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“Sounds like the mechanic.”

“Name?” The sheriff flipped open his notebook.

“Lucas, I think.”

Hetzner recorded the name. “Who else was here today... er, make that yesterday?”

“Let’s take a gander at the books.” Bugsby opened the flight log on his desk and ran a gnarled finger down the page. “Says here there were a few training sessions and one charter flight.”

“What’s the pilot’s name for the charter flight?”

“That’d be Dong Lee. We all call him Ace. He’s Korean. Came over with his parents when he was young. Nice fella. He took flying lessons here, and now he’s a trainer. He also does charter flights.”

“Is the destination or any passenger names recorded?”

“Not on yesterday’s trip.” Bugsby turned back a few pages. “All I can tell you is that wherever he went, he came back the same day.” His finger paused. “This here is interesting. Last Saturday, he had a charter with two passengers. Says here the names are a Dr. Jones and a Mr. Smith.” Bugsby looked at the sheriff. “You think that’s who he brought back?”

“Could be.” Hetzner stroked his mustache. “Two common last names. Definitely a red flag.”

Bugsby shrugged, looking sheepish. “Heh, heh. I’m just tellin’ you what it says here.”

“I need to talk to the pilot. You have an address for Dong Lee?” “I can get it for you.” Bugsby flipped through a Rolodex, found the name, and read the info on the card. “You want me to call him?”

“No. He’s a person of interest. I’ll handle it.” The sheriff pocketed his notepad.

He scanned the woman from head to toe. “Okay, Ma’am, we’re stopping at the hospital to have you checked out.”

“I’m okay. Really.”

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“I insist. I’ll have them take swabs of the blood on your hands and clothing.” He leaned in closer. “What happened there? That wound on your upper arm looks like it needs attention.”

“One of the men shot me when I escaped.”

“You need to have that checked out. Infection is common with gunshot wounds.”

Mrs. Patterson poked at the scabbed wound. “I guess. It is a little warm to the touch.”

“Where were the shots fired?”

“In the field near the parked car.”

“I need to make a few calls before heading to the hospital.”

Hetzner stepped outside. A few minutes later, he returned.

“I’ll take you to the emergency room now.” The sheriff held the door for Mrs. Patterson. Over his shoulder, he told Bugsby, “A deputy is on his way over to secure the hangar. No one goes in until CSI clears it. The FBI may want to examine the scene as well, so nothing is to be disturbed until you get the all clear. You hear me, Earl? Don’t know how long all this will take. I might be late for our poker game.”

“Your seat will be there for you, Mel.” The sheriff opened the passenger door. Once Mrs. Patterson was seated, he slid behind the wheel and headed for the road parallel to the runway. “Point out where that car was parked. Any idea of make or model?”

“I was concentrating on escaping, so I didn’t get a good look.

I think we’re close to the spot where the car was parked.”

The sheriff stopped and placed a marker by the side of the road, then headed for the hospital. *** The incessant ringing made Deputy Christopher Bentley’s head hurt, the result of his late-night outing and a few too many beers. He rolled over and picked up his cell phone. Bentley 153

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groaned. He couldn’t let it go to voicemail. “Hey, Sheriff. What’s up?”

“I need you to go to the house of Dong Lee and bring him in to the station. Seems he piloted the aircraft involved in a kidnapping, and now we have a dead mechanic at the Upperville Flight School. Take Watson with you and proceed with caution.

Consider Mr. Lee armed and dangerous.”

“Let me find a pen and pencil, uh, paper.” His head pounding, he rolled out of bed and stumbled into the living room. He found a pen and a margin on the newspaper. “Okay, Sheriff. Shoot.”

Hetzner rattled off the address. “After you bring Lee in for questioning, I want you at the station. I’m headed to the hospital now with the kidnapped woman. As soon as we’re done, I’ll bring her in. You can keep an eye on her until we make arrangements to get her home.”

Bentley hung up the phone. Great. Now he was a babysitter.

He rubbed his hands over the stubble on his face. All he wanted to do was crawl back into bed. He hadn’t arrived home until after one from the local beer joint, “On Tap.” An ironic name since only bottled beer was served, however, the bar had an impressive selection of imported and domestic brews.

Phone to his ear, he yawned while waiting for his partner Watson to answer. They agreed to meet at the station in half an hour. After a quick shower, his head felt somewhat better.

Not finding a comb, he raked his fingers through his wet hair.

Forgoing a shave, he brushed his teeth. He stared at his reflection in the mirror—nothing he could do about his bloodshot eyes.

Bentley padded into the kitchen where he gulped down a cup of strong Colombian-blend coffee and prepared a to-go mug.

Arriving at the station, he grabbed a set of keys. He’d warm up the cruiser and wait for his partner. When he turned on the headlights, something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. A big glob of bird poop smeared across the passenger side of the windshield. Really? Yesterday, he washed the squad car 154

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for the same reason, and he hadn’t even parked anywhere near a tree. Out of sorts, he sat in the idling car sipping his caffeine. A tap on his window made him flinch, almost sloshing liquid on his uniform. He hit the power button. “Get in.”

Howard Watson walked around the car and climbed into the passenger seat. He squinted at the windshield. “Holy crap! No pun intended. Didn’t you just get this cruiser washed?”

Bentley snorted. “Lot of good it did.”

“That was some big bird. Might even have been a convocation.”

“It’s too early for the big words, Watson.” Bentley turned toward his partner. All he could see were the whites of Watson’s eyes and his pearly white teeth shining through his ear-to-ear grin, a stark contrast to his dark skin.

“A group of eagles is a convocation. Like a gaggle of geese, Man.” Watson laughed, his deep voice resonating through the enclosed space of the vehicle. “This car must have a bull’s-eye on it.”

“Very funny. Ha, ha.” Bentley was in no mood for Watson’s lame sense of humor. At least the drumming in his head had eased a bit. He grabbed his coffee mug. “Let’s take another squad car.”

The two walked into the station. Watson took another set of keys. “I’ll drive.”

Watson pulled to the curb in front of Lee’s house. “Rock and roll, Partner.” He climbed out and quietly shut the car door.

Bentley followed.

The two approached a blue SUV in the driveway. They aimed their flashlight beams into the vehicle’s interior. Crumpled fastfood bags littered the back seat.

They approached the front door, which was cloaked in darkness. No porch light and no lights in the windows suggested the pilot was asleep. Bentley knocked on the front door. No answer. He rapped harder the second time. Still no sounds from inside. This guy was either a heavy sleeper or he wasn’t home.

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After pounding a final time with no response, the two split up.

Bentley searched the front of the house and garage while Watson covered the back.

“I found something,” Watson’s baritone voice carried in the quiet of the early hours. Bentley walked to the back of the house where Watson was peering through a gap in the upper portion of the curtained window.

“What do you see?” Bentley whispered.

“I can barely make out shapes, but there’s something on the floor by the coffee table. Something that doesn’t belong there. It triggered an alarm in my head. Want me to lift you up so you can take a gander?”

Watson was in rare form. Bentley rubbed his forehead. He didn’t need any needling this early in the morning.

On tiptoes, Bentley peered through the window. He waited while his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He sucked in a breath.

“It looks like a body.”

“I’d call that probable cause to enter the residence.”

In unison, the two drew their weapons. Bentley stood to the side, both hands gripping his weapon. Watson raised his leg and brought his foot forward, making contact above the doorknob.

Craaack.

The wood around the latch splintered. The door flew open, banging against the inner wall. Once inside, the two crept through the kitchen. In the living room, Watson aimed the beam of his flashlight on the body. The pilot lay sprawled on his back, his head twisted at an odd angle, and a look of surprise on his face.

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Chapter Twenty On the way to the hospital, Molly described her kidnapping to Sheriff Hetzner. “Earl let me use the phone, but I wasn’t able to reach my husband. Do you know how badly he was injured?”

The sheriff worked his jaw. “I’ll see what I can find out for you.”

When Hetzner pulled up in front of the emergency entrance, Molly opened the passenger side door. She wanted to get this over with and be on her way home. Before she could plant her feet on the pavement, the sheriff was at her side. He helped her out of the car. She limped toward the entrance. The automatic doors swished open, and he guided her toward the intake desk.

“Laura, how are you?” Hetzner greeted the receptionist. “This young lady needs some medical attention.”

“I’m doing well.” Laura maneuvered her wheelchair closer to the computer. She looked at Molly. “I’ll need your insurance card.”

“I don’t have any ID with me, but I’m covered by Highmark.”

Laura asked for pertinent information and entered the data into the computer. With every movement of Laura’s hand, the clacks and jangles of her bracelets reminded Molly of the sounds her old car made before being hauled off to the junk yard.

“Here’s my card if you have any questions about your bill. Take a seat. You’ll be called soon.” She pointed a lacquered nail in the direction of the waiting room.

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Molly sat next to the sheriff in the empty room.

He hunched forward, elbows on his thighs. “One of the first scenes I covered as sheriff was a two-car collision. A drunk driver hit a car filled with just-graduated high schoolers. Laura was one of the passengers. Broke her spine.” He shook his head. “She’s been in a wheelchair ever since. Still lives at home, but I’ve never heard her complain about her situation.”

Molly glanced back at Laura. She couldn’t imagine dealing with a handicap every day for the rest of her life. While her kidnapping was terrifying, the ordeal was over. Someone worse off made her appreciate her own circumstances.

Hetzner had his pen poised, ready to take notes. “Down to business. Describe your kidnappers.”

“The man called ‘Professor’ was short, about my height.”

The sheriff looked at her. “What are you, five-four?”

She straightened. “I’m five-five.”

He wrote down the information. “Go on.”

“He’s probably mid-fifties and on the heavy side. He had a round face, dark hair, glasses with black frames and thick lenses.

His suit coat and shirt were frayed around the cuffs, and his shirt looked dingy and thin from too many washings. The other guy was an inch or two taller than the professor. He had short, dark hair. His build was slim but muscular. He wore jeans and a dark zippered windbreaker.”

“How old do you think he was?”

“Best guess, early thirties.”

“Any distinguishing marks?”

“Not that I recall.”

Hetzner tapped his pen on the pad. “Any idea where they were headed?”

“One of them mentioned they had a plane to catch.” The events of the last several days were overwhelming. Was it truly over? The reality of going home still hadn’t sunk in. Molly tilted 158

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her head. “Actually, I don’t even know where I am in Virginia or what airport is nearby.”

“We’re in Leesburg. The Dulles Airport is nearby, most likely where the two men were headed. Anything else you can tell me, Mrs. Patterson?”

“I can’t think of anything else. Well, except I tried to thaw the contents of the ice chest by opening the stopcock. I was hoping it might damage the gene.”

Hetzner’s eyebrows rose. “What’s this about a gene?”

Before she could respond, she heard her name called.

Hetzner rose with her and told the ER nurse to use a crime kit to collect evidence. He said to Molly, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

After being examined and bandaged, Molly returned to the waiting area. She looked for the sheriff, but the room was empty.

Her pulse racing, she broke out in a sweat. Why would he leave?

She turned toward the reception desk, but Laura wasn’t there.

Blood pounded in Molly’s ears. She couldn’t catch her breath.

Had she entered an episode of the Twilight Zone?

Dizzy, she sank into a nearby chair, at a loss for what to do.

“There you are.”

She turned to see Hetzner approaching. Her relief was monumental.

“Not sure what you’d want, I got coffee and water.” He gestured at the cup and bottle in his hands before setting the beverages on an end table. “Help yourself while I grab the evidence kit. Then we’ll head back to the station.” When he rapped on the intake countertop, Laura appeared. She nodded as he spoke to her, then wheelchaired away. Returning several minutes later, her bracelets jangled when she handed the sheriff a small bag.

Hetzner assisted Molly out of the waiting area and into the car. “I found out your husband checked himself out of the ER Saturday evening. Once we get you to the station, you can contact your family. I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear from you, even at this early hour.”

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He pulled away from the curb. “We’ll make you as comfortable as we can at the station until arrangements are made for your return home. Maybe get you a change of clothes.”

Molly looked down at her bloody, ripped shirt and pants.

“I have to meet the two FBI agents who investigated the scene of your kidnapping. We’ll be checking out the murder scenes at the hangar and the pilot’s house.”

“The pilot’s dead?” Molly covered her mouth. “How terrible.

I mean, the guy tied me up, but he didn’t deserve to die. Do you think my kidnappers killed him and the mechanic? But why would they remain in the area? Do you think they missed their flight?”

The sheriff gripped the steering wheel. “If they caught a flight out of Dulles like you said, then someone else is involved in the two deaths. Whatever you got yourself tangled up in, these are dangerous people.”

Molly couldn’t wait to get home to her family and put this ordeal far behind.

When they walked into the station, Hetzner spoke to the officer at the front desk. “Bentley, did you secure the scene?”

“Yes, sir. Watson is there now, waiting for the CSI team.” His tight smile brought out a dimple in his right cheek.

The sheriff introduced Molly to the young deputy. “You called CSI and the coroner about that crime scene, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir. I spoke to the team leader, who said he’d send someone out, and I left a message with the coroner.”

“Good. When the secretary gets in, have her arrange to get Mrs. Patterson back home. Until then, she can wait in the interrogation room. I’m heading back out to the Upperville Airport to meet the FBI agents.”

Deputy Bentley led Molly to a small room. “Make yourself comfortable while you wait. In the meantime, anything I can get for you?”

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“I’d like to speak to my husband. He didn’t answer when I called earlier.”

“You can use the landline at my desk. Anything else?”

As if in response to the question, Molly’s stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard.

Bentley’s dimple reappeared. “I’ll see what I can scrounge up from the vending machine. Once the diner across the street opens, I can get you a nice breakfast.”

“Thank you, Deputy. That would be great.”

Bentley took her down the hall to his desk. It was almost four in the morning, but she was eager to hear her husband’s voice.

Her fingers shook with anticipation as she dialed his number.

While listening to the ringtone, she flashed on the scene where he had been shot. The sheriff said Deren went home, so why wasn’t he answering? Deren always had his phone nearby.

She hung up before the beep to leave a message and dialed again. After the fifth attempt, she decided to leave a message. “I hope you’re all right. I don’t know if you’re in the hospital or at home. The boys are at the Edelmans’. Give them each a kiss for me. I should be home sometime today. Love you.” How could she be sure Deren was all right? She needed reassurance that Deren and her sons were safe. She rubbed her forehead. Maybe the deputy could get some updated information on her husband.

On the way back to the interrogation room, she stopped in the bathroom to freshen up. Cupping a hand in front of her mouth, she huffed and sniffed. Her breath was putrid. She rinsed her mouth out, hoping it would help. Back in the interrogation room, she sat and waited. The deputy hadn’t returned with any food. Impatient, she decided what she needed now was some fresh air. Wandering down the hallway, she spied a back exit and stepped outside.

The cool night air made her shiver. She rubbed her arms, thankful this ordeal was almost over. Soon she’d be home. She looked skyward. The floodlights in front of the sheriff ’s building 161

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prevented viewing any stars. She limped down the street until a few stars appeared in the inky sky.

The sight brought back happy memories of summer evenings in Buchanan. On cloudless nights, she and Deren would let the boys stay up late. Lying on blankets spread out in the backyard, they would stare at the sky. She could identify the Big Dipper and Orion but had to depend on Deren for identifying Ursa Major.

He would point out the various clusters of stars, then explain the Greek mythology behind each constellation. Staring at the distant stars in the vast galaxy made her feel like a speck of sand on a beach.

A rustling from behind brought her back to the present.

Before she could turn around, an intense pain exploded in her head. A vision of bright white light faded to a blackness darker than the sky.

162

Chapter Twenty-One An insistent ringing brought Deren out of a deep sleep.

Opening one eye, he stared at the red numbers on the digital clock. Five. Two. One. He groaned. Who could be calling this early in the morning? His head throbbing, his fingers groped along the surface of the nightstand, hoping to locate his phone before the ringing stopped. Not there. He leaned over the edge of the bed and saw the phone next to his slippers. What was it doing on the floor? Had the phone rung earlier, and he knocked it off the nightstand, or was that a dream? He threw back the covers.

The movement sent a jolt of pain through his shoulder. Sliding to the floor, he rested his back against the bed and answered the call.

“Dr. Patterson, I know it’s early, but I wanted to pass along some good news.”

The detective’s words worked better than a double espresso.

“You found Molly?”

“Yes. Your wife is safe and in Virginia. I got the call not too long ago from the local sheriff.”

Relief washed through Deren. “Thank you, Detective. She’s all right, then? The kidnappers didn’t hurt her?”

Henderson said, “She’s fine. A little scratched up from what the sheriff told me.”

“How will she get home? I could pick her up, but my car is still at the college.”

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“Probably not a good idea for you to be driving one-handed,” Henderson said. “I’ll see if the sheriff can help with arrangements.

If you have a spare set of keys, I can get your car to you.”

“Thanks.” Deren’s pulse rate quickened. Where were his keys?

“Which reminds me, I also need to return your keys for entering your office in the science building.”

Deren put a hand to his chest. He’d forgotten about giving his key ring to Henderson. “My car key should be on the ring.”

The clink of metal sounded over the line. “Got it. We retrieved the numbers for all your calls over the past week. The FBI will be checking each one. In the meantime, I’ll make arrangements for you to talk to your wife.”

Deren wanted to run laps around the house. And maybe he would, after a few more hours of sleep. *** FBI Agent Fletcher stepped onto the tarmac and set his duffel next to his partner’s bag. The cold air felt refreshing after the stuffy and noisy ride on their chartered flight. In the pink blush of dawn, he scanned the small Virginia airport. “You think we can find some coffee around here?”

Sanchez rubbed his soul patch. “Doesn’t look promising, Fletch. Sheriff should be here soon. Maybe we can make that the first order of business.”

Fletcher watched the little plane pick up speed and lift off, on its way back to Buchanan. They were fortunate to find a pilot willing to make an early morning charter.

Sanchez tilted his head toward the hangar. “Want me to pick a lock and look for a vending machine?”

In mock surprise, Fletcher gasped. “Roberto, I’m shocked you’d consider breaking the law.” He gently punched his partner on the arm. After enduring two previous mismatches, he and 164

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Sanchez clicked. A good thing, since they spent so much time together.

“I’d do anything, Fletch. You’re a bear without your first cup of joe.”

Before Fletcher could respond, his cell phone jangled. Caller ID showed Special Agent in Charge Clifford Anders on the line.

“It’s the Boss Man. Wonder why he’s up this early?”

Sanchez shrugged.

Fletcher took the call. “SAC Anders, good to hear from you.”

Pause. “Sir.” “How’s the search going? Need any help?”

“Everything’s under control, Sir. We checked the crime scenes at Buchanan College and the regional airport. Sanchez and I just arrived at the flight school in Virginia, where Mrs. Patterson was found. Seems she stumbled onto a dead body.”

“We have senior agents with experience in the area who could assist you.”

“If we get jammed, I’ll call, Sir.” “Fair enough.” Anders disconnected.

Sanchez asked, “What’s the SAC want now?”

“Checking up on us. I don’t know why he feels he has to micromanage everything. It’s not like we need a babysitter.”

“Probably wants fast closure of the case. He approved the private plane pretty quickly.” Sanchez snorted. “He gets more press if the story’s hot.”

Fletcher laughed. “I like how you put that. He likes to take all the credit for the field office.”

Fletcher turned toward the hum of a motor. A pair of headlights grew larger. When the car stopped several feet away, a heavy-set uniformed man stepped out. “I’m Sheriff Melvin Hetzner.”

Fletcher grasped the outstretched hand and introduced himself and Sanchez.

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Hetzner hooked his thumbs in his belt. “I had Mrs. Patterson checked out at the ER. She’s at headquarters now until we can arrange to get her home. I sent two of my deputies to the pilot’s home to bring him in as a person of interest. They found his body in the living room. We’ll swing over there after we check the mechanic’s body.” He headed toward the hangar.

Sanchez asked, “Has the scene been cleared?”

Hetzner shook his head. “The crime scene techs and the coroner should be here soon.” He stepped over the yellow tape and approached the deputy at the door. “Hanson, you get photos of the area?”

The deputy held up the camera hanging from his neck. “Took lots of shots.”

“We’re going to take a quick look around.”

Hanson reached into a nearby satchel and handed out booties and gloves.

The FBI agents followed the sheriff into the half-lit hangar.

“The body’s by the wall.” The sheriff ’s flashlight beam illuminated the area. The three studied the scene from a distance.

Sanchez swatted at a fly. “What are those smears in the blood?”

“Mrs. Patterson tripped over the body in the dark.”

“Who is he?” Fletcher asked.

“Pedro Lucas, a part-time mechanic for the flight school. He works ... er, worked evenings and weekends. I checked the office logbook. He signed in Sunday morning at eleven.”

Sanchez waved away another fly. “Looks like he was shot in the abdomen and neck.”

Hetzner said, “Those are the only wounds I noticed. We’ll get the final word after the autopsy.”

Fletcher pointed at the wall. “From the blood spatter, it looks like the bullet nicked the carotid, and he bled out quickly. That would suggest the first shot was in the gut.”

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“Deputy Hanson,” Hetzner called over his shoulder, “What’s keeping the crime scene techs? I called a while ago.”

Hanson replied, “On their way, Sheriff. The unit is finishing up at the latest 7-Eleven robbery. Appears to be the same two guys who’ve been hitting other area convenience stores.”

“We’d better catch them soon. They’re costing my department a lot of overtime.” The sheriff pursed his lips, like he’d swallowed a lemon.

Sanchez laughed. “Been there, done that, Sheriff.” He thumbed toward his partner. “We’ve both come up through the ranks in local law enforcement.”

Fletcher stared at the body. “The mechanic was killed before Mrs. Patterson was tied up in the hangar. You think the mechanic’s death is related to the theft and kidnapping?”

The sheriff rocked back on his heels. “More’n likely, but I can’t quite connect the dots.”

“Maybe he got in the way or found something he shouldn’t have.” Fletcher scanned the hangar. “Which plane did the kidnappers use?”

“We’ll check the records, but I would suspect one of the larger six-seater planes.”

Sanchez pulled a slip of paper from his pants pocket. “I have the tail number of the plane that flew out of the regional airport near Buchanan, PA.” The sheriff approached one of the larger aircraft and aimed the flashlight beam at the rear section.

“That’s the number.” Excitement etched Sanchez’s words.

“Let’s go talk to Earl and see if we can get more info about that plane.” The sheriff headed toward the door. “Hanson, make sure CSI checks out this six-seater.”

Sanchez handed the note to Deputy Hanson.

After studying the plane, Fletcher jogged to catch up with Hetzner. “We’ll need the names of everyone who was here over the weekend and a list of flights.”

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The sheriff opened the door. “We’ll check with Earl. I told him to stay put. He can tell us what he knows about that aircraft.”

Fletcher and Sanchez followed the sheriff outside to a smaller building. Through the glass, they could see that the security guard had his feet on the desk, thumbing through a fishing magazine.

Hetzner opened the door and chuckled. “Catching up on your reading, Earl?”

Startled, the guard’s chair rolled backward. Pin-wheeling his arms to keep his balance, his cap flew off his head.

“Yeah, it’s been a busy night, Sheriff.” He retrieved his cap from the floor. “These the FBI fellows you were tellin’ me about?”

Hetzner made the introductions.

The guard hurried around the desk and shook the agents’ hands as if pumping for water. “Glad to meet you.”

Sanchez asked, “Why is the office in a separate building?”

“The owner didn’t want to smell jet fuel while he was working.”

Hetzner cleared his throat. “Earl, we need to see the flight records for the Cessna in the hangar. Then I’ll run the agents over to the pilot’s house. You hear he’s dead?”

“Ace is dead?” Bugsby’s eyebrows disappeared under the brim of his cap. “What happened?”

“His neck was broken by someone who knew what they were doing.”

Bugsby rubbed his own throat. “He was a good guy,” Bugsby said. “Or at least I thought so, until I heard he was involved in kidnapping and tying up a woman.”

A pause hung in the air.

Fletcher snapped his fingers. “Flight schedules.”

Returning to the desk, Bugsby opened a well-worn black binder and thumbed through the pages. He swiveled it around to face the agents.

Fletcher studied the most recent entries. He felt Sanchez’s breath on his neck. “The pilot, trainee, and tail number are 168

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recorded with takeoff and landing times. Why isn’t a destination listed?”

The guard fidgeted. “Most of the flights outta here are for training. The trainees usually just fly around the area and come back within an hour. This here is for our records, so we know which planes are in use.” He twisted the book and pointed to the final entry. “Ace flew the one you’re interested in.”

Fletcher asked, “Yes, but don’t the pilots have to file a flight plan?”

Bugsby shrugged. “You’d have to ask the manager that question. Most of ’em fly around for a while and then land back here.”

“Let the manager know we need to speak with him.” After getting a nod from Bugsby, Hetzner turned toward the agents.

“Let’s head on over to the pilot’s house, then we can circle back here and talk to the manager.” He led the way to the cruiser.

Fletcher buckled up. “Do you get a lot of crime around here?”

“The occasional burglary and petty theft.”

Sanchez said, “A double murder and a kidnapping. This must be like Christmas for you.”

The sheriff snorted. “Glad it only comes once a year.”

169

Chapter Twenty-Two Deren reached out to silence the alarm clock. As much as he wanted to sleep longer, he had to get the boys ready for school.

His eyes focused on his phone lying next to him on the bed. He must have fallen asleep right after the detective called. With great care, he maneuvered out of bed and headed to the boys’ room.

“Mike, Tommy. Great news. Your mom is safe and will be home soon. Hurry and get ready for school, then come downstairs for breakfast.” School would help take their minds off the past few days. “Your Uncle Damien and Grandma Peggy might be here when you get home.”

Tommy sat up in bed. “I don’t want to go to school.” He folded his arms tight across his chest. “I want to wait here for Mommy.”

His lower lip quivered, a sure sign tears would follow.

Deren sat on the side of the bed and hugged his younger son.

“Detective Henderson called to tell me your mom is safe. You don’t have to worry.”

“Mom will be back soon.” Mike tapped his cheek with his index finger, appearing to be deep in thought. “You know, Dad, if we go to school, who will take care of you?” He pointed at the sling. “You can’t do much with only one arm. I can fix the meals.”

“I’ll take you up on breakfast, but we have plenty of casseroles for other meals. I want you to go to school today. No reason to miss your classes since we have to postpone our vacation.”

Tommy glowered.

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“Come on. Let’s get something to eat.” In the meantime, Deren would think of a bribe to get his sons to attend school.

The three trooped down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Deren took a seat and watched Mike place a box of Cheerios and a carton of milk on the table. He prepared a bowl and handed it to his dad.

Near tears, Deren lowered his head and attempted to compose his emotions. He should be the one caring for his young sons, not the other way around. But the nightmare would soon be over once his wife returned home. Wiping his nose on his pajama sleeve, he relented. “All right. You can stay home from school, but only until your mom gets back.”

With arms raised high, Tommy raced around the kitchen.

“Let’s have a party.”

A big, calculating smile spread across Mike’s face.

The little conniver had played him, but Deren was in a forgiving mood. “We can talk about a party to welcome your mom home after you finish your cereal and I have my cup of coffee.”

After eating, Mike cleared the table, and then he and Tommy settled in front of the television.

Deren poured his first cup of coffee. Before he could take a sip, his phone rang. The number was local. Was it the detective calling about Molly’s arrival time? Instead, he was greeted by Dean James Madison’s booming voice. Deren heard the blood pulsing in his temples. “Dean Madison, h-how are you?”

“I left town right after Commencement. Imagine my shock when I turned on the morning news and heard the disturbing events that happened on campus. I hope you and your wife are all right. Let me know if there is anything I can do.”

“Thanks for calling, Jim. I got a call earlier this morning.

Molly is in Virginia.”

“What a relief. The theft and kidnapping are appalling enough, but a shooting? I don’t like it. How could anything 171

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like this happen here on our campus? Gives the school a bad reputation. What did the thieves take?” Madison’s voice grew louder.

Besides my wife? “They took an isolated mouse gene.”

“Did they clean you out?”

Really? Is that all Madison cared about? “I have a few vials of the DNA segment containing the gene.”

After a pause, the dean asked, “Could this gene be patented?”

Deren hesitated. “I don’t think genes can be patented. I have an appointment to talk to you next week about my gene insertion technique.”

“If somebody tries to beat us to market with the stolen gene, I’ll have our lawyers go after them,” Madison said.

Deren’s grip tightened on the phone. Why was everyone so focused on the mouse gene and not his technique? “The FBI has a few leads. The thieves could be one of the callers who wanted to buy the gene.”

“You had other calls? You should have let me know.”

Deren blew air between his teeth. The dean sounded like his wife. “Like I said, I may be able to salvage the gene. More importantly, I want to talk to you about patenting my in vitro gene insertion technique, which has a higher success rate than any of the current gene therapies.” Deren cleared his throat. “I think my co-authors and I should get some of the proceeds.”

Madison blustered. “Why bother with a technique? If the thieves thought your gene was worth stealing, then that’s the avenue the college should pursue.”

Deren counted to ten before responding. “I suppose we could think about selling the gene or our super-intelligent mice.”

“A special strain of mice sounds interesting. Regardless, you should have notified me earlier about the phone calls. Our lawyers could have intervened, or I could’ve beefed up security.

I’ll have my secretary make sure the school’s lawyers attend our meeting next week. We might be able to salvage the situation.”

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“Maybe the FBI can track down the kidnappers and recover the gene before they can do something with it.”

“Let’s hope so. This is a major discovery, Deren. Major. This would put our school on the map. Keep me in the loop. Oh, and give my best to Molly.”

Before he could say goodbye, Deren heard the dial tone. He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, then he joined his sons in the living room.

Shortly after nine o’clock, Rita Winslow, Molly’s friend and employer, stopped by with a casserole. “I wanted to drop this off before heading to the store. Any word about Molly?”

“She’ll be home later today. I’m waiting for a phone call with the time.”

Rita placed a hand over her heart. “Thank goodness. I can’t imagine what your family has been going through. How’s your arm?”

“On the mend.” He led Rita to the kitchen, where she placed the dish in the refrigerator.

“It’s good you let your sons stay home. I was frantic when I heard Molly was missing and you were shot. I would have called sooner, but I don’t have your cell phone number. I hope your arm heals quickly. Could we exchange phone numbers?”

They exchanged phones. He entered his phone number in Rita’s contact list, then returned her phone.

“Thanks.” She handed his phone back. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I’m on my way to help Bill at the store, so I can’t stay. One of his young workers didn’t show up this morning.”

“College student, I bet.” Deren grinned.

Rita let out a throaty laugh.

He walked her to the door. “Thanks for the casserole, Rita.

My brother and mother-in-law will be arriving this afternoon from Pittsburgh. We should be fine.” His stomach clenched when he thought about spending time with Peggy. Why did he always let his mother-in-law get to him?

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With Molly on her way home soon, Damien and Peggy didn’t have to make the trip. He dialed, hoping to reach his brother before they left, but the call went to voicemail. He left a message.

What if Damien was mid-trip? Would he turn around? Deren doubted Peggy would let his brother do that. Once that woman set her mind on something, she was unstoppable. *** Fletcher admired the pink horizon. He worked the stiffness out of his joints before sliding into the back seat of the sheriff ’s car next to Sanchez. On the ride to the pilot’s house, he called Chet. “Any news?”

Chet said, “We’ve gone through all of Dulles’ CCTV videos, but every single one of ’em has been corrupted. We’re doing our best to salvage any images. We checked the passenger list for flights within several hours of our thieves arriving at the airport.

We followed up on the few who had connecting flights outside the U.S. but struck out. I suspect the thieves used aliases on connecting flights.”

Fletcher mulled over the information. “That will make it impossible to track them.”

“We’ve got agents interviewing airport staff at Dulles. But we might have caught a break. When I checked other major hubs, turns out LAX videos are scrambled.”

“Too much of a coincidence. Has to be related.”

“That’s what we think. We’re checking flights going out of the country.”

“Thanks, Chet. Do your thing. But hurry. The longer this takes, the less chance we have of catching these guys.”

“Right about that. I’m on it like a tick on a deer.”

Fletcher pocketed his phone. “Nothing yet, Roberto.

Someone is covering the kidnappers’ tracks. All the surveillance videos have been erased.”

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Sanchez shook his head. “Something’s got to break soon.”

The cruiser slowed in front of a cream-colored ranch surrounded by yellow tape. “This is it,” the sheriff said as the tires crunched on the driveway stones.

Noticing the officer slouched at the front door, Fletcher nudged Sanchez. The two exchanged a knowing look, understanding the drudgery of some aspects of the job. A soft glow came through the living room’s picture window. The three men climbed out of the car and approached the house.

“Morning, Sheriff.” The deputy, who towered over them all, tipped his head in greeting.

After making the introductions, Hetzner turned to his deputy. “Tell us what happened, Watson.”

“Bentley and I knocked on the door. When we didn’t get a response, he checked the front of the house while I went around back. Through a slit in the dining room curtains, I saw what looked like a body on the floor. We entered through the kitchen and found the pilot in the living room. After calling it in, we canvassed houses on the street. Those who answered saw nothing suspicious. CSI hasn’t shown yet, so I took photos of the scene.

You want to go in?”

Hetzner nodded. He studied the front door lock. “Doesn’t look like a forced entry here. Let’s take a look around back.”

Watson picked up a black evidence case and led the way.

Fletcher scanned the ground for any footprints, especially under windows, but saw no sign of forced entry—other than the splintered back doorframe.

Watson was quick to explain. “That’s my handiwork, or rather footwork. When we saw the body, we had to check it out.”

“Probable cause,” Sanchez muttered.

Watson reached into the case and handed out booties and gloves. The four filed through the kitchen to the living room to view the sprawled body.

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Watson said, “I verified the body as Dong Lee.” Fletcher squatted next to the twisted form. “Someone knew what they were doing. A few broken fingers suggest the attacker wanted information. Looks like a snapped neck from the angle of the head.”

Sanchez said, “Maybe someone with military combat experience or trained in martial arts?”

Fletcher stood. “You think Lee shot the mechanic?”

Hetzner pointed at the corpse. “I don’t know what to think.

Let’s take a quick look around before CSI gets here. See if we can find a gun.”

Sanchez snapped the sleeve of his glove. “Dibs on the kitchen.”

Hetzner disappeared down a hallway. Fletcher motioned for Watson to help search the living room. The deputy opened drawers of the end tables and rifled through the magazines stacked on top of the coffee table, while Fletcher lifted cushions and ran his hand around the sofa crevices.

Moments later, Sanchez called out, “Come see what I found.”

The others migrated to the kitchen. In the open drawer, a small .22 revolver lay on top of dish towels. Sanchez stuck a pen through the trigger hole and raised the weapon.

The sheriff leaned in. “We’ll run ballistics to see if we get a match to the bullets in the mechanic.”

“What could the pilot’s motive be for shooting the mechanic?

You think he knew too much or saw something he shouldn’t?”

Sanchez asked.

“The more important question might be why this guy was killed.” Fletcher thumbed toward the living room. “I could understand if the pilot killed the mechanic to cover his tracks, but the only people who’d want to silence the pilot would be the kidnappers. From what we can tell, they’re long gone. Makes no sense.”

“Unless there’s a third person left behind to clean up,” Sanchez said.

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The thought hadn’t occurred to Fletcher. “Makes sense. Mop up loose ends.”

Hetzner asked, “Watson, you got an evidence bag handy?”

The deputy held out an open bag. The paper crinkled as he secured the gun inside.

The sheriff turned toward the agents. “Let’s head back to the flight school. The manager should be in by now. Hold down the fort, Deputy. CSI should be here after they finish at the hangar. I heard they’re at the scene of another convenience store holdup.”

Watson’s shoulders sagged. “Same MO as the other robberies?”

“Yup. The two men waved their guns at the clerk, beat him, and then dragged him behind the counter. They cleaned out the cash register.”

Watson stood at the front door. “Hope they catch them soon, Sir.” “Me too. Folks should be getting up soon. Talk to the neighbors you couldn’t rouse earlier.”

“Yes, Sir.” Frowning, Watson shifted from one foot to the other.

“We’ll head back to the flight school.” The sheriff led the way back to the cruiser.

They’d be at the hangar in a few minutes. Fletcher massaged his temple. The hour of shut-eye he managed to snatch on the flight down hadn’t been long enough.

Sanchez leaned over. “You okay, Fletch?”

“Just getting my second wind, Robby.” Fletcher dug an amber vial out of his pocket and dry swallowed a migraine tablet. He closed his eyes to block out the sun. He heard a loud rumble from his partner’s stomach and smiled. Unfortunately, breakfast and coffee would have to wait.

When they entered the office building at the flight school, a tall, dark-skinned man looked up from a book on the desk. His gaze shifted back and forth between the three of them before settling on the sheriff. “Melvin, I came in as soon as I could after 177

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Earl called. What’s all this he’s been telling me? Both Lucas and Lee were murdered?” “’Fraid so, Stuart.” The sheriff gestured toward the agents.

“FBI special agents Fletcher and Sanchez are here to investigate a kidnapping that’s tied to these deaths.” He waved his hand toward the manager. “Stuart Jenkins is the flight school manager.”

Jenkins ran a hand through his buzz cut. “This news could hurt my business. And a kidnapping? What the hell is going on?

This ain’t D.C. “Earl said you asked about our records. Destinations are not required if the plane stays below a certain ceiling, where flying is by sight and not by radar. However, I do insist that flight plans are filed if a pilot lands at another airport, which happens on occasion. I like to keep tabs on my birds, you know? They’re a big investment.”

Jenkins pointed to an entry. “Two men chartered a flight last Saturday with Ace. I was here when the men arrived. I overheard Ace tell one of them, ‘I was born there.’ May explain why there seemed to be an instant bonding between them. I wasn’t here when Ace returned later that day, so I don’t know if he returned with the men or dropped them off somewhere. A few days ago, Ace told me his Sunday charter got bumped up a day. Guess that’s when he picked up the kidnappers.” Stuart shook his head.

“I don’t know what to think. I can’t imagine Ace getting mixed up with unsavory characters.”

Fletcher asked, “Do you know where Ace lived before coming to the States?”

“South Korea, but I can’t recall the city. I hope you find who killed Ace. He was a reliable worker.”

“Thanks for your time, Stuart,” Hetzner said. “Tell your employees and pilots I need to talk with them. I can swing by later, or they can come down to the station.” He tipped his hat before heading for the door. “For now, we’ll head back to the station and regroup.”

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On the ride to the sheriff ’s office, Fletcher called Chet. “We just got new information. Check if any flights out of LAX go to South Korea.” *** The rattling of the front door startled Bentley. He’d fallen asleep at the front desk. The sticking latch gave him enough time to wipe drool from the corner of his mouth before the door opened.

Hetzner walked in with two men in suits and ties. He made the introductions. “The agents are investigating the kidnapping.

We checked out the two murder scenes and stopped here to regroup. Mrs. Patterson on her way home?”

With the back of his hand, Bentley stifled a yawn. “Not yet. I put her in the interrogation room to give her some privacy.”

“In that case, the agents can talk to her. Take them back, would you?”

Bentley led the Feds down the hall and opened the door to the interrogation room. The snacks he brought in earlier sat on the table, unopened. “She must be using the phone in the other room. Have a seat while I get her.”

Bentley strode down the hall to the squad room. His heart pounded as he glanced around the empty room. Unable to take in a breath, he weaved around the desks, peering underneath each one, hoping to find the woman somewhere.

Where could she have gone? Did she slip out the front door when he’d dozed off? He’d messed up before, but never this badly.

Just last week, while patrolling past the high school, he stared at a group of laughing teens dressed in short shorts and tops that displayed their flat midriffs. Returning his attention back to the road, he noticed his car was heading toward the curb. He slammed on the brakes, but not in time to avoid a collision. He still remembered the nauseating crunch of the impact when he 179

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hit the fire hydrant. Amazing how high the water shot up. Even though the cruiser sustained minimal damage, the sheriff was incensed by Bentley’s carelessness and confined him to desk duty for the rest of the week. He felt like a benched linebacker. But the topper was having to drag himself out of bed early this morning to report for duty. He’d had enough punishment for a minor fender bender. But losing a kidnap victim? This was so much worse. He’d be fired for sure.

Time to face the music. Bentley steeled himself. He located the sheriff in his office and gave him the bad news.

Hetzner rose from his chair and leaned his palms on the desk, a scowl on his face. His mustache quivered as he bellowed, “What do you mean she’s not here?”

Bentley swallowed and stared at his shoes. “She just disappeared.” He had no excuse for his dereliction of duty.

Shoving him aside, Hetzner barreled past as if needing to verify for himself that the woman was gone.

Bentley winced at the slamming of each door as the sheriff checked every room in the building.

Returning, Hetzner’s face was beet red. He shut his office door. “Why didn’t you let me know?”

“I had no idea.”

Hetzner sank into his chair behind the desk and covered his face with his hands. After calming down, he asked, “Tell me what happened.”

“I left her in the squad room to make a phone call while I got some food from the vending machine, which I left in the interrogation room. I’ve been at the front desk since then.”

“You don’t think she attempted to go home on her own?”

“With a sprained ankle and no money, where would she go?” Bentley thought a beat, something that might excuse his negligence. “Did she have a concussion? That might explain her wandering off.”

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Blowing out a breath, Hetzner’s mustache billowed. “Go outside and look for her.”

“Yes, Sir.” Bentley backed out of the room, glad to make his getaway. *** Through the thin walls, Fletcher caught most of the sheriff ’s heated words.

Sanchez paced, most likely wired from too little sleep. He rubbed his soul patch. “Guess we’ll be in on the search. And I was looking forward to a nice big breakfast of bacon, eggs, and—” Fletcher held up his hand, not wanting a rundown on something that wouldn’t happen. His stomach rumbled and his head throbbed.

His partner must have picked up on his discomfort. “Want me to call Detective Henderson?”

Fletcher nodded and popped another pill. “Thanks. When you’re done, we’ll help Bentley with his search.” *** Molly became conscious of a mild vibration and a strange humming. Her eyes opened to complete darkness. When she turned her head, her cheek rubbed against a rough surface that reminded her of indoor/outdoor carpeting. Struggling to sit up, she realized her hands and feet were bound. Tight. She tried to scream, only to find tape over her mouth. Her first thought was that she was back in the hangar, but that couldn’t be. She was on her side, not in a chair. The oily smell of her surroundings made her gag, although the odor wasn’t as disgusting as the rag the pilot had stuffed in her mouth. She took in quick, shallow breaths.

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Was she in the trunk of a car? Tears welled in her eyes. Who had done this? The kidnappers had escaped, and the pilot was dead.

Moments later, her body rocked forward when the vehicle slowed before coming to a complete stop. The engine shut off, followed by the tick, tick, tick of the cooling motor. She listened to the quiet. The shutting of the car door made her flinch. She heard footsteps. Her pulse raced and pounded in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. She held her breath, waiting for the trunk to open.

But the trunk didn’t open. Once her heart rate slowed, she listened for the footsteps, but couldn’t hear any. Realizing the driver must have left, her shoulders relaxed—until her next thought.

If the driver abandoned her, how would she get out of the trunk? Her breathing quickened, making her lightheaded. She slowed her breathing. She had to keep a level head to plan a way out of her dilemma. But how would she get out of the trunk? An overwhelming sadness washed over her when she thought about not being rescued. If she cried, her nose would get stuffed up, and then she wouldn’t be able to breathe.

This abduction made no sense at all. The crooks had gotten away. Hadn’t they? What would be the point of them hanging around this town in Virginia?

She tugged at the bindings, which felt like plastic ties.

Something she couldn’t get out of. She felt pain and the slickness of blood from the plastic breaking open previous wounds on her wrists. What could she do? She could smash a taillight if she knew where it was. But without the car running, no one would see the light didn’t work. If her abductor abandoned the car in a desolate area, would she ever be found? A heaviness settled in her chest.

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Her family must be so worried. She had to get back home.

How much time would pass before being rescued? Hours?

Days? Her breath caught, and her muscles tightened. If the day was warm, could she succumb to heat stroke? More importantly, did the trunk have any ventilation? If not, she would suffocate.

Tears filled her eyes. If someone didn’t rescue her soon, this trunk would be her coffin.

183

Chapter Twenty-Three Officer Matt Turner entered the Buchanan police station and headed straight for Detective Henderson’s office. “Johnson and I finished going over the area where the abduction and theft occurred. There’s a ton of fingerprints on the front door of the science building, all smudged and useless, and no evidence of forced entry.”

“Thanks.” He held out a keychain. “Dr. Patterson’s going to need his car.”

Turner took the keys. “I’ll take care of it right now, Sir.” The young rookie walked several blocks to the college campus. At the site of the abduction, he made a final lap around the car. He stopped by the dark area resembling an oil stain. The spot where the college professor had lain, bleeding. He flashed back to the arrival of the ambulance and smiled at the memory of the female EMT. Sheila, her name tag read. She looked to be in her late twenties. He couldn’t tear his eyes off her as she strapped the injured professor on the gurney. The way her ponytail swung with her efficient motions, her broad shoulders and muscular arms, the build of a swimmer.

He smiled at the memory of Sheila’s sexy underbite, like Patricia Arquette’s. A fitness buff himself, he noticed her welldefined biceps, most likely the result of frequent visits to a local gym. A real looker, he would have remembered if he’d seen her at the fitness center he frequented. Maybe he’d check the membership roster.

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Turner unlocked the Sonic. After adjusting the seat, he started the car and rested his hand on the gearshift. Would Sheila consider dating someone a few years younger?

He stepped on the gas. Only one way to find out. *** Detective Henderson hung up the phone and twirled a pencil between his fingers. Disturbing news. Dr. Patterson’s wife was missing again. How could she disappear right out from under the sheriff ’s nose? Fingering his thin mustache, he decided to deliver the news in person. He dialed Patterson’s number, dreading the call, almost hoping he wouldn’t answer.

“Detective, what’s the word? When will my wife be home?”

Henderson coughed, debating how to respond.

“Detective Henderson? Is there a problem? What’s going on?”

“Just wanted to make sure you’re home. I’d like to stop by and talk to you.”

“I’m here with my sons. Some good news, I hope?”

Trying to sound more upbeat to match Patterson’s mood, Henderson replied, “I’ll fill you in when I arrive. I’m heading out now.”

When Henderson pulled into the driveway, Patterson opened the screen door and stepped outside. Seeing the man’s broad smile, the detective’s stomach clenched, knowing he couldn’t give Patterson the news he was expecting.

Henderson thought about the professor’s two young sons.

“Let’s talk on the porch.”

“What’s the latest news? What time will my wife be home?

Have they located the kidnappers and recovered my vials?”

Henderson held up his hand to stop the onslaught of questions. “Take a seat.”

When settled on the swing, Henderson cleared his throat.

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sheriff ’s office, they found out your wife phoned you at four this morning. Somewhere between calling you and their arrival, she seemed to have—” his palms turned upward, “—disappeared.”

Patterson rocked back as if he’d been punched in the face.

“Wha-a-at?! What are you saying? Where could she have gone?

W-why wasn’t someone watching her? If she called, she would have left me a voice message.” Deren leapt to his feet, rocking the swing. “Where would she go?”

Henderson coaxed the distraught man to sit. “We are doing everything we can to find her.”

Patterson stared into space.

“Are you sure your wife didn’t leave a message?”

“Huh?” Patterson turned toward Henderson. “I would’ve remembered if she called.” He checked his phone. “Here’s a number around four this morning. I don’t recognize the area code. I didn’t hear it ring.” He blinked several times. “If my wife called, she’d leave a message.” He scrolled some more, then put the phone to his ear. Patterson set his mobile beside him. “She left a message that she was all right. How could I have missed this?”

The pain in the man’s eyes shot through the lawman like an arrow. Henderson wasn’t sure what to say that might bring some comfort. “You’ve got a lot going on.” His answer sounded hollow to himself.

Patterson moaned and cradled his head in his hands. “When you called this morning, my phone was on the floor.” His lower lip quivered. “The dream I had of a ringing phone must have been real. I must have fumbled for it and knocked it off the nightstand.” He ran his hand through his hair and muttered, “Damned pain medication.”

Henderson said, “Finding your wife is our top priority, and we’ll make sure she returns home.”

“How am I supposed to believe that?” Patterson’s eyes glistened with tears. “The FBI didn’t find her; she found her own 186

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way to safety, and then they couldn’t keep her safe.” Patterson’s jaw muscles tightened. “I want to help with the search.”

Henderson rested his hands on his thighs. “I understand your frustration, but you’re in no condition to help with a search.

Let the FBI do their job.”

Patterson seemed to crumple like a pin-pricked balloon.

“You’ve already helped by providing those phone numbers from your office phone.”

Patterson straightened. “I forgot about the one on my cell.”

He scrolled through the call list. “When I tried the number a few days ago, I got a message saying it was no longer in use.”

Henderson put on his reading glasses and pulled out a notebook. “Still, it might provide another lead for the FBI.” He jotted down the information as Patterson read the numbers.

“What am I supposed to tell my sons? How do I tell them their mom won’t be home today?”

At a loss for how to answer, Henderson spread his fingers.

Patterson looked the detective in the eyes. “Bring her home.

We need her.”

Henderson’s gut wrenched at the man’s anguish. *** When Deren entered the house, Tommy was parked in front of the TV. Mike set down his book. “Who was that, Dad?” “That was the detective.” Deren sat in the center of the couch and patted the cushions on either side. Once his sons were settled next to him, he broke the news. “Your mom won’t be home today.

She’s missing.”

“Again?” Tommy wailed.

Mike’s lip quivered. Tears rimmed his eyes before spilling down his cheeks.

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Deren comforted them as best he could. When his sons quieted, the three of them stared like zombies at the movie playing on the screen.

Deren’s phone rang. He retreated to the kitchen before answering.

“Andy Schiff here. I apologize for bothering you at a time like this. I understand your wife is missing again.”

“Detective Henderson told me about an hour ago. How did you find out?”

“Police scanner. How are you holding up?”

“Not too good.” Deren glanced at the coffee maker. A few inches of brew remained in the carafe. “It’s too surreal.”

“It certainly is. Now that you know, I plan on posting the news on the Internet. I imagine this story will go viral. You’ll have the support of millions of people around the country. They will be on the lookout for your wife and her abductors. I will continue showing your wife’s photo at every broadcast until she is found. We’ll have everyone looking for your wife.”

The reporter was going out of his way to help with the search.

“Thanks, Andy. I appreciate your support. If you need any more information from me, let me know.” Deren lowered his phone, ready to disconnect.

“I do have a few questions.”

Deren winced, not expecting to remain on the line. Pouring the remaining coffee into a mug, he watched the cup spin in the microwave as he listened to the reporter’s first question. *** Molly’s arm went numb from lying on her side. She shifted her position, a challenge with her hands and feet bound. She fervently prayed that someone would find her soon. She ached all over. The warmth of the confined space and lack of air made her drowsy. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. Exhaustion covered 188

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her like a weighted blanket. Being abducted again felt like being in a time loop. Her own Groundhog Day. A sudden noise snapped her out of her fog. She tried to focus.

How much time had elapsed since the driver’s footsteps retreated from the car? How much hotter would it get?

Another sound. She thrashed her legs, hoping someone would hear. The effort sapped her energy. Sweat ran down her face and chest. Was it from the exertion or the heat?

She stilled, waiting to hear a response. Nothing. She choked back a sob. How long would it be for someone else to be nearby?

What if no one else came around?

How much air was left? The thought sent a chill through her body. *** Novack answered his burner phone after the first ring. “I saw the news this morning. Was that your handiwork, Leon?”

“Yes. That should keep the cops occupied for a while. A distraction away from the kidnappers.”

“Excellent. Do whatever is necessary to keep the authorities focused on Mrs. Patterson. I’ve got the other end covered.”

“You got it.” The call disconnected.

Raising the cup to his lips, Novack breathed in the rich aroma before taking a sip of the imported coffee. Everything seemed to be falling in place. Once the thieves boarded the flight to their final destination of Seoul, Novack’s IT person would hack into the airport’s computer system to erase their names from the passenger list, then scramble airport surveillance footage. With Marcello occupying the Virginia police, Novack could do his part. His involvement should give him leverage to deal with the Korean company.

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make sure nothing could be traced back to him. “Whatever you do, Leon, don’t get caught.”

Novack desperately wanted a piece of the prize.

190

Chapter Twenty-Four Although Parker Perry hated working at Lids, the later start time for the part-time job fit his lifestyle. He could even put up with the minimum wage—until now. Since his roommate moved out last week, Parker couldn’t afford the rent. Moving back home with his parents was not an option.

Last night over drinks at their usual hangout, he asked his girlfriend to move in with him. “Just think how great it would be to spend more time together. Living together would strengthen our relationship, don’t you think?”

She crossed her arms and glared at him, then leaned across the table. “You want to know what I think? I think I never want to see you again.”

Perry watched her storm out of the bar. He stayed at the table and drowned his sorrow until closing time. Maybe not his best decision.

He wove his truck through the parking lot aisles of the Leesburg Corner Premium Outlets and rubbed his throbbing head. How long before the Tylenol kicked in? He loved his 1999 white Dodge Ram truck, although the gas mileage sucked. His spray paint job didn’t adequately cover the rusted areas, especially the frame around the wheels, but otherwise his ride was in good shape.

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clock in late again. They’d fire him for sure. He needed this job until he could find something better.

His head felt like it was in a vise, and the screws were tightening. Maybe another Tylenol would help. Taking his eyes off the road for a second, he reached to open the glove box. With bottle in hand, he straightened in his seat, just in time to see a massive SUV a mere ten feet away. Perry screamed. Slamming on the brakes, he turned his truck away from the looming vehicle.

The sudden stop threw him forward, the seatbelt tightening across his chest. He heard the crunching of metal and the shattering of glass.

He stared out the windshield and smacked the steering wheel.

He rear-ended a parked car. What else could go wrong? Now he’d be late for sure.

Looking out the rearview window, Perry watched the SUV, oblivious to his predicament, continue on its search for a vacant spot. “Idiot,” he muttered, rubbing his sore chest. Slamming the gearshift into park, he got out to check the damage.

His jaw dropped at the damage to the parked Stratus. The right taillight was shattered, the fender twisted, and the trunk crumpled. And he hadn’t been driving that fast. Then he noticed the car stuck out two feet beyond the parking space. No wonder he hit it. The collision wasn’t entirely his fault. The only damage to his truck was a dented corner of the front fender. He patted the hood. His truck was like a tank. He’d spray paint the fender to prevent it from rusting. He couldn’t afford to pay the insurance deductible, and the last thing he needed right now was another expense.

Heading back to his truck, a muffled sound stopped him in his tracks. Glancing around, he noticed the damaged Stratus shake. Holy shit. There was something alive in the trunk. His mouth went dry. Removing his phone from his rear pocket, his hands shook so much that it slipped from his fingers. Retrieving his cell from the concrete, he punched in three numbers.

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“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

“There’s something trapped in the trunk of a car parked in the south end of the Premium Outlets parking lot. You can’t miss it. It’s a red Stratus with a dented rear end.” Disconnecting the call before the operator could ask for his name, he jumped in his truck and drove to the other side of the lot. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the mishap as possible.

Once parked, he jogged toward the mall and his minimum wage job. Maybe he could slip in without anyone noticing he was five minutes late. Once inside the mall, he remembered the outside surveillance system and sucked in his breath. He crossed his fingers, hoping the cameras weren’t functional. *** Deputy Bentley rubbed his eyes. The sheriff and FBI agents were out there, searching the area, while he was stuck behind the front desk, at least until the secretary came in. He hoped they found the woman. He didn’t get it. Why would Mrs. Patterson wander off on her own? Where could she go in the early morning hours? His hand covered a yawn. Maybe he was too tired to think straight.

His cell phone rang. “What’s up, Watson?”

“Crime scene techs are almost finished here.”

“They find anything?”

“Before CSI arrived, the sheriff came by with two Feds. Found a gun, recently fired. Crime scene techs dusted for prints, and you know what the coroner always says. ‘Won’t know anything till I get him on the table.’”

Bentley laughed. “Why do we even ask?”

“How’s the woman?”

Bentley groaned. “Mrs. Patterson disappeared on my watch.

The sheriff and FBI agents are out searching for her.”

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“Bummer. The reason I called is that I have several more houses to canvas, then I’ll need a ride home.”

Bentley checked the time. “As soon as the secretary shows, I’ll swing by.”

Half an hour later, Bentley pulled in front of the pilot’s bungalow. Watson’s long stride crossed the lawn in seconds.

“Can’t wait to get home, Partner?”

“My feet are killing me.” Watson yawned. “I should be better after a nap.”

Bentley’s shoulders sagged. “Lucky you. I’m still on the clock.”

“Tough break.” Watson tipped the brim of his cap over his eyes.

The two remained silent during the drive. After dropping Watson at his apartment, Bentley headed back to the station. At least his double shift would pay overtime. His stomach burned.

His rotten luck to have someone disappear on his watch. He couldn’t imagine where the woman could have gone. He knocked his head with his knuckles. Think, Bentley, think. Where could she go? He pummeled the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. He was never going to live this one down. Worse than the hydrant. The sheriff would never trust him again.

Bentley regretted his late night out. His friends kept buying him beer after beer after beer. He should have had the sense to put a halt to the drinks, but hey, they were free.

Although Sheriff Hetzner was a good man to work for, he was starting to put pressure on Bentley to be more alert, unlike the time— When the radio squawked, Bentley turned up the volume.

“We have a report of a person trapped in the trunk of a red Stratus parked at the Premium Outlets Mall parking lot. All units in the vicinity, proceed immediately to the scene.”

The shopping mall was nearby. His car wheels skidded through a U-turn, and he floored the gas pedal, propelling the 194

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cruiser down the residential road. Siren blaring, he took the ramp to Route 7.

Reaching the mall in record time, he headed for the flashing red-and-blue lights and parked behind one of the cruisers.

Approaching the damaged car, he recognized a red-haired officer, but blanked on his name.

“Hey, Bentley,” the redhead said. “There’s someone in the trunk. Not talking to us, so we suspect the victim is gagged. We used a Slim Jim to open the car door, but the trunk release doesn’t work. You notice how mangled the back of the car is? And this older model’s access through the back seat only accommodates something long and skinny, like skis. Only way in is through the trunk.” He pointed to the damage. “Fire department’s been notified, and the Emergency Rescue Squad should be here any minute.”

Bentley rapped on the hood of the trunk. He shouted, “Hey, in there. Can you hear me?” The car rocked. “Okay, good. If you are Mrs. Patterson, knock once.”

The car vibrated with a single thump. Adrenaline coursed through his body. He called the station. “Sheriff, I found our missing person.”

“Stay there and keep me updated.”

Bentley joined the dozen or so beat cops surrounding the damaged Stratus. “Anyone know who owns the car?”

A grey-haired officer tapped his notebook. “The car’s plate doesn’t track with the VIN.” “How much air is in the trunk?”

Another officer replied, “Well, these cars are sealed pretty tight. It has to be really warm in there right now.”

Bentley recalled the fact that every summer a handful of people, usually infants, suffocated in cars. His pulse raced. He found the Patterson woman, now he needed to make sure she stayed alive. “We could at least open the back partition to get some air in to Mrs. Patterson.”

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When he opened the back door, the warm stagnant air took his breath away. With few clouds and the temperature already in the high seventies, as the afternoon progressed, the car would turn into a sauna. He yanked down the central panel. The beam of his flashlight caught the blue material he recognized as belonging to Mrs. Patterson’s shirt. “We’re working on opening the trunk, Ma’am. It’s bent from the collision and won’t open.

We’ll get you out as soon as we can.”

“Mmmmm.”

Bentley swiped at the sweat rolling down his neck. He couldn’t imagine what it felt like in the confined space of the trunk.

The small access panel wouldn’t allow for much air circulation between the interior of the car and the trunk.

Sticking his head out of the car, he yelled over to a cluster of uniforms. “Hey, any of you know how to hotwire a car? We need to get the air conditioning cranked up in here.”

The red-haired officer stroked his chin. “I could do it, but it’s too risky. Carbon monoxide could build up in the enclosed space. Hopefully, we can get the woman out soon.”

Bentley opened all the car doors with the hope of circulating air through the small access panel.

The sound of a siren caught his attention. He watched the ambulance inch through the crowd as it neared the damaged Stratus. News reporters and cameramen followed.

The officer who called in the license plate brought his phone to his ear. He nodded, said “Thanks,” and disconnected. “The owner reported his car’s been stolen.”

The mass of shoppers swelled, drawn to the scene like ants to honey. All to be caught on film for the six o’clock news.

Police whistles sounded over the chatter. Bentley and the other officers formed a barrier against the approaching swarm.

Someone shouted, “Here comes the Jaws of Life.”

The crowd parted like a curtain as the rescue vehicle edged toward the damaged car.

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The two rescue squad members hopped out of the van and opened the back doors to grab their equipment.

Concerned about Mrs. Patterson’s safety, Bentley leaned across the backseat of the Stratus. “Mrs. Patterson, we’re going to pry open the trunk now. Move toward my voice.”

Satisfied, he stepped toward the rear of the car. The rescuers, working like a well-oiled machine, positioned the hydraulic spreaders in a gap of the crumpled trunk. As the tools began to work, the screech of the tearing metal drowned out all other sounds. The trunk lid yawed open about three feet. Once the rescue workers moved their equipment out of the way, the paramedics took over.

Bentley watched as they lifted a limp and flushed Mrs. Patterson onto the gurney. Her hair was plastered to her head, and her sweat-soaked shirt clung to her body. One paramedic snipped off the plastic cuffs that bound her hands and feet, while the other gently peeled tape from her mouth. Beads of blood appeared on her torn lips. Bentley’s stomach churned at the sight.

He leaned over and brushed the wet bangs from her forehead.

“You’re going to be all right now, Mrs. Patterson.”

Her eyelids fluttered and her lips moved, although he couldn’t hear what she said.

The paramedics slid the gurney into the back of the van, with one EMT following.

Bentley asked, “Where are you taking her?”

“Leesburg Hospital.” The paramedic shut the back doors and climbed into the cab.

The siren sputtered as the ambulance inched through the aisle. Once outside the parking lot, the ambulance accelerated, its siren emitting a steady wail.

Bentley felt a sudden lightness, as if a burden had been lifted.

He hoped that finding Mrs. Patterson would square him with the sheriff.

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*** When the air-conditioning in the ambulance hit Molly’s wet scalp and skin, she shivered at the dramatic temperature change.

Her teeth chattered, and she continued to shake even after the medic covered her with a blanket. She barely felt the needle prick for the IV drip.

After a brief ride, the siren went silent before the ambulance came to a stop. Molly felt the slight jostle as the gurney was lowered and wheeled through the electronic double doors of the hospital emergency department. She squeezed her eyes shut at the blinding ceiling lights.

“Bay three is available.”

When the gurney stopped, she heard a familiar voice. “Mrs. Patterson, back so soon?”

Molly opened her eyes to see the same doctor who had treated her earlier. She wet her parched lips. “I want to go home.”

“We’ll get you there, but first I need to make sure you are all right. I’ll have the nurse draw a blood sample. We can have the results back in half an hour. I’ll see you get some water and another blanket. You rest now.” He patted her arm and left.

Rest. Like Molly could do anything else. She drifted in and out of a stupor, reliving the events of the last forty-eight hours.

At least the worst was over, and she’d be home soon. *** Patrick Novack stared at the faxed image of a man identified as Dr. Young Park, a South Korean scientist, carrying a cylindrical metal container into the NewGen building.

Novack tapped the page and smiled. The gene had arrived at its destination.

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plan, he booted up his computer and accessed the website of the South Korean biotechnology company. Scanning the page, he located the contact information and dialed the overseas number.

“NewGen Biotech. How may I direct your call?” the female voice asked.

Novack said, “I’d like to speak to the president.”

“Mr. Jung-ho Chung? One moment, please.”

Novack drummed his fingers on the desktop as he waited for the connection.

A gravelly voice came on the line. “Who is this?”

“Mr. Chung, I think we have the same ‘benefactor,’ who sold us the same scientific submission. I’ve been negotiating a deal with one of the authors, but before we could come to an agreement, someone from your company stole the gene.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t deny it. I have proof.” Novack rattled the page clutched in his hand. “We both paid that weasel for the same information.

We should both benefit.”

The president of NewGen made some blubbery sounds before responding. “You are asking a lot. I made my own arrangements.

Why should I share with you?”

“Because I made sure Dr. Park didn’t get caught. He returned with the gene. Share, or I’ll lead the FBI right to your door.”

“Sounds like blackmail.”

“Think of it any way you like. You cheated me out of any negotiations. But I’m a reasonable businessman. Here’s the plan—you share the gene with me, and I won’t turn you in. Then we can both develop the product as we see fit. This venture will make us both filthy rich. I’m not greedy, but I want a piece. What will it be? Share or go to jail?”

Chung sputtered, “I do not know what you are talking about.”

Novack’s grip on the receiver tightened. He hissed, “I had airport surveillance footage scrambled. I can have it unscrambled 199

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just as easily, then the FBI can track Dr. Park right to you. Just.

Like. I. Did.” Silence on the other end.

Had he lost the connection? No, he heard the exhalation of a breath. Novack pumped his fist. Yes. He had him.

200

Chapter Twenty-Five After the devastating news of Molly’s second disappearance, Deren finally got Mike and Tommy settled down. The boys were now in front of the TV. Thank goodness for Disney movies. But Deren had to keep his mind off all the possible scenarios whirling around in his head. He had to stay positive for his sons. There had to be something he could do to help with the investigation.

As a distraction, he retreated to the den and shuffled through some old papers.

He came across an article by Keyes describing his gene isolation technique, which Deren used in his latest research. He leaned back in his chair. While the events were different, the two labs had something in common—they both isolated genes. The news item didn’t mention if anything had been taken from the lab. Probably hard to determine until the mess was cleaned up.

Deren booted up the Berkeley faculty directory and dialed Keyes’ office. The lab manager answered.

“Hello. I’m Dr. Deren Patterson from Buchanan College.

I recently experienced a theft of a gene from my laboratory. I wanted to find out if anything was taken from your lab.”

“It’s taken a while to put the lab back together. Just this morning, I couldn’t find the log for our frozen samples. When I checked our liquid nitrogen freezer, hundreds of vials were missing.”

“Really?” The two thefts might be related. “I’m going to let the authorities know about this. You may be hearing from 201

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the FBI.” Pleased to do anything to help with the investigation, Deren brought up the recent news article about Keyes’ lab and printed it out.

His phone, set on vibrate, danced across the desktop. He caught it before it fell off the edge.

“Detective Henderson?” Expecting bad news, Deren held his breath.

“I’m happy to say your wife has been found.”

Air whooshed out of Deren’s lungs. “How is she? Is she all right? What happened?”

“She was found in the trunk of an abandoned rental car and is being treated for heat stroke in Leesburg Hospital’s emergency room.”

“I want to talk to my wife.”

“I’ll get a phone number for you.”

“When will she be home?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”

“Detective, I spoke to someone at the Berkeley lab where, over a week ago, animal rights activists were thought to be responsible for releasing animals from cages, trashing a lab, and killing a researcher. It turns out that genes had been stolen from the lab. There might be a connection.”

“This could be very helpful. Who did you contact at this lab?”

After Deren gave the detective the information, he rushed into the living room to tell his sons the good news. The boys leapt off the floor. The three joined hands and circled, with Tommy jumping as if on a pogo stick. With each bounce, a pain shot through Deren’s shoulder. Not wanting to dampen his sons’ jubilation, he suffered through the pain. *** After dinner, Deren rocked on the porch swing, enjoying the gentle evening breeze. At the sound of an approaching car, he 202

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stood and watched his brother turn into the driveway and park.

Damien waved before opening the back hatch and pulling out a duffel bag and a large suitcase.

Peggy stepped out of the car and straightened her skirt.

Her butternut squash-colored blouse accented her brown suit.

Her shoulder-length chestnut hair swayed as she glided up the walkway and onto the porch. In her two-inch heels, she stood almost nose-to-nose with Deren. She swept her sunglasses up to the top of her head in one fluid motion. “Thanks for letting us know Molly is all right.” She placed a hand over her heart. “It made the long trip more tolerable.”

“P-Peggy. Good to see you.” Since marrying Molly, he felt Peggy compared him to her four other sons-in-law who were doctors, lawyers, or financial wizards. As an assistant professor, Deren was on the low end of the earning and prestige spectrum.

During family gatherings, she seemed to go out of her way to snub him. Although Molly insisted he was being oversensitive, he still felt the sting of being slighted by the matriarch.

Peggy gave him a perfunctory hug. “How is your shoulder?”

“It’s sore.”

“And it will be for a while, I’m sure.” Then she broke into a wide grin. “Now, where are those grandsons of mine? I haven’t seen them for ages. I’ll bet they’ve grown so much that I won’t recognize them.”

“Inside.” While he held the screen door open for her, he watched Damien struggle with the baggage. The wheels on the double-sized suitcase wobbled before veering off the walkway, threatening to tip over.

Deren rushed to help. “Now I know where Molly gets her packing skills.”

Damien waved him off. “I got this. I don’t want you pulling any stitches, Bro. One family member in the ER is enough.” He righted the luggage and made it to the porch. In between breaths, 203

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he said, “Peggy needs to get one of those three-hundred-sixtydegree wheel jobbies. So, any more updates on Molly?”

“Nothing new. I’m waiting for a phone number so I can talk to her. Thanks for driving all this way. How was the trip?”

Damien bear-hugged his twin. “Nice drive. Peggy was quiet initially, until you called to let us know Molly had been found.

She kept me entertained. Nonstop. And I thought Mom was a talker. How are the boys doing? How are you holding up?”

Deren laughed, raising his good hand in the air to stave off the bombardment of questions. “Whoa. Slow down. Come on in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll fill you in with the details, or as much as I know, anyway.”

Deren held open the screen door for his brother, who struggled getting the luggage over the threshold. “Have you had dinner yet? We have plenty of food. The neighbors have been bringing us home-cooked meals.”

“Sounds good. I’m starved. I had a few work-related issues to deal with, so I didn’t get on the road as early as I would have liked. And we made only one pit stop. I managed to get the whole week off, longer if you need me.”

“I hate for you to use your vacation time for this visit.”

“No worries, Bro.” Damien patted his brother’s back. “I took family leave. Come on, let’s eat. When the boys go to bed, you can update Peggy and me.”

“Sure, then there’s something I want to ask you.” After the five-hour drive, he wasn’t sure how receptive his brother would be for driving to Virginia to bring Molly home. *** After four hours in the ER cubicle, Molly was disappointed not to be going home. The doctor wanted her to stay overnight for observation, concerned about a possible concussion.

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Shortly after settling into the hospital room, Sheriff Hetzner poked his head into her room. “Are you up for a visitor?”

Molly waved him in.

He approached the bed, trooper hat in hand. “Glad to see you’re all right. You are okay, aren’t you?”

She raised the arm hooked up to the IV. “Just a little dehydrated.”

“Two FBI agents would like to talk to you. The longer we put this off, the harder it will be to track the kidnappers. We’ve lost too much time already.”

“Sure, I’ll talk to them.” She pushed the button to raise the bed, which caused her head to throb.

Hetzner stepped out into the hall and returned with two men in suits and ties, the shorter agent also wore a vest. He introduced Special Agents Fletcher and Sanchez.

When Molly nodded, her head pulsed with pain.

“Hope you’re feeling all right, Ma’am,” Fletcher said.

“Ready to go home.”

The three settled in chairs, notebooks and pens in hand.

Fletcher spoke first. “We have some questions about the kidnappers. Describe them in as much detail as you can.”

She repeated the same details about the two men she’d given the sheriff.

Fletcher flipped back a few pages. “That jibes with your husband’s account and what you told the sheriff. Did the men say anything that could help identify their country of origin?”

She thought for a moment. “I did catch a few foreign things they said that stuck in my mind. The mean one said something that sounded like ‘chew gum’ when he was angry, and when he pointed to the airplane, he called it a ‘hanky.’”

Sanchez lowered his head to cover his smile. Fletcher glanced at him with a wink.

Molly brought her hands to her warm cheeks.

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Fletcher cleared his throat. “Mrs. Patterson, we need to ask you about the body in the hangar. Could you tell us what happened?”

She described how the pilot tied her up and how she managed to escape, only to trip over a body.

Fletcher handed her a photo. “Can you identify this man?”

She struck the photo with her index finger. “That’s him! That’s the pilot!”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Early Sunday afternoon. Is he really dead?” Molly sniffed, her lips trembling. “I know he tied me up and all, but still…”

Sanchez asked, “Do you have any idea why the men kidnapped you instead of your husband?”

“No. Everything happened so fast. It seemed like Sung, the man with the gun, was in a hurry. When Deren ran toward our car, Sung grabbed me, then pulled me toward their car. Maybe he didn’t think he could handle both of us. When Deren tried to rescue me, Sung shot him.” Molly’s voice broke.

Sanchez leaned forward, “Did the men say where they were going?”

“The professor said they had a flight to catch. No mention of a destination.”

The sheriff rose. “Thank you for the information. We’ll make arrangements to get you home as soon as you are released.”

Fletcher tucked his notebook inside his suitcoat. “Under the circumstances, I think it best if we accompany Mrs. Patterson home.”

Hetzner said, “Until then, one of my deputies will be stationed outside your door. Let him know if you need anything.”

Molly watched the men file out of the room. Her chest heaved.

Two people died because of Deren’s gene.

She lowered the bed and curled up on her side. She couldn’t wait to get back home. The last few days had been the worst of her life.

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*** Piling into the sheriff ’s vehicle, Fletcher called Chet. “I have a clue that should confirm the kidnappers’ destination.”

“Chew gum, eh?” Chet chuckled. “I’ll check with our language expert to see if that is Korean.”

During the drive, Fletcher stared at the blur of houses and hoped they could wrap up the case soon. His phone rang a few minutes later.

“Chet here. No Sung, first or last name, on any of the flights out of Dulles. I checked with our language expert. ‘Chew gum’ is ji-geum, Korean for ‘now’. And I already told you Sung is a common Korean first name. So we’re on the right track. I’ll start checking for biotech companies.”

“What about surveillance cameras?”

“As I told you earlier, the Dulles surveillance videos are corrupted, despite everything we’ve tried.”

Fletcher rubbed the back of his neck. They needed a break in the case. “Sorry to hear that. So that’s it?”

“Someone is mopping up behind these guys. With corrupted CCTV videos at two airports, focusing on a Korean connection should help. That and a lucky break. Meanwhile, we have field agents questioning employees at both airports. Fingers crossed someone will remember something. Our overseas agents will start sniffing around.”

“Thanks again, Chet.” Fletcher pocketed his phone and turned to his partner. “No luck tracking the kidnappers. They’ll start focusing on Korean companies.”

“Maybe we should approach the authorities there to press charges for theft and kidnapping.”

“We kind of need a suspect for that.”

Sanchez punched Fletcher’s arm. “Don’t worry, Partner. We’ll get ’em.”

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*** Molly heard a light knock on the hospital door. “Come in.”

The door opened slowly. She expected to see a hospital employee, not the young officer.

“Hello, Deputy Bentley.” She pulled the sheet up to her chin.

Her cheeks warmed, embarrassed to be seen in a thin hospital gown.

The officer approached her bedside. “I hope you’re feeling better, Ma’am. The nurse told me dietary is sending a tray up since you missed dinner. He thumbed over his shoulder in the direction of the hallway. “I’ll be right outside. No one but hospital personnel will be allowed in. I don’t want you leaving this room.

Not on my watch, anyway.” His grin brought out the dimple on his right cheek.

“Don’t worry about me leaving, at least not without a law officer.”

When Bentley turned to go, she asked, “Would you push the nightstand closer to me?”

He wheeled the furniture near the bed rail and left.

With the door closed, Molly dialed her husband’s cell. “Deren, I worried when I couldn’t reach you earlier.”

“Molly! I was getting ready to call the hospital to talk to you.

Damien and your mom are here. I talked to my brother, and he’s willing to drive to Virginia so we can bring you home. Your mom can stay with the boys.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. The boys have already spent an evening with the Edelmans, wondering where their parents were. Mike would understand, but I’m not sure about Tommy.

He might feel like you’re abandoning him.”

“But I want to be there for you.”

“The doctor wants to keep me overnight for a possible concussion. The FBI agents said they’d escort me home.”

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“I’ll be fine. How’s your shoulder?”

“It’ll be sore for a while.”

She heard voices in the background. “What’s going on?

Sounds like a party.”

Deren chuckled. “The boys want to talk to you.”

Overwhelmed with the desire to be back home with her family, Molly felt her chest ache and her throat tighten. “I want to talk to them too.”

“I can’t wait for you to be home. I thought I heard the phone ring in the middle of the night, but I was so groggy from the pain meds, I must have knocked my cell phone off the end table and gone back to sleep.”

Molly laughed, “Those pain pills must be strong.”

“Yeah. It’s good to hear your voice. And your laugh. I miss it.

And you.”

“I miss you too, but I’ll be home soon. Agent Fletcher has airline tickets for us tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great news, Hon, but you’re really going to fly again?”

“A commercial flight has to be better than the little plane I was on. At least I’ll get home quicker than driving.” Molly clutched the sheet, hoping she could overcome her fear.

Deren spoke over the background voices. “I can’t wait to have you back home. Ready to talk to the boys?”

Before she could respond, she heard Deren ask, “Okay, who’s first?”

She heard her sons’ muffled voices clamoring to talk.

“One at a time, guys.” She could picture Deren holding the phone away from small, outstretched hands. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

“Mommy, Mommy, come home now. We miss you.”

“I miss you, too, Tommy.” She clamped her fingers to her lips to suppress a sob.

After some more shuffling, Mike said, “Hi, Mom. I’ve been helping Dad around the house. When are you coming home?”

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“Soon, Sweetie. I miss you all so much.” She reached for a tissue.

“We miss you, too, Mom. Love you.”

Deren got back on the line. “Detective Henderson just arrived.”

She was distracted by the knock on her door. An aide entered with her dinner and set the tray on the bedside table.

She mouthed a thank you to the young woman and returned to her conversation. “You go ahead and talk to the detective. My dinner is sitting in front of me and I am starving. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

She hung up and lifted the dome covering the plate, releasing steam. She inhaled the aroma. She hoped the food had more flavor than its smell. Before unwrapping the utensils, she said a quick prayer, thankful her ordeal was almost over. *** “Come on in, Detective. I’d like you to meet my brother, Damien.”

Henderson shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

At that moment, Peggy glided down the staircase like a starlet.

“This is my mother-in-law, Peggy Dalton.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Henderson said. “Excuse me for stopping by so late. I wanted to give you an update.”

“Don’t worry about the time. I appreciate your updates.”

“While the FBI has no suspects, they do have a possible lead.

They are checking into a few South Korean companies; however, it looks like someone stateside is also involved. I don’t want you getting your hopes up for recovering your property.”

“At least Molly’s safe. That’s a blessing.” Damien patted his brother’s good shoulder.

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“Her safety is the most important thing,” Deren said. “She called to let me know the FBI agents will be escorting her home tomorrow.”

Peggy snapped, “Why didn’t you tell me my daughter called?”

Deren felt nauseous. He couldn’t look at his mother-in-law.

“You were upstairs. Molly had a meal delivered to her, so she couldn’t stay on the line.”

“Call her back this instant.” Peggy placed a hand on her hip.

“I want to speak with her. Now.” “S-she’ll be home tomorrow.”

Peggy gave him the look.

“I-I have the hospital number written down.” He checked his pockets until he found the right one. The scrap of paper shook in his hand.

“Thank you,” Peggy snatched the note and retreated to the kitchen.

Why did she always make him feel worthless?

Henderson fingered his mustache and shifted from one foot to the other, looking ready to bolt. His brother, however, articulated in one word what Deren figured they were all thinking.

“Mothers-in-law.” *** Dr. Young Park gazed in the distance as the sun peeked over the mountains. Dreading the meeting with his boss, Park trudged up the steps of the NewGen building in the Geumcheon District in southwest Seoul. The NewGen president wanted to see Park as soon as he arrived this morning. Knowing he couldn’t delay any longer, he stepped into the elevator.

Park sat in the president’s outer office and clutched his briefcase while his stomach twisted in knots. The secretary, who seemed to ignore him, stared at a computer screen. Her hand, which rested on a mouse, occasionally twitched.

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His gaze darted to the closed door of the president’s office.

He wiped sweaty palms on his pant legs.

After waiting an endless twenty minutes, the secretary’s phone rang. She listened, then hung up. “President Chung will see you now.”

Park felt a tightening in his chest, and his breathing accelerated. Rising to his feet, he moved as if he were walking on the ocean floor in an atmospheric diving suit. He opened the president’s door and stepped in.

Jung-ho Chung sat behind his solid oak desk, his forearms resting on its surface. The orderly desk contained a laptop, a large multi-buttoned phone, and a stack of papers. Park felt the president’s eyes on him during his entry into the spacious room.

Had Chung not blinked a few times, Park would have sworn the man was chiseled from stone. Chung’s longish black, straight hair framed his full face. Although a decade younger than Park, the sagging skin under Chung’s eyes hinted at the strain of his position.

Park wet his lips before lowering himself onto the hardbacked chair in front of the desk. Waiting for Chung to speak, Park twisted the handle of his briefcase. During the ensuing silence, he scanned the room. Through the open curtain, he stared at the distant Gwanak Mountains. His breath caught. How he envied the spectacular view. The windows in his lab overlooked a subway station. He turned in response to the president’s gravelly voice.

“Professor, how did your little adventure go?”

“Quite well, Mr. Chung.” He relaxed his grip on his briefcase.

Maybe the meeting would go better than he anticipated.

Chung cleared his throat. “And what about this woman whom you kidnapped?”

“Sung thought she might be useful if we got in a bind. We let her go when we landed in Virginia. She would have slowed us down.” No need to tell Chung that the woman got away from 212

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them. Should he mention that Sung shot Dr. Patterson, who would have been the better captive and could have provided some necessary information?

“Since your return, the news reporters say she was kidnapped again. Any thoughts on that?”

Park shook his head. Chung’s unwavering stare seemed to bore deep into Park’s soul.

“Was Sung helpful to you?”

“He was—” Park wouldn’t blame Min for how things turned out. If word got back to Min, the man might retaliate.

“Resourceful.”

“We have used him in the past for company business. His record has been impeccable. He will be compensated well. Your bonus is contingent on your results.” He interlocked his fingers.

“Tell me, how is your lab work coming along? You’ve been back a few days now, and I haven’t received a report.”

Park squirmed in the chair. This was the conversation he was dreading. “By the time I got the sample to the lab, the contents of the vials had thawed. Three vials containing the gene have been denatured and are useless. In the fourth vial, the gene was inserted into bacteria. I placed this into a nutrient-rich broth.”

“Bacteria replicate every twenty minutes. You should know something by now.”

Park bit his lip. “I wanted to give it as much time as possible.”

The president blinked. “I’m sure you are well aware the company has a lot riding on this. Circumstances forced me to deal with an American businessman who helped with your unhindered return.” He leaned forward. “Let’s hope this arrangement was worth the price of sharing the prize.”

The professor swallowed. He wasn’t aware of any arrangement.

“I’m certain you will do everything possible to make sure your trip was worth the company’s expense.” Without raising his voice, Chung’s words sounded like a threat.

Park’s lips parted, not sure how to respond.

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“As the proverb goes, ‘You must sleep before you can dream.’”

“The effort will be worth it,” Park said what was expected without feeling the conviction of his words.

“Call me as soon as you have results.” Chung took a sheet from the top of the stack and began reading.

Park knew when he was being dismissed. He rose, his knees weak, thankful to have the meeting over. He headed to his lab to check the cultures, hoping for the best, but fearing the worst.

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Chapter Twenty-Six Tuesday Deren looked out the kitchen window. Dew glistened on the grass. When the coffeemaker sputtered, he filled his cup, then headed for the living room.

Mike peeked out of his sleeping bag. “Morning, Dad. Hey, Uncle Damien, this is like camping out, isn’t it?”

Damien raised the back of the lounge chair and grabbed his glasses from the end table. “Sure is, Champ. All that’s missing is a campfire and marshmallows.”

Deren held up his mug. “Coffee’s ready. Sorry about the accommodations. I guess you gave up on the couch. We can move one of the boys’ beds into the spare room for you, and Tommy can take the couch.”

“Not necessary. I’m fine in the living room.”

“I know the couch is uncomfortable, but you can’t sleep in the recliner for a week.”

“Nah. The recliner is fine. You know…” Damien tapped his chin. “Mom says she wants to visit as soon as she’s able to make the trip. If she slept on that couch, she’d be back in physical therapy. Maybe I can get you one of those futons that fold out into a bed.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Deren turned at the click of heels in the foyer.

Peggy, dressed in black pants and a cream-colored top, made her grand entrance. “Damien, I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

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She turned toward Deren, her words tinged with an accusatory tone. “It’s about time you did something with that empty room upstairs. If you let me use your computer, I can get some ideas on how to furnish it. Besides, it will give me something to do until my daughter gets home.”

He let out a sigh. Your daughter, my wife. “T-thanks, Peggy.

That would be great.” Peggy had a way of making him feel like he couldn’t provide for his own family.

“Right now, I’ll see if I can scrounge up anything for breakfast.

Then I’ll go to the store for groceries so we can have something to eat.” Peggy left the room.

Deren’s shoulders sagged at yet another dig.

“Grandma, I’ll help you after I get dressed.” Mike rolled up his sleeping bag and headed for the stairs.

The banging of one cabinet door after another was Peggy’s way of signaling her disapproval of the bare cupboards. Deren wanted to scream, “The reason there’s no food is because we were supposed to be on vacation.” He rubbed his face and sank into the couch before asking his twin, “How’s Mom doing? Having to depend on others must be driving her crazy.”

“She is definitely not handling it well, frustrated at not being able to do things for herself. I know she means well, but she’s always telling Pam and me what needs to be done, or how she would do it. A few times, she almost ran over little Jeffrey with her walker. Pam certainly has her hands full.”

“I feel guilty about not being able to help out with Mom, and now I’m taking you from your family.”

“The trip was long overdue, Bro, and it gets me away from all the madness. A much-needed mental health break for me, so to speak. Don’t get me wrong. Pam is behind the trip one hundred percent, especially since we haven’t been able to visit since your move to Buchanan. I’ll have to do something extra special for her when I get back.” His face brightened. “I know. I’ll give her 216

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a weekend getaway at a spa. In the meantime, you should do something special for Molly before she gets home.”

Deren massaged his forehead. “A new couch? She’d appreciate that.”

“No, no. Something personal.” His brother pointed at him.

“From you, just for her.”

Deren pondered a minute. “Well, she’s been on me to replace the warped planks on the front porch. She picked up some twoby-fours last week. They’re in the garage.”

“Not quite what I had in mind, but better. How about you and I work on that? Give Molly a little welcome home gift.” Damien rubbed his hands together, eager to get started.

“Yes, but I can’t do that now with my arm out of commission, and I can’t expect you to do it all.”

“No problemo. You supervise, and I’ll do the work.”

“That doesn’t sound fair, but I know she would really appreciate the porch being fixed. Thanks. Those boards have been warped for some time now.” Deren hung his head. “I’m all thumbs when it comes to this type of thing.”

“Well, so am I. My home repair philosophy is to make the attempt. If I can’t fix it, Pam appreciates that I tried, and then we call a handyman.”

Deren caught movement in his peripheral vision. He turned to see Peggy standing in the living room, one hand on her hip.

He gulped.

“Now, Damien, don’t you go filling Deren’s head with that nonsense. He shouldn’t try to get out of household projects.”

Deren agreed. “Y-you’re absolutely right, Peggy. Almost losing Molly made me reconsider a lot of things and helping around the house more is one of them.”

Peggy’s arm dropped to her side. “Good.”

He wasn’t sure if she sounded convinced of his intentions.

Tommy rubbed his eyes and tugged on Peggy’s pant leg. “I’m hungry.”

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Peggy smiled and bent down to smooth her grandson’s bedhead hair. “Not much in the kitchen except some pancake mix. After breakfast, you can help me do some grocery shopping.

How does that sound?”

“Okay, Gramma.” He clung to the hem of her tunic top.

“While we’re away, your dad and Uncle Damien can get started on their little project.” Peggy scowled at Deren.

His cell phone rang. Thankful for the interruption, he retreated to the dining room before checking caller ID. “Peter, sorry I didn’t call you last night. Molly will be home today. Why don’t you take a break from the lab work and drop by? I’d like you to meet my brother Damien and my mother-inlaw.”

“I’d like that. I’ll bring lunch.”

“Thanks for offering, but there are five of us. I can warm up a casserole.”

O’Malley chuckled. “I’m sure feeding five won’t be a problem for the Colonel.” *** Deren and his brother rummaged through the garage, gathering supplies needed to replace the warped porch boards and making a list of what they would need. When O’Malley’s car pulled up, Deren set down the box of nails. He wiped his brow, thankful for the interruption.

“Time for a break, Damien.”

O’Malley had his hands full with a KFC bucket and a large bag. He glanced back and forth between the two brothers. “You two really do look alike. If it weren’t for Damien’s beard and wirerimmed glasses, I wouldn’t be able to tell you two apart.”

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shopping.” The three men headed for the kitchen. After washing his hands, Deren grabbed silverware and napkins while Damien set plates on the table.

“Let’s eat while it’s hot.” O’Malley pulled sides from the bag, the aroma filling the air.

Deren’s stomach rumbled as he loaded his plate.

The three men chatted while they ate. Once finished, they migrated to the living room.

Deren recounted his conversation with the CEO of a California biotech company. “Novack swears he didn’t know anything about the two men who forced me to hand over the samples. It had to have been one of the other callers. The thieves said something foreign. According to the FBI, the words were Korean.”

O’Malley said, “Korean, huh? I ran across an article on the Internet about a woman who sent DNA from her dead pet to an animal cloning company so she could have her dog back.

I’m almost positive the company was in South Korea. It cost her $100,000. The figure stuck in my head since it’s a lot of money.

Can you imagine paying that much to resurrect your pet?”

“My wife is an avid reader of the celebrity magazines,” Damien said. “Apparently, Barbra Streisand had her dog Samantha cloned. She must have gotten a two-fer deal, because she got two cloned pups for the same price. But—” Damien cocked his head, a puzzled look on his face. “Deren, could that be why there’s a bidding war on your gene? They can’t use a mouse gene in humans, can they?”

Deren said, “No, but what they could do is use the mouse gene to search for similarities in humans, using a database from the Human Genome Project. It would be relatively easy to identify a comparable human gene.”

“Man,” Damien sank back into the couch. “That sounds too much like science fiction to me.”

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O’Malley nodded. “There’s an international race to produce ‘gene products,’ and if they can identify the human counterpart, this would be a big seller.”

The opening of the front door announced the return of the shoppers. Tommy yelled out, “I smell fried chicken.” The rattling of paper and clanking of cans was followed by an empty-handed Tommy racing into the kitchen.

Damien picked up the abandoned bags and accompanied Peggy and Mike with their bundles into the kitchen.

O’Malley raised his voice to be heard. “Help yourself to the food I brought.”

Once the bags were sorted, Peggy returned to the living room. “Thank you for the food. That was very thoughtful.”

Deren introduced his colleague. “Peter and I have been working together on a research project.”

Peggy sat on the couch, then smoothed her linen slacks. “Is this the same project that got my daughter kidnapped?”

Deren opened his mouth to answer, but guilt prevented him from responding.

O’Malley spoke up. “Deren asked me to help with his research.”

At that moment, Damien returned from the kitchen with a chair. “So, tell me, how is this cloning done?”

Deren smiled at his brother, relieved for the change of subject.

“Peggy, we were talking about cloning pets before you returned.

Using a very fine needle, the nucleus of an unfertilized or haploid egg is replaced with the nucleus from a diploid body cell from an adult animal.” With a glance at his mother-in-law, he noticed her interest. “Once the cell goes through several divisions, the embryo is placed in the uterus of a surrogate mother, where it develops to term. Even though the offspring is genetically identical to the donor parent, the DNA cannot be reset exactly as it would be in a germ cell.”

“Why is that?” Damien asked.

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“A process called imprinting. Some genes have a nearby region that can influence transcription, or reading, of the gene. During meiosis, this region is reset. But by using adult nuclei for cloning, this reset has already occurred and can’t be changed. This upsets the delicate balance of gene products in early development. For this reason, not all cloned animals make it to term. The few that do survive develop early onset of age-related diseases and have a shorter life span.”

Peggy’s back stiffened. “Is this what you have been involved in, Deren? Cloning? My daughter was kidnapped because you’re involved in something illegal?”

Deren clenched his teeth and stuttered. “No, Peggy. I didn’t clone anything. I developed a system for delivering genes into body cells as a way to treat genetic diseases. Nothing like cloning.”

O’Malley stroked his beard. “I don’t think the college would approve cloning research, even on animals. Did you know the first successful clone was a sheep?”

“Dolly the sheep,” Deren jumped in, hoping to thaw Peggy’s icy glare. “She was the first successful cloning experiment in the mid-1990s, using the nucleus from a mammary cell. When Dolly died, she was stuffed and is now on display in the Royal Museum in Edinburgh.”

Damien shook his head. “For real? All of this is so bizarre.”

O’Malley said, “Maybe even more frightening is the fact that Chinese scientists have recently cloned the first primate, a monkey.”

Peggy’s icy stare seemed to have frozen the conversation.

O’Malley slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. “Time for me to get back to the lab. It was nice meeting you, Peggy.

Deren, be sure to let me know when Molly gets home.”

“Thanks for lunch.” Deren watched the retreating form of his friend, wishing he could follow. “Well, I guess Damien and I will get back to work on the porch.” He beat a hasty retreat to the garage.

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*** Novack set his phone on the desk after ending the overseas call. This was disturbing news. He breathed heavily, as if having run a hundred-yard dash. Very disturbing news. Mr. Chung, president of the South Korean company, said the vials had thawed.

If the intelligence-gene-containing bacteria did not survive, there would be no genes to share. Chung was still waiting to hear from his scientist. Or at least that was what he said.

Novack’s hands tightened into fists. He had been so close.

The sting of his loss made him want to strike out, like a cornered viper. After all he had done to distract the FBI from following the thieves, being denied the prize felt like betrayal.

Unless Chung lied.

Novack drummed his fingers on the desktop. The tempo increased as his anger grew. Could the man be trusted? Maybe the gene survived, and Chung had no intention of sharing.

No one had cheated him before. No one. He needed to calm down. His blood pressure had been on the high side for the last few months. What he needed was a diversion.

He aimed the remote at the large wall-mounted screen. CNN showed another rerun of the news clip showing Molly Patterson’s rescue from the trunk of a stolen car. This was the story of the day, being played over and over, ad nauseam.

He shook his fist in the air. That damn woman had dashed his plans for making billions. Billions! She was like a pulled weed that kept reappearing.

He slammed his fist on his desk. Papers scattered and his gold pen rolled off the edge. Still enraged, he hurled the remote against the wall, barely missing the TV. The impact made a dull thump, shattering the remote and leaving a small dent in the wall. He stared at the plastic shards on the carpet.

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several minutes, he took in deep breaths, then slowly let the air escape through his mouth. In between breaths, he planned his next move.

He picked up his burner phone. “Leon, I’ve received some very disturbing news. I want you to make her disappear again.

This time, make her suffer.”

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Chapter Twenty-Seven Wednesday Dressed in scrubs, Molly waited in her hospital room, eager to leave. The doctor had examined her and signed the paperwork for her release. Now she had to wait for the FBI to show up. Why would they think anything would happen to her now? But then, she had been abducted right outside the sheriff ’s office. Fine by her. Molly closed her eyes, wishing the past few days could be erased from her memory. All she wanted now was to be home with her family, not stuck in a hospital in another state. Until she was back in Buchanan, she’d stay close to her FBI escorts.

At the sound of a light rap, she turned toward the door. The two agents entered. Each dressed in suits and ties, Fletcher’s a more flamboyant pink compared to Sanchez’s powder blue.

Agent Fletcher laid out their itinerary. “We’ll fly from Dulles to Harrisburg. From there, we’ll put you on a charter plane to the regional airport near Buchanan.

She wrung her hands. “Isn’t there a direct flight?” Two planes doubled the risk of take-off and landing mishaps.

Fletcher smiled. “The forecast calls for clear skies. We’ll have smoother sailing than your last flight.”

The sooner she got home, the better. She squared her shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

An orderly brought in a wheelchair.

Sanchez checked his watch. “I’ll take her down when our ride gets here. Deputy Bentley said he had to get the car washed.”

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Molly didn’t need a clean car to ride to the airport. She fidgeted during the wait for the phone call.

When the phone rang, Molly moved to the wheelchair.

Sanchez maneuvered her through the hospital and out the main door where Bentley’s car idled.

She checked her watch. One hour until their flight. Didn’t the airline recommend more time than that? She worried about getting to the gate on time, yet was terrified to board another plane. Her focus needed to be on getting home to her family, not on how she would get there. She twisted her wedding band on her finger.

Fletcher said, “Don’t worry. We won’t miss the flight. We have TSA PreCheck.”

At last, the car pulled to the curb for departing flights. Sanchez assisted Molly out of the vehicle. “Would you like a wheelchair?”

“I should be fine.” The ankle wrap should provide enough support for her walk through the airport.

Fletcher grabbed two small suitcases from the trunk. After saying goodbye to Bentley, the three headed for the busy terminal.

Before the automatic doors closed, Bentley called out, “Don’t get lost again.”

Turning around, she waved to the officer. “What can happen?

I’ve got two FBI agents with me.”

At the check-in counter, the agents flashed their badges.

After receiving clearance to carry their guns on board, they dealt with Molly’s lack of ID. With forty minutes before their flight, Fletcher and Sanchez, carry-ons in hand, flanked Molly on the way to the pre-TSA line.

Once through security, Sanchez studied the signage. “Looks like we have to take a shuttle to get to our gate.”

The agents remained on either side of her as they proceeded down the hallway. Even on the escalator, they retained the sandwich formation. The moving staircase was a welcome relief 225

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to her throbbing ankle. Finally, they reached an area marked ‘To Gate D,’ where other travelers clustered.

After several minutes, a large door slid open, and they boarded a compartment that resembled a wide streetcar.

Through the windows, she saw several airplanes connected to the terminal with accordion-like appendages. Glad to be off her feet, she collapsed on a side bench. The agents hung onto poles in front of her. When full, the doors closed. She felt the vibration through her feet as the vehicle rolled across the tarmac. At the sight of a nearby plane, her pulse quickened.

Sanchez turned to Fletcher, “Did you ever wonder about the origin of the word ‘tarmac’?”

Fletcher looked up at the ceiling. “No, but I’m afraid you’re going to tell me. Is this one of your ‘word for the day’ factoids?”

Molly was grateful to be distracted from dwelling on the hazards of flying.

“Actually, I Googled it this morning. ‘Tarmac’ is short for ‘tarmacadam.’ It describes a type of road surface consisting of tar and stones. The technique was developed about a hundred years ago by a guy named McAdam, hence the name ‘macadam’ for the stones. The term ‘tarmac’ was patented in the early 1900s for the materials used for making the pavement. However, the process is labor-intensive and pricey. Although runways today are concrete, the name stuck.”

Fletcher chuckled. “Thank you for expanding my horizons, Agent Sanchez.”

Molly covered a smile with her hand.

Sanchez leaned over. She felt his breath on her ear. “Agent Fletcher doesn’t appreciate knowledge for its own sake.”

The big shuttle slowed and came to a stop. With a loud hiss, the doors opened. Fletcher held her arm as the three moved with the crowd into D terminal.

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listed a ten-minute delay before boarding. Molly sank into a seat, thankful to be off her ankle. Sanchez sat next to her, while Fletcher stood in front.

Molly stared out the large plate glass window at the plane they would be boarding. The reality of entering another plane hit her like a thunderclap. Her mouth flooded with saliva. She closed her eyes. “I can do this. I can do this.” She felt clammy. A sudden pain gripped her insides. Clutching her abdomen, she looked for a nearby restroom. “I’m going to the ladies’ room to freshen up.” Or throw up.

Sanchez said, “Come straight back here. We’ve got clearance to board first.”

“I won’t be long.” She pushed out of the seat, in a hurry to hug a toilet.

“I’ll go with you,” Fletcher said.

“You can’t go in there.”

He chuckled. “I’ll wait outside the entrance.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

His eyes narrowed. “You have no say in the matter.”

Sanchez said, “While you’re gone, I’ll ask to do a sweep in the cabin before boarding starts.”

Fletcher escorted her to the closest ladies’ room, about thirty yards away. Halfway there, Molly felt light-headed. Maybe it was a good thing the agent was next to her. *** Fletcher stood against the wall, scanning the surroundings.

He scrutinized the women streaming in and out of the restroom.

A few of them gave him hostile glares. An airport worker pushing a housekeeping cart entered. He stretched his neck and shifted his feet. What could be keeping her? He flagged the next woman entering the restroom. “Ma’am, could you check on someone for me?” The woman’s eyes grew large, and she hurried down the 227

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corridor. Sanchez’s handwaving caught his attention. His partner held up his arm and tapped his watch. Not knowing what was keeping Mrs. P., Fletcher gave an exaggerated shrug. He couldn’t wait much longer. Their flight would be boarding in a matter of minutes. Keeping an eye on the ladies’ room, he walked over to a nearby water fountain. Leaning over the arced stream, he placed a hand over his tie to prevent any water damage. Someone tapped his shoulder. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he straightened to face a uniformed man. The security cop looked like he swallowed a large bottle of unsweetened lemon juice.

“Airport security.” The man’s face was inches from Fletcher’s.

“You need to leave this area. You’re spooking the ladies.”

Fletcher took a step back and flashed his badge. “I’m waiting for someone.” His attention was drawn to a noise, and he glanced at a housekeeper pushing her squeaky cart out of the restroom.

The guard studied the badge. “You’re making a lot of women jumpy standing outside the lavatory.”

“My partner and I are accompanying a woman who’s afraid of flying. She looked pretty pale when she went in there about ten minutes ago.” He thumbed at the women’s restroom. “I’m getting concerned.”

The guard’s eyes shifted to the right as if in thought, before looking at Fletcher. “I’ll recruit some help.” He waved over a gate agent. The attendant shook her head. He motioned again. When she didn’t move, he brought his radio to his lips. “Please page the attendant at gate twenty-three to the nearest ladies’ room.”

Moments later, the PA system mimicked the announcement.

The gate agent stormed over. She stopped and took a wide stance, hands on hips. “What’s so important to take me away from my post? I need to start boarding.”

“This will only take a minute. I need you to check on one of your passengers who’s been in the john for over ten minutes. She might be sick. Name is…” The guard looked at Fletcher.

“Mrs. Molly Patterson.”

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The employee glared at the guard. “Fine.” She stomped into the restroom.

Sanchez loped over. “What’s going on, Fletch? Our flight should be boarding any second.”

Before Fletcher could respond, the scowling agent returned.

“I called Mrs. Patterson’s name multiple times and checked every stall. No sign of her.” She tromped back to her gate.

Heart racing, Fletcher scanned the area. Where could she be?

“Maybe she had second thoughts about boarding the plane, but I didn’t see her exit the restroom.”

This couldn’t be happening again.

“We’ll find her.” The security guard unclipped his radio.

“Report of a missing woman, last seen in the women’s room near gate twenty-three.” He looked at the agents. “I need a description.”

After relaying the information, he requested backup.

Frantic, Fletcher and his partner began questioning those nearby. *** After drying her hands, Molly maneuvered around a cleaning cart. A hand grabbed her forearm. She felt a prick on her neck.

“Ow.” Before she could raise her hand to cover the area of the jab, her arm went as limp as a cooked noodle. Her legs buckled and her vision blurred. A nearby face with long, dark hair split in two. Jumbled voices floated around, words she was unable to grab. Four-eyed faces gawked at her, as if she were in a fishbowl.

A mouth opened, emitting staticky sounds. Someone needed to adjust the radio dial.

Molly felt her body flip upside down. She stared at the white but didn’t feel cold. Muffled squeaks echoed as her body was rocked to sleep.

229

Chapter Twenty-Eight Deren held the screen door open for his friends. Edelman balanced a tray of drinks, and O’Malley held up a large McDonald’s bag. “We wanted to keep you company while you waited for Molly to get home.”

“Thanks for bringing lunch. Watching the hands on the clock is like watching a turtle race.” Deren’s mouth watered at the aroma.

Tommy rushed in, drawn by the scent of greasy fast food.

Deren mussed his son’s hair. “Go round up everyone.”

The men entered the kitchen where Peggy was tidying up.

Edelman and O’Malley arranged the food and drinks while Deren set napkins and ketchup on the table. His sons and Damien crowded into the kitchen. Little hands grabbed their food, said thanks, and ran outside to eat. Deren chuckled at their exuberance.

Peggy dried her hands at the sink and draped the dish rag over the faucet to dry. “I’ll be up in the spare room.”

O’Malley said, “We brought plenty, Peggy. Please join us.”

Her nose wrinkled as if smelling something rancid. “Thank you. I’ll get something later. I have a few things to do before the deliveries arrive.”

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to Peggy’s efforts, Molly’s sister took second place, but at the exclusion of her other children.

The four men chomped on their Big Macs.

Deren waved a french fry. “Thanks for the food. I appreciate your support these last few days. It’s been tough.”

O’Malley grabbed a napkin to wipe secret sauce from his beard. “I wonder if the crooks made it out of the country with the gene.”

“The FBI has some leads. Maybe the phone numbers I gave them will help. I hope the thief has difficulty identifying an analogous human gene to the one they stole.”

Stan shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. The proteincoding regions of the mouse and human genome are eighty-five percent identical.”

“Yes, but there are three billion base pairs in both genomes.”

“With AI assistance, it should be easy to find similarities.”

Stan took another bite of his burger.

Damien asked, “How would that work?”

“The program would look for similar nucleotide sequences.”

Deren set down his sandwich. “Is that what you were banking on, Stan?”

Edelman froze mid-chew. He swallowed. “What do you mean?”

Deren said, “And what about you, Pete?”

O’Malley’s eyes widened. “What are you saying?”

Damien set down his drink. “What’s this about, Bro?” Deren tapped a finger on the table. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, and I can’t help but think that one of you is involved in this somehow. Stan, you’ve been encouraging me to go ahead with the sale of the gene. Pete, you have a lot of student debt. And you knew I was in the science building after Commencement.

Right after I got off the phone with you, those two men showed up at my office.”

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“Whoa there.” O’Malley scowled. “I was busy with the mice all afternoon. In fact, after I dialed, I remembered you were leaving right after graduation. I was surprised when you picked up. And you just said the thieves got to you almost as soon as you hung up.” He held up his hands as if in surrender. “Believe me, I didn’t have anything to do with those two men who stole the gene. I don’t condone theft or violence of any kind.”

“The important thing is that Molly is all right.” Edelman laid a hand on Deren’s wrist. “This has been quite an ordeal for you, Buddy. I’m glad the Koreans didn’t hurt Molly.”

Deren sat back in his chair. He studied the faces of his two colleagues. Maybe he was wrong about either of them being involved. “I’m thankful Molly is all right.”

He heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry. The last few days have been very stressful. After I found out where the thieves were from, Pete mentioned a South Korean company that cloned pets.” His voice trailed off. Deren looked at Edelman. “Stan, I never told you they were Korean.”

“You must have. How else would I know?” Fumbling with his straw, Edelman slurped the last of his drink.

“I know I didn’t tell you. I just found out yesterday when the FBI figured it out from some of the words Molly and I heard the men say.”

“You told me yesterday.” Peter brushed crumbs off his shirt.

“Well, then Peter must have mentioned it to me,” Stan said.

“No, I didn’t say anything about it on our drive over today.”

Edelman laughed a little too loudly. “Well, then it was just a lucky guess, Old Chum. I mean, you said the men were Asian, right?” He played with the hamburger wrapper. “Lucky guess on my part.” His gaze moved from face to face as if to garner approval.

Deren stared at Edelman, who finally looked away. “It wasn’t a guess. You knew!” Springing to his feet, Deren’s chair tipped back, crashing to the floor. “You were in on this somehow. I can’t 232

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believe this, Stan. I-I thought we were good friends.” He shook with rage. Making a fist, he drew his arm back, ready to punch Edelman.

Damien rose and placed a restraining hand on Deren’s chest.

Edelman cowered in his seat. “Deren, Buddy. What are you talking about? We’re best of friends.”

O’Malley pointed at Edelman. “I was in the lab Sunday afternoon. Every time I looked out the window, I saw you pacing in front of the science building. What was that all about, Stan?”

“Yes, Stan, what was that about?” Deren’s jaw clenched.

Sweat beaded Edelman’s forehead. “I’m sorry all you and Molly went through, but I had nothing to do with what happened on Saturday. Honest.” He held up a three-finger Scout’s salute.

“What were you doing in front of the science building?”

Edelman’s shoulders sagged. “Look, the only thing I did was agree to meet some Koreans to exchange the gene for some cash. But they never showed. That’s the honest truth. Then, some baboon entrapped me into giving him the gene as well.

I was going to meet that guy later in the afternoon, but he was a no-show too. Any arrangements I made were for Sunday, not Saturday. Nothing happened on my end that would have hurt you or Molly. I swear I’m innocent.”

“When Molly went missing, you quizzed me about what the thieves looked like. Seemed strange at the time. Now I get it. You thought you were being double-crossed, is that it?” Breaking away from his brother’s grasp, Deren drew his arm back. Before he could take a swing at his former best friend, O’Malley righted the chair and forced Deren to sit. Damien applied pressure to Deren’s shoulder to keep him seated.

Deren could feel the heat in his face and his rapid heartbeat.

All he had been through the last few days. Being shot, his wife kidnapped twice, and the worry he and his sons went through.

“Stan, why would you agree to give anyone the gene? Our research benefits the college, not us. You may not have been involved in the 233

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transaction, but you had made arrangements with the Koreans.

You are the reason they were there. The men were thugs, Stan.

They could have killed me or Molly. Why did you do it?”

Edelman’s chin jutted forward. “I’ll tell you why. The Koreans offered two million dollars for the gene. Then some tattooed guy blackmailed me into handing over the gene.”

O’Malley’s eyebrows raised. “Blackmail? What did he hold over you?”

Edelman dropped his gaze. “Caught me in a compromising situation with a co-ed. If I didn’t comply, I could lose my job, destroy my marriage.”

Deren’s voice cracked. “H-how could you do something like this? What my family has gone through the last few days.”

Edelman held up his hands as if to deflect the accusation.

“No one was supposed to get hurt. Honest. I’m truly sorry for all you and Molly have been through. But two million tax-free dollars is a lot of money, which I was going to share with you and Pete. Apparently, their plans changed.” He dropped his arms to his side. “If things had gone like they were supposed to, no one would have gotten hurt. Maybe the kidnappers weren’t the same people I was supposed to meet.” Stan placed his hand over his heart. “I’m blameless since I didn’t give the gene to anyone.”

Damien said, “I don’t think so. We’ll see what the police say about you being an accomplice to the kidnapping and theft.”

Eyes wide, Edelman’s mouth gaped open.

“Really, Stan,” O’Malley said. “The gene wasn’t yours to give away. Certainly not a decision to make on your own.”

“Deren wanted the college involved in the sale. The school would get the money, and all we’d get would be a pat on the back.”

Edelman’s shoulders sagged. “I couldn’t pass up all that money.

I...I wasn’t promoted. Next year’s my last.”

Dumbfounded by the news, Deren stopped struggling against his brother’s hold. “What? You can’t be serious. When did this happen?”

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Edelman let out a long breath. “I got the letter a couple of months ago. Kelly and I argued about the termination of my contract and my failure to be promoted. For the second time.”

Stan shrugged. “The publish-or-perish mindset is so stressful. I saw the money as a way to start a new career. Maybe salvage my marriage. I was going to share the money with you two. Honest.”

Deren couldn’t fathom his friend’s unethical behavior.

“Thank goodness Molly and I are all right, but what we’ve gone through the last few days, I wouldn’t wish on anyone. A pilot and a mechanic died, Stan. Innocent people killed. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Edelman stared at the tabletop.

“Get out of my house, Stan.”

Edelman raised his head, his eyes pleading. “But Deren, Old Buddy.”

“Out,” Deren stood and pointed toward the front door. “I don’t want to see your face again.” He turned his back on his former friend. His chest heaved as he struggled with his emotions. The end of a five-year friendship. He heard the scrape of chair legs and the squeak of Stan’s rubber-soled shoes on the linoleum. The slamming of the front door reverberated in the quiet house.

O’Malley stroked his beard. “You have to tell the detective about this. Stan has to know more than what he’s told us, maybe something that will help to catch the culprits.”

Deren sank back in the chair and nodded, still numb from Edelman’s deceit.

“Good idea.” Damien placed his hand on Deren’s back. “I’m sorry about your friend. You won’t have to worry about the gene now, will you?”

“We’ve still got the gene transfer protocol.” He turned toward O’Malley. “What about the mice? Maybe the transplanted mice could be patented.”

O’Malley shook his head. “I’ve mated those mice for months now but didn’t give much thought to the lack of offspring.

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Apparently, both our male and female ‘super mice’—” he made air quotes “—are sterile.”

“Huh. I never thought about breeding the mice. With all that’s happened, I’d just as soon drop the whole thing. When the mice die, that’ll be the end of it.”

O’Malley sighed. “I guess that’s it, then.”

“Wait.” Damien shifted his gaze between the two. “How could that happen? Why would the mice be sterile?”

Deren folded his hands. “We modified the vector to insert our gene into non-coding areas of DNA. Although these regions don’t contain genes, they must serve some purpose.” He waved his hand. “And then there’s always the imprinting factor.” He turned to O’Malley. “Do you think we’ll have to retract our paper if there’s no gene?”

“That would be a question for the editor, although it shouldn’t matter what gene was used. The focus of the paper was on the high success rate of the insertion technique. Besides, the technique isn’t being promoted for prenatal use.”

Damien asked, “Would using your protocol for genetic diseases cause sterility or cancer?”

“Targeting somatic or body cells won’t affect germ cells. One gene therapy trial added a copy of the functional gene to bone marrow cells. The cells made the missing protein. However, several of the treated individuals developed leukemia, most likely because the inserted gene somehow disrupted the function of another gene, resulting in cancer. No way to predict the cancer risk.”

“I’ve read something about CRISPR being used to modify an abnormal gene as a method of treating genetic disease. How does your technique compare?”

Deren smiled. “Glad to hear my brother keeps up with advances in science. Our technique adds a copy of a functional gene instead of repairing the defective gene, like CRISPR. Thing is, the cost of CRISPR gene editing runs a million a pop.”

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Damien whistled.

O’Malley pushed back from the table. “Damien and I will clean up while you call the detective. Stan needs to be questioned before he skips.”

Deren asked, “You think he’d leave?”

“I never imagined him selling the gene. Did you?”

Deren couldn’t dig his phone out of his pocket fast enough.

237

Chapter Twenty-Nine Agent Fletcher took control. “Robby, tell Anders we need all available agents here to help with the search. Then call the sheriff.” He turned to the security guard. “Sir, we need to shut this airport down. Now. Next, we need all airport employees to help with the search.” He scrolled through his phone. “Tell me where to send Mrs. Patterson’s photo.”

The guard rattled off his own phone number. “I’ll send the picture to my supervisor and let him know to distribute copies to all employees. Then I’ll request backup.” He stepped toward the wall for some privacy.

Fletcher forwarded the photo, then made his own call. He needed to know if the kidnappers were still around. “Chet, what can you tell me about the kidnappers?”

“We compared passenger names flying out of Dulles Saturday evening with those on connecting flights out of the country. No matches, which suggests that the thieves used an alias for each leg of their flight. But we might have a lead. One flight leaving LAX for Tokyo was reported as full, yet two names on the roster are missing. That and the scrubbed CCTV suggest someone’s not leaving any breadcrumbs to follow.”

“You’re sure they flew into Tokyo?”

“It’s circumstantial, but everything points to it. Why?” “Mrs. Patterson disappeared again.”

“Jesus. You need to put an ankle monitor on that woman.”

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“Wish we had,” Fletcher muttered as he disconnected. The crooks got away. Someone else was still around complicating things, but who? He caught the security guard’s attention. “Can we get access to surveillance footage for this area?”

“Sure.” The guard keyed his radio. “Bring up D gate CCTV footage for the last half hour. I’m on my way there now with an FBI agent.” He motioned to Fletcher. “Follow me.”

Halfway down the long corridor, the guard’s radio squawked, “We’ve got a problem with our video feed.”

Fletcher groaned. Not again.

The guard stopped in his tracks. “Say again?”

“Current screen images are crystal clear, have been all day, but the replay is scrambled. Must be some kind of hardware glitch.”

“Any of the crew remember seeing anything unusual?”

“Nope. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Thanks, Buddy.” The guard turned to Fletcher. “You heard.

No images to review. We’ll have to question everyone in the area.”

Massaging his forehead, Fletcher saw Sanchez running toward him. Sensing the urgency, he jogged toward his partner.

“What’s up, Robby?”

“Nothing. I was hoping you had some news. I can’t find her, and no one I’ve spoken to noticed anything unusual.” Worry lines etched Sanchez’s forehead. “How could she just disappear without anyone noticing?”

Fletcher wondered the same thing. *** Deputy Bentley set a fresh cup of coffee on his squad desk.

Before he could get back to his paperwork, the office phone rang.

Seeing the name on the screen, he groaned. What could the sheriff want now?

“Bentley, Mrs. Patterson is missing. Get back to the airport on the double.”

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Bentley’s heart rate kicked up. Was he hearing right? “That can’t—that’s not possible.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Deputy.”

“Yes, Sir.” “And tell whoever’s on the intake desk to notify all available deputies to get there pronto.”

Bentley gulped. “Yes, Sir.” Stopping at the intake desk, he relayed the sheriff ’s message to the other officers, then sprinted to a squad car. He hoped the sheriff never found out he was the one assigned to the front desk. With siren wailing and lights flashing, he weaved among traffic, his sweaty palms almost slipping off the steering wheel.

He couldn’t believe the turn of events. Only an hour or so had passed since he dropped Mrs. Patterson and the Feds at the airport. Now the woman had pulled another Houdini act. Taking the exit ramp toward the airport, traffic slowed to a crawl. As he neared the terminal, local police stopped to question each driver, then waved them forward, without dropping off any travelers.

Bentley rolled down his window and flashed his badge.

The policeman pointed to the curb. “Find a spot to park and go on in.”

Bentley scraped his tires on the curb. He rushed into the terminal where law enforcement swarmed around like angry wasps. He stopped an airport employee. “I’m here to help with the search.”

The man pointed toward TSA. “Head to concourse D, gate twenty-three.”

Once through security, Bentley sprinted through the airport. Seven minutes later and out of breath, he arrived at his destination.

Fletcher waved him over. “Thanks for your help. Mrs. P. went into that restroom and never came out.” The agent fiddled with his phone. “Give me your number so I can text you her photo to 240

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show around. We need to know where she was seen and if she was with someone.”

Bentley scanned the area for a good place to start. Couples sat in the waiting areas with their fidgeting children. Grumbling passengers meandered around while others elbowed their way into crowded restaurants in search of a vacant seat. Finding someone who had seen Mrs. Patterson seemed a near-impossible task. He stopped a young woman holding onto her two young children. One was crying, snot dripping from his nose.

He held out his phone and shouted to be heard over the noise of passengers and constant loudspeaker announcements. “Have you seen this woman? She was last seen entering the restroom over there.”

“Sorry.” The harried mother headed toward a McDonald’s, her youngsters in tow.

What a futile exercise. Who could he ask next? Glancing at his watch, Bentley hoped they could wrap this up before evening.

He had plans to meet his buddies at the pub. *** The wind, kicking up debris, twisted and twirled like mini cyclones across the tarmac. Roiling charcoal clouds hid the sun.

Harry threaded the hose toward the next plane in Concourse D to be refueled. He wanted to finish before the storm hit. Looked like a doozy.

He noticed the young baggage handler, with one hand on top of his head to keep his cap from blowing away. Was that the guy who wore his hair in a bun? He watched the guy struggle to keep shoulder-length strands tucked under his cap. Harry snickered into his elbow as he watched Man Bun spit strands of hair from his mouth.

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on the other luggage. Scratching his head, he shouted something to Harry, but the howling wind snatched the words away.

Harry pointed to his ear and shook his head.

Man Bun’s hands formed a megaphone around his mouth.

“We’ve got the wrong luggage here. This cart belongs over at Concourse A.” Harry shrugged. The wind died down, a momentary reprieve.

“Didn’t you hear? The whole airport’s locked down tight. These birds ain’t flying outta here till a missing woman is found.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. She slipped away right under the noses of two FBI bozos. Isn’t that a joke? Really makes me feel safe, know what I mean? No planes landing or flying out of here until the missing woman is found. There’s no rush getting the baggage where it belongs. No one’s going nowhere anytime soon.”

“No kidding. Sounds like it’s going to be a long day.” Man Bun smiled. “Might be a good time to take a break, don’t you think?”

For once, the Gen Zer had a good idea. Harry said, “I’m with you. You know, Buddy, that luggage has to be moved eventually, right?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“This storm is going to be a whopper. Not anything I want to get caught in. We can take the cart over to the other gate before it starts to rain.” The wind kicked up again. Harry yelled, “Concourse A has a Smashburger. We can grab a bite to eat.”

“Now you’re talking. Let’s go!” Man Bun stuffed an escaped strand of hair back under his ball cap and hopped in the driver’s seat of the cart.

The distant rumble of thunder motivated Harry to move. “Be right there.” Topping the tank could wait. Besides, a lightning strike would be disastrous. He stored the hose and hopped into the seat next to Man Bun. “Ready when you are.”

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Man Bun mashed the gas pedal to the floor. Harry held on as the cart propelled forward at the top speed of seven miles an hour. *** Detective Henderson checked his watch again. Why hadn’t he been told of Mrs. Patterson’s arrival time? He speed-dialed a number. “Agent Fletcher, what’s the ETA for Mrs. Patterson? Her family is anxious to have her back home.”

The agent’s reply was like a punch in the gut.

“You lost her at the Dulles International Airport?”

How could this be happening? He’d have to tell Dr. Patterson his wife wouldn’t be home this afternoon. His fingernails dug into his scalp. What a fiasco.

Henderson tuned back in to Fletcher’s voice. “... multiple agencies searching, a real alphabet soup mix. With so many involved in the search, we’re bumping into each other like pinballs. With this much manpower, we will find her. CCTV is useless, erased like before. She wouldn’t have wandered off on her own. Her abductor had at least a ten-minute lead before we started the search. And the lead time is getting longer. Tell Dr. Patterson we’re doing everything humanly possible to find his wife.”

“I’ve never heard of someone being kidnapped three times, and all within a week. I assume her disappearance is tied to the theft. What’s so special about this gene anyway?”

“Big money, we suspect. Seems the thieves escaped, but they left someone behind to cover their tracks. I’ll keep you posted.”

The detective’s stomach burned with the thought of facing Patterson with the news. But it had to be done. He rummaged around in his desk. This was bound to be a lead story on the evening news. He imagined those stranded at the airport would be posting phone videos on YouTube. The disappearance would 243

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be newsworthy enough to interrupt radio and TV programming.

Abandoning his search for antacids, he snatched his jacket and dashed out of the police station. *** “All taken care of, Patrick. They’ve been falling all over one another for the last hour. It’s pathetic how incompetent they all are.” Marcello laughed.

“Another job well done, Leon. I’ve been listening to the police scanner. No trace of you or the woman. How’d you do it?”

Novack asked.

“Trade secret. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Novack guffawed. “Good enough. I don’t need to know.

Sounds like you’ve got things wrapped up at your end. Time to come home.”

“Can’t move till the planes do.”

“Understood. Take care of yourself.” Pushing his chair away from his desk, Novack took the stairs down to the next floor.

Entering the lab, he found Smittle gloved and goggled, placing a scoop of powdery substance onto a weighing pan.

“Have you reread the manuscript?”

“I have, Patrick. Like I told you before, the paper has no details about the gene. I need the actual product.”

“Sad to say, that’s not going to happen.”

Smittle perched his goggles on top of his head. Rings from the tight-fitting eye protectors were visible on his cheeks. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently, the gene didn’t survive the trip.”

“Bummer. Would have been a bonanza.” Smittle lowered his goggles and returned to his task.

Novack took the stairs back to his office. He was disappointed, but circumstances change. He learned the need to be flexible to avoid unpleasant consequences. A necessity when his dealings 244

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skirted the edge of ethical behavior. He remembered his mother’s account of the courtroom—the humiliation of her husband being grilled by the prosecution. Although his father’s sentences were only a few years at a time, each incarceration diminished him.

The thought of prison terrified Novack. Something he wanted, no, had to avoid.

Novack held up his end of the bargain, helping the Koreans evade capture. If the gene hadn’t survived the trip, it was time to move on to something else.

But the loss of potential income made his blood boil. To curb a spike in blood pressure, he took a few deep cleansing breaths.

Still, that nagging thought. What if Chung had lied? The gene survived, but he didn’t want to share. A famous quote came to mind. “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

Novack slapped his palm on the desk. Nobody interfered with his business and got away with it. If he found out the gene survived, Novack would lead the FBI right to Chung’s doorstep.

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Chapter Thirty Using his good arm, Deren dragged another two-by-four onto the porch for his twin.

Damien’s biceps bulged as he ripped out another warped board. Working like a machine, he positioned the lumber and grabbed a nail.

Each hammer strike was a blow to Deren’s psyche. His uselessness sapped his strength, hollowed him out. Why didn’t he follow through on tasks when Molly asked? And why hadn’t he stood up to the thieves? How had he bumbled rescuing his wife from the kidnappers? His throat constricted. His chest heaved.

And now he couldn’t do much more than watch his brother do something he should have done a week ago.

He checked his watch. What was the delay? The detective should have called by now. Looked like the work on the porch deck would be finished before they headed to the airport. He didn’t want Molly coming home to a hole in the porch. But what could be the delay? He checked his phone. No missed calls.

The sun beat down. Using the neck of his T-shirt, Deren mopped the sweat from his face. If only they could afford an awning. Maybe a project for later, by a hired contractor. He watched sweat-stained areas on his brother’s T-shirt increase in size, keeping pace with Deren’s growing sense of worthlessness—a one-armed failure.

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Damien pounded in the final nail. “That’s the last of it.”

Rocking back on his haunches, he wiped his brow with his sleeve and downed a bottle of water.

“Go on in and shower. I can handle the cleanup.” Deren tucked the hammer and box of nails into his sling and headed toward the garage. After storing the tools, he double-checked his phone. No missed calls. What was taking so long?

He entered the living room. A TV show provided background noise for the board game in progress. He sat in his recliner and watched Peggy and his sons roll the dice and move pieces around the board.

His brother, wet hair slicked back, came downstairs and collapsed on the blanket-covered armchair.

Hearing the sound of a car door closing, Deren looked out the picture window to see Detective Henderson on the walkway.

Deren rushed to the front door, a lightness to his feet. “Come on in. You didn’t have to make a special trip to tell us Molly’s arrival time. A phone call would’ve worked.”

Detective Henderson held his ground on the porch, hands at his sides. “Would you mind stepping outside?”

A chill ran through Deren. Stepping onto the new planks of wood, he let the screen door latch behind him. Expecting bad news, his pulse raced. Had the plane crashed? Molly’s worst fear a reality?

The detective plucked at the sparse hair on his upper lip. “Dr. Patterson, Agent Fletcher contacted me.” He shifted his feet.

“Yes?” Deren moistened his dry lips.

Henderson cleared his throat. “Molly went into the restroom at the Dulles Airport but didn’t come out. She…disappeared.”

“What?” Deren yelped and stumbled backward. Had he heard right? This can’t be happening again.

Henderson guided Deren to the porch swing. “Law enforcement is doing everything they can to find her. The airport has been shut down. Don’t worry, they’ll find her.”

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Numb with grief, Deren slouched in the seat. “I can’t believe this. H-how could my wife just vanish? The kidnappers got what they wanted.” Deren covered his face and sobbed.

“I know. It doesn’t make sense.”

The screen door opened. His mother-in-law stepped outside.

Her gaze shifted between the two men. “What’s going on?” She gasped. “Is this about my daughter?”

Henderson said, “Yes, Ma’am. She’s missing.”

“My daughter’s been kidnapped again?” Peggy gasped, her eyes moist.

“We don’t know that for a fact, Ma’am.”

Deren turned to see Tommy’s nose pressed up against the screen, his face wet. “I want my mommy.” Peggy opened the door, and Tommy buried his face against his grandmother’s leg.

She bent down to console him.

Mike and Damien stepped outside. Mike blinked back tears.

“My mom’s not coming home?”

Mike’s question squeezed Deren’s heart. His eyes watered. He opened his arms to his older son.

Henderson said, “Why don’t we all go inside? I’ll tell you what I know.”

Peggy guided her grandsons back into the living room.

Deren migrated to his reclining chair. Using the cloth of the sling, he wiped his face.

Tommy climbed on his dad’s lap, thumb in his mouth, burying his face in his dad’s chest. Mike snuggled next to Deren.

He held his sons tight to his chest. The discomfort of his shoulder didn’t come close to the hurt of having his world torn apart for the third time.

Why was this happening? He wanted his wife back. He needed her. He wanted everything back the way it was. Before his research with the cursed gene.

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*** In the corridor near the departure gate, Fletcher stood next to his partner and scanned the disgruntled passengers.

“I don’t understand this, Fletch,” Sanchez said. “The airport is locked down, and we still can’t find her. Where the hell can she be? If we had something of hers, we could use search and rescue canines.”

Fletcher ran through events while he stood watch outside the ladies’ room. There had to be something he noticed but failed to make the connection to Mrs. P.’s disappearance. Eyes closed, he tipped his head back, replaying what he saw that might be significant.

He returned his attention to his surroundings. This was not how the day was supposed to go. He never imagined their charge was in danger, yet despite the extra precautions, she had disappeared. His temples throbbed. He dry-swallowed a pill.

Sanchez asked, “You okay?”

Fletcher nodded. “There has to be something I missed, but I can’t figure it out. You or I should have seen her exit, right? I can’t imagine where she went.”

Sanchez scrunched his lips and rubbed his soul patch. “No reason for her to wander off. I can’t figure out how she was abducted under our watch. The only thing I remember entering and leaving the restroom besides women was a housekeeper with a cart.” Sanchez’s eyes grew large. He froze, like a bloodhound catching the scent of a fox.

Fletch snapped his fingers. “That’s got to be the connection.

I saw the cart go in and out but didn’t think anything of it. The housekeeper wasn’t in there long enough to do much cleaning.

Let’s re-canvass the area and ask if anyone remembers seeing where the cart went.”

“You’d think cleaning would be reserved for less-trafficked times. I’ll see what I can find out about housekeeping’s schedule.”

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Sanchez rushed over to the nearest airport employee. After a brief conversation, Sanchez jogged back, wearing an ear-to-ear grin.

“What’d he say?” Fletcher massaged his forehead. They needed a break, and soon.

“Housekeeping wasn’t scheduled for this area.”

The news energized Fletcher better than a power nap.

“Terrific. Let’s see if someone around here saw where that cart went.”

Sanchez made a beeline for the nearest boarding area.

Fletcher spotted Bentley on the other side of the hall next to a young woman. The way the deputy leaned close to the attractive brunette seemed too intimate for gathering information.

Fletcher called Bentley’s name and waved him over. “We’re canvassing to see if anyone remembers a housekeeping cart coming out of the ladies’ room.”

“What a coincidence. The woman over there,” Bentley thumbed over his shoulder, “just told me she thought it strange the housekeeper came out of the restroom and rolled her cart past the next facility. Just kept on going down the corridor.”

Fletcher hurried over to the woman, Bentley at his heels.

“Could you describe the housekeeper?”

“Not much I can tell you apart from her brown hair and big feet. The way she hunched over the cart, her long hair covered her face. Something bothered me about her hair.” Her eyes wandered, as if searching for the memory. “It was strange. Her hair hardly moved, like she used a whole can of hairspray.”

Fletcher turned to Bentley. “Wig?” Bentley’s smile brought out dimples in both cheeks.

After thanking the woman, Fletcher joined Sanchez, with Bentley at his heels.

“Robby, the housekeeper wore a wig. Could be a disguise.

See if you can find out if someone didn’t show up to work today.”

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Fletcher motioned for Bentley to follow him down the corridor.

He stopped at the first exit door, guarded by security.

Bentley nudged Fletcher. “I’ll go on ahead.”

Fletcher asked the guard, “Have you seen a housekeeping cart go by within the last half hour?”

“Not since I’ve been here, which was shortly after the lockdown.”

Before Fletcher could ask another question, up ahead, Bentley yelled, “I found it.”

Fletcher and the guard raced to the next exit door.

Fletcher peeked out the propped-open door. On the tarmac, a discarded housekeeping cart lay on its side. “Who has access to this door?” Fletcher asked the security guard.

The guard shrugged. “Anyone can access an emergency exit, but no one has since I’ve been here.”

The threesome stepped outside and circled the abandoned cart. The wind billowed the canvas bag. A torn corner flapped like a card in a bicycle spoke.

Fletcher checked inside the bag. Empty. He surveyed the surroundings. “Any vehicles permitted in this area?”

The guard said, “Baggage trains move between the gates, and security patrols the entire area.” He raised his index finger. “Ah, I think I know where you’re going with this. A car wouldn’t get past security. Even if it had, all exits are blocked now. That means the kidnapper and victim are still on site.”

At that moment, Sanchez appeared in the doorway. After catching his breath, he said, “No special request for housekeeping for this concourse. And they’re missing a cart.”

“Looks like we found it.” Fletcher waved his partner onto the tarmac.

Scanning the area, he pointed to several luggage carts near planes at their boarding gates. “Let’s start our search over there.”

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“For what? A body?” Lines appeared on the guard’s forehead.

“You think the missing woman is in a suitcase?”

Fletcher studied the darkening sky. The churning clouds threatened to downpour at any moment. “You mentioned baggage trains. Have they been checked? We’ll need more help if we want to beat the storm.”

The guard shrugged. “We’ve come up empty-handed everywhere else we’ve searched. Might as well be thorough.”

He radioed in his report. “We’ve located the missing cart on D tarmac. Request a crew to thoroughly search inside all luggage and planes in the area.”

Minutes later, the area teemed with uniformed and suited men and women. Wind gusts tugged at their clothing while they searched in the area—no sign of Mrs. Patterson.

The wind howled like a freight train. If Mrs. P. wasn’t forced into a waiting car before the airport was locked down, she had to be somewhere outside. Fletcher signaled the others. “Let’s move to the next concourse.”

A distant rumble of thunder quickened Fletcher’s steps. He preferred not to be caught in the downpour. A gust of wind flattened his clothes against his body. He watched an airport security man struggle with a fluorescent orange weather slicker, only to have it snatched away.

Outside Concourse C, the group began checking baggage.

A light pitter-patter of raindrops began, followed moments later by the roar of a torrential downpour, drowning out all other sounds and instantly soaking the searchers to the skin. Finding no evidence of Mrs. Patterson, the security guard hand-signaled everyone to proceed to Concourse A. Some of the airport workers abandoned the search and sought shelter from the storm. Fletcher stopped at the closest cart and began tossing bags. Hearing a commotion, he looked up. Several yards away, a guard stood by another baggage cart, frantically 252

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waving. The man cupped his hands around his mouth, the words drowned out by the deluge. He waved others over to his position.

Arms pumping, Fletcher ran, his shoes splashing water from puddles.

“What is it?” a state trooper behind him shouted.

The agent said, “See how the luggage is stacked? Looks like it’s ready to topple. I’m sure it’s been disturbed since the cart was loaded.”

The squishing of soggy footwear announced the arrival of others. They started to remove the piled suitcases and duffels.

Fletcher slid several large garment bags onto the tarmac, uncovering a woman clad in blue scrubs. Placing two fingers on her neck, he felt a weak pulse. “It’s Mrs. Patterson. We need an ambulance ASAP.” From behind, he heard the squawk of a radio.

“Request an ambulance for Concourse A tarmac. We found Mrs. Patterson. She’s unconscious. We’ll continue our search for her abductor, and then we can get these birds in the air.” *** Sunlight shimmered along the surface of puddles that littered the runway. The storm had been brief. Breathing in the scent of damp dirt and earthworms, Fletcher squeezed rainwater from his coat sleeve. His shoes were a loss. A distant siren grew louder.

The ambulance approached, spraying water. An airport worker hand-signaled the van toward the luggage cart as if guiding a large jet to the bridge.

Fletcher sidestepped to allow the paramedics to examine a comatose Mrs. Patterson for broken bones or neck injury before moving her to the stretcher. One of the EMTs said, “This is the same woman rescued from the trunk of a car the other day. She must have nine lives.”

“Or rotten luck,” Sanchez said under his breath.

“Yeah, that, too.” The paramedic hopped in the back.

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Fletcher flashed his badge. “Where are you taking her?”

“Reston’s the nearest hospital.”

“I’m coming with you.”

The second EMT secured the back doors. “Up front.”

Sanchez said, “Go ahead, Fletch. I’ll meet you there after I grab our bags for a change of clothes.”

Fletcher gave his partner the okay sign before climbing into the front passenger seat. The ambulance sped across the tarmac, siren blaring. *** Fletcher leaned forward in the chair, elbows on thighs. He hated hospitals. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, especially in the emergency department. He glanced up to see Sanchez with his overnight bag.

Before Fletcher could thank his partner, an elderly man in a knee-length white coat emerged from the cubicle, his frizzy white hair a contrast to his olive complexion. The doctor’s appearance reminded Fletcher of the eccentric professor in Back to the Future.

“You’re here with the Patterson woman?”

Fletcher couldn’t place the doctor’s slight accent. Before he could respond, a panicked voice from behind the curtain yelled, “Doctor, she isn’t breathing.”

Moving faster than a DeLorean, the white coat disappeared into the cubicle. Moments later the loudspeaker blared, “Code Blue.” The noise and activity levels exploded. The squeak of crash-cart wheels and the slap of rubber-soled shoes on linoleum filled the emergency room as personnel in scrubs and white coats poured into the cubicle.

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Patterson, and now she was fighting for her life. Having already gone through so much, she had to survive. Too upset to change into dry clothes, he paced in front of the cubicle.

Twenty minutes later, the white-haired doctor emerged from the cubicle, mopping perspiration from his face with a gauze pad.

Fletcher approached, Sanchez at his elbow, eager for an update on Mrs. P.’s status.

The doctor said, “I suspect the young woman was drugged.

Her heart stopped briefly, but we revived her. She’s stable now. I ordered a drug panel to be run on a blood sample. We’ll keep a close eye on her and tailor her care with what we find.”

“That’s good news, Doctor,” Sanchez said. “We’re here to keep a close eye on her, too.”

The doctor’s lips thinned. “I don’t think that’s necessary. This hospital has excellent security.”

Fletcher flashed his badge. “So did the airport, where she was abducted.” Fletcher took a step closer to the doctor, invading his personal space. “This is her third abduction. And this time, someone tried to kill her. We can’t take any chances. We go where she goes.” He folded his arms across his chest.

The doctor stepped back. His eyes darted between the two agents. “I’ll let you know her room number once we admit her.”

“Thank you. Until then, my partner and I will remain outside this room.”

The doctor retreated behind the nurses’ station. *** Two hours had passed since Detective Henderson arrived at the Pattersons’ house. Dr. Patterson insisted on joining the search, but Henderson tried to talk him out of it. “The airport is locked down. Besides, your wife could be anywhere. Best to wait until we have more information.”

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The silence in the house was thick with despair and hopelessness. The adults huddled in the chairs and sofa with the subdued boys in their dad’s lap. When Henderson’s cell phone chimed, Peggy jumped. All eyes focused on the detective.

Excusing himself, he stepped into the foyer.

“This is Agent Sanchez. We found Mrs. Patterson. Please let her husband know she’s safe.”

“Thank God.” Relief washed through the detective. He covered the mouthpiece and announced, “They found her.”

He returned to his call. “I’m with the Patterson family now.

Where is she?” Henderson had to jam a finger in the other ear to hear over the family’s cries of jubilation.

“Mrs. Patterson is under observation at Reston Hospital.

We’ll call to let you know when we know more.”

“She’s all right, then?”

“She almost died.”

Henderson sucked in his breath, then turned his back to the others. He didn’t want his expression to give anything away.

“What happened?” he whispered.

The agent updated him. Henderson stole a look at the joyous faces. He had just given the family good news. They didn’t need any other details right now.

“Thanks again, Agent Sanchez.”

“Great news!” Henderson clapped his hands and returned to the living room to relay most of what he’d been told.

Laughter and tears of joy filled the house.

Patterson struggled out of the chair, his face flushed. “I want to go there. I have to be with her.”

“I’ll help you make arrangements.” Henderson led Patterson into the kitchen and relayed the details about the phone conversation.

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which were folded on the table. “This is all my fault. This happened because of my research.” His shoulders convulsed with each sob.

Henderson squeezed the man’s good shoulder. “I’ll help book your flight.”

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Chapter Thirty-One Thursday Outside the hospital room, Fletcher rose from the chair and stretched. “That was Chet Baker on the phone. He’s on his way up.”

Sanchez asked, “He is? What’s he doing here?”

“Says he has some information for us.”

“He couldn’t give it to you over the phone?”

Fletcher shrugged. “Guess he wanted to get out of the office.”

A casually dressed, slim young man wearing large-framed glasses approached.

“Chet?” Fletcher held out his hand. “Good to finally meet you.”

Sanchez echoed the sentiment.

Chet tilted his head toward the closed door. “Is she all right?”

Sanchez said, “The doctor was able to counteract the poison in her system.”

Fletcher pointed at Baker’s chest. “Is that some sort of political statement against the government?”

“This?” Baker smoothed the front of his shirt. “I buy a T-shirt at each concert I attend. With no dress code, I rotate my collection.”

“I’ve never heard of them.”

“Rage Against the Machine is a metal band.”

Fletcher asked, “What brings you here?”

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“I talked to my buddy at NIH to get some insight about the stolen gene. I hope the information might help you catch the bad guys. I wanted to do what I could to help with this case.

“I’ll explain this as best I can.” He repositioned his glasses.

“The thieves could use the mouse gene to find a corresponding human gene using an online database such as GenBank. Then they can take the human gene and use a technique described as gene enhancement in which the recipient gains the characteristics of the added gene. Added to a sperm or egg, the gene can be passed on to future generations.

“My buddy told me this is similar to ‘gene doping’ experiments performed in the late ’90s, creating ‘Schwarzenegger mice’ with increased muscle growth and strength. In nature, it’s analogous to the enormous muscle mass in Belgian Blue cattle.”

Sanchez’s eyebrows arched. “Are the cattle strong?”

“Yes, although the bulk is more for meat.” Baker pushed up his glasses. “Transplanted genes can affect the phenotype, or physical appearance, of an organism beyond that of the gene itself. My buddy at NIH emphasized that this practice raises many ethical issues in humans.”

“Thanks for the info, Chet. We appreciate it.” Fletcher said.

“Dr. Patterson suspected something along those lines, using the gene for creating designer babies.”

“No kidding?” Chet bounced on his toes. “This isn’t the typical case that crosses my desk. I hope I helped some. This is as close as I’ll ever get to field work. I’m glad Mrs. Patterson is all right. Good to meet you both.”

“Hold up.” Sanchez turned to Fletcher. “Did you get the significance of the stolen gene?”

“Sure,” Fletcher said. “A multimillion-dollar business, which explains why someone made sure the Koreans escaped.”

“What if another business helped the thieves get away, expecting quid pro quo?”

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Fletcher slowly nodded. “Someone who had a stake in the theft.”

“What would happen if the thieves double-crossed their helper?” Sanchez mused.

Baker blurted, “Then Dr. Patterson better watch his back.” *** Worried about his wife, Deren slept poorly. Half-asleep, he dressed, then grabbed the bag with a change of clothes for Molly.

Damien drove him to the Scranton airport for his morning flight.

Not until he arrived at Dulles did Deren realize he was wearing the same clothes he had worn the day before.

Duffel in hand, Deren climbed into the back of the next available taxi. “Reston Hospital, please.” The stop-and-go traffic within the terminal caused his stomach to churn. Once the taxi merged onto the highway, his eyes grew heavy. He almost slid off the seat when the cab came to a stop. He paid the fare and raced into the hospital.

Stepping off the elevator, he followed the signs to Molly’s room number. Spotting the agents in the hall, he quickened his steps. Deren pushed open the door to the room.

He pulled a chair close to the bed and took Molly’s hand. She didn’t stir. He studied his sleeping wife. Other than a few bruises and bandages, she appeared to be fine. He traced the plastic tubing snaking from the back of her other hand to a suspended plastic bag filled with a clear liquid.

His throat tightened as his eyes filled with tears. This was all his fault. He rested his head on the mattress and sobbed. A tidal wave of emotions battered him. His wife had been harmed because of his stubbornness. Why did he think he could handle everything himself? He should have acted on her advice and spoken to someone at the school sooner. He listened when she told him to stay home with the boys after being rescued from the 260

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trunk of the car. Yet that was the time when he shouldn’t have listened. If he had been with her, this abduction would not have occurred.

“Hey.” Molly’s voice was hoarse.

Deren wiped his face on the sheet before raising his head. He stroked her hair. “How do you feel?” His words came out thick.

“A bit groggy. How’s your arm?”

“My shoulder will mend. Thirsty?” When she nodded, he reached for the glass with a straw and helped her sip some water.

She touched his cheek. “Your eyes are puffy and red.”

He held up the duffel. “I brought you a change of clothes.”

“How thoughtful.”

His lower lip quivered. “I should have been here sooner. This is all my fault.” A wave of sadness threatened to overwhelm him.

Taking a deep breath, he released it slowly. He didn’t want to start crying again.

“I worried about you. When you were shot, I didn’t know how bad it was, if you were...” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I was scared for you.”

His thumb rubbed the back of her hand. “I should have listened to you right from the start, but I let my ego get in the way. You’ve always been able to see the big picture better than I ever could. By the time I realized you were right, it was too late. Can you ever forgive me?” He kissed her hand and held it to his cheek. “It took almost losing you to know what’s really important.”

“If you forgive me for yelling at you about the checkbook.”

He felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Instead, he patted her arm. “We’re always in a financial pinch. It’s that damned house.” He bent his head and sniffed. “Lately, I’ve been focused more on my work than the needs of my family. I’m sorry.”

He let out a ragged breath. “I couldn’t imagine living without you or Mike or Tommy.”

“Me too. How are the boys?”

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“They’re fine, knowing you’re safe. They can’t wait to have you home.”

Molly raised the head of the bed. “The last few days have given me a lot of time to reflect. I have stresses and demands on my time. You have pressures and deadlines. But we don’t talk about it. We need to communicate better.”

“I promise.” Deren wrapped his good arm around her.

Rocking back and forth, he stroked her hair. He whispered in her ear, “I can’t ever lose you. I’d be lost.” He released his wife. “I get too wrapped up in my work. It would be good to talk things out more. I want to be more supportive of you and the boys.”

“It’s not just you, Deren. I needed an attitude adjustment myself. I realize now how good a life we have. A pleasant, safe community to raise our sons, a loving husband who enjoys his work.” She squeezed his hand. “Our financial situation will improve. We’ll get by. We have each other and two healthy sons.”

He reached for a tissue box on the table, handed her one, and took one for himself.

After blowing her nose, she said, “The checkbook incident tipped me over the edge. It’s not just the finances. I’m concerned about my relationship with Kelly Edelman. She’s been distant the last few months, barely speaking to me, and I miss her companionship. It made me feel like when I was growing up.

Every time I had a new best friend, their family would move away—or die. I’ve been dwelling on the past instead of looking toward the future.”

“Oh, Hon, it’s nothing you did. Stan and Kelly have their own problems.”

Molly wiped her eyes. “So, it’s not me?”

“No, it’s not you.” He caressed her face. “Stan didn’t get promoted. Next year’s his last at Buchanan.”

Molly’s jaw dropped. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

Deren smiled. “Guess we’re not the only ones with communication issues.”

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“But there is one thing I want you to do.” She peered into his eyes. He drew closer. “Promise me.”

“Anything. You name it.”

“Let the college handle your discovery. Let them take all the risks.”

“I should have listened to you right from the start.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door.

A young doctor with a five o’clock shadow entered. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m ready to go home.”

The doctor scowled. “Your toxicology results came back negative; however, the test only rules out a handful of drugs. We want to keep you for another day to make sure whatever drug you received is out of your system.”

“But I feel fine.”

“We almost lost you,” the young doctor said.

Her gaze shifted from the doctor to Deren. “Lost? But they found me.”

The doctor checked her pulse and listened to her lungs. “You went into cardiac arrest from a drug.” The doctor left.

“I was drugged?” Her hand went to her throat. “Deren, ask the agents to come in here.”

Agents Fletcher and Sanchez filed into the room.

“The doctor just told me I was poisoned. Why would someone do that to me?”

Fletcher took a step closer. “We think someone misjudged the amount of substance needed to incapacitate you. Best we can figure, your last two abductions were distractions to divert our attention away from tracking your kidnappers. Passenger lists were tampered with and airport surveillance recordings scrubbed. Very slick, very professional.”

Molly asked, “Will you get those little vials back?”

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Sanchez said, “Thanks to the details you and your husband provided, we’re focusing our attention on a few South Korean companies.”

Molly plucked at the sheet. “On the plane, with the kidnappers? I opened the stopcock on the ice chest to drain the dry ice. Hopefully, the contents of the vials thawed so the DNA isn’t any good.”

Sanchez grinned. “Very clever, Mrs. P.” Fletcher’s brow creased. “Let’s just hope they don’t come back for more.”

When the agents left the room, Molly asked, “Are you mad at me for possibly ruining your gene?”

“Of course not. You are one brave woman.”

The corner of Molly’s mouth twitched. “I don’t know about that. I was petrified on that plane.”

Deren rubbed her forehead. “You are my hero.”

Molly’s eyes misted. “Will you stay in the room with me? I don’t want to be alone.”

Deren clung to her tighter than to a lifebuoy in a storm.

264

Chapter Thirty-Two Friday The hospital floor had quieted after evening rounds, broken by the occasional buzz of a call button or a patient crying out in his sleep. Outside Mrs. Patterson’s room, Fletcher stretched while waiting for Sanchez to return with coffee. They could have relegated a local law officer to guard duty, but the guilt of Mrs. P. vanishing on his watch gnawed at Fletcher. He heard a sudden uptick in activity. Probably getting ready for shift change.

Fletcher stifled a yawn. His vibrating phone displayed Baker’s name. “Hey, Chet.”

“Looks like we caught a break.”

“Are you serious?”

“You betcha. I talked to the editor of the Journal of Recombinant DNA, where Dr. Patterson submitted his manuscript. Turns out, the only one besides the editor with access to journal-related emails is his secretary. When field agents stormed the office, they surprised the secretary in front of the shredder, paper in hand.

He was frozen like a lawn ornament, except for the sniffing.”

“What?” Had Fletcher heard right? “Say again? You have a list?”

“Yes, isn’t that great? When threatened with jail time, the guy bawled like a baby. To support his drug habit, he sent the submitted manuscripts to anyone willing to pay for the unpublished material. I just finished going through the list.

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About a dozen names might be interested in gene-enhancement products. One of the addresses is in Seoul, South Korea. A company by the name of NewGen. Their records don’t show any employees traveling out of the country this month. At least using their own name. However, I was able to find out that one of their scientists was away during the time in question. Not a slam dunk, but I’ll keep digging.”

Fletcher raised a fist in victory. Finally, a break in the case.

“Does SAC Anders know?”

“He’s been crowing and strutting around like a peacock. He can’t wait to get in front of the cameras.”

The image of his boss sprouting feathers and flapping his arms made Fletcher smile. His grin was short-lived. “But it’s not a home run. We have no concrete evidence to convict anyone.”

“I guess he figures first base is good enough. He’s convinced the cokehead will eventually cough up more of the names who bought Patterson’s paper, but I have my doubts. For the amount of money his benefactors forked over, they will not be happy if he squeals. The guy has to know how some bad actors deal with backstabbers. Not good for his health, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, neither are the drugs. Chet, you think someone on this list helped the thieves escape? Any way to check into NewGen’s records to see if someone is splitting the high cost of product development?”

“That’s a thought. I can check the other names on the list. In the meantime, those businesses will be surveilled until they can be eliminated.”

“Great news, Chet.”

“But here’s the thing, Fletch. The good news is we got a list.

The bad news is it’s only one page. The junkie shredded the rest.”

“Snap a pic of the list and text it to me. I’ll see if Dr. Patterson recognizes any of the names. Maybe focus on those first.” Jazzed by the news, Fletcher paced, anxious to talk to his partner. He 266

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heard the echo of Sanchez’s dress shoes on the linoleum before seeing him round the corner.

Sanchez held out a large Styrofoam cup. “Should be fresh. I was first in line when the cafeteria opened.”

Fletcher breathed in the aroma before taking a sip. Cradling the cup, he told Sanchez about Chet’s call.

“Didn’t Patterson mention one of his callers owned a biotech company in the States?”

Fletcher took another sip before setting the cup on the floor.

Leafing through his notebook, he ran a finger down the page.

“Here it is. Patrick Novack from Recom, Inc. in San Francisco.

Patterson said the guy called him several times. Baker’s sending me names. If Novack’s on the list, he should be checked out first.” *** “Thanks again for bringing me a change of clothes, Deren.”

Molly suspected her mother packed the bag. She was glad to be out of the scrubs. Perched on the side of the bed, she fidgeted, impatient to leave the hospital. She couldn’t wait to get home and hug her sons.

Slumped in the nearby chair, with his head lolled to the side, Deren stirred.

She bit her lower lip. “I wonder what’s keeping the nurse.”

A physician with unruly white hair entered the room. “I don’t come up on the floors often, but I had to check on my famous patient. How are you feeling, Mrs. Patterson?” His liver-spotted hands positioned the stethoscope’s diaphragm over her heart.

Molly’s hand moved to her temple. “A bit fuzzy.”

“A remnant of the drug, most likely.”

“Were you able to identify the poison?”

After removing the instrument’s earpieces, the doctor said, “The lab couldn’t identify the drug, but it seems to have cleared your system. Make sure you follow up with your PCP.” 267

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“I can leave now?”

“I’ll check at the desk. Your nurse will bring the final paperwork.” The doctor patted her hand. “You take care, now.”

The door closed behind him.

Agent Fletcher poked his head inside the room. “Did you get the all-clear, Mrs. P.?”

Molly gave him a thumbs-up.

Deren yawned. “Agent Fletcher, will you be outside the room for a while? I want to rent a car, but I’ll have to get a cab to pick it up.”

“No need. Agent Sanchez and I have a car. We’ll take you home.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can drive.”

The agent pointed at Deren’s arm in a sling. “Not a good idea for you to drive such a long distance with an injured shoulder.

Besides, we have a few loose ends to tie up in Buchanan.”

“Special Agent Fletcher has a good point, Dear.” Molly wasn’t quite sure what those loose ends were, but considering how her week had gone, having the government’s protection on the journey home might not be a bad idea.

A nurse entered with papers in hand. “Mrs. Patterson, I have your discharge papers.”

“I’ll get the car now.” Fletcher backed out of the room.

After going through instructions for care, the nurse handed over the papers. “I’ve put in a request for a wheelchair. Once it arrives, the orderly will take you to your car.”

Deren sat on the bed next to Molly. She patted his thigh.

“I hope the orderly gets here soon. I can’t wait to see Mike and Tommy.” *** Deren helped Molly into the wheelchair. The aide maneuvered the wheelchair down the corridor, into the elevator, and out the 268

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hospital’s main entrance. A rental car sat idling with Fletcher behind the wheel. Sanchez opened the rear door. Deren helped his wife into the back seat before getting in on the other side.

Once on the highway, Deren asked, “Did they find any evidence to suggest the same guys who robbed Victor Keyes’ lab robbed me?”

“The LA field office can’t do much without a list of what’s missing. Fingerprints might help, but so far, they don’t have any suspects.”

To help pass the time on the long trip, Deren asked the agents how long they’d been in the FBI. Fletcher recounted a few harrowing cases from his time as a beat cop in Atlanta. “I worked my way up the ranks. A few years after making detective, I was ready for a change. I joined the FBI five years ago. Sanchez is the third partner I’ve had, and we’ve been working together for two years now.” He had them in stitches relaying stories about the disaster of previous partners.

Then Sanchez took his turn. “My beat was in Philadelphia’s high-crime area. I thought things would improve once I made detective. Turns out I worked even more hours. No free time and no social life. Everything changed when I joined the FBI and was stationed at the Harrisburg field office. Sometimes the hours are long, and sometimes we travel, like now. But for the first time since my rookie year as a beat cop, I have a girlfriend. Joining the FBI was the best decision I ever made.”

“And having me for a partner.” Fletcher punched Sanchez’s arm. “He’s still learning the ropes.”

Deren chuckled at the banter between the agents. He glanced at Molly and squeezed her hand, thankful to be reunited with his wife and heading home.

After several hours, Agent Fletcher pulled into a rest stop.

They all got out to stretch and use the restrooms. Agent Sanchez took his turn driving.

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Between the hum of the tires and the car’s gentle vibration, Deren struggled to keep his eyes open. He noticed Fletcher’s head resting against the window.

Deren leaned closer to Molly. “When we get home, we’ll have a few days to spend with my brother and your mom before they head home. We can take our vacation later in the summer. That will give us both time to recuperate from our injuries.”

Molly said, “Thank you for coming to the hospital.”

“I would have been here sooner, but you told me to stay home.”

Molly lowered her head. “I’m sorry. That was me being Little Miss Independent. I shouldn’t have kept you away.”

“We both did a lot of things wrong these last few weeks. I wanted to handle my own mess. I should have listened to you.”

“We’re a team, Deren. We have to work together.”

He grasped her hand. “I love you.”

Molly squeezed back. “I love you, too.”

Content, Deren closed his eyes and let the constant hum of the car engine lull him into a relaxed state.

All the petty bickering of the past weeks seemed inconsequential in comparison to what they had both been through. Their current financial situation would remedy itself in time. The events of the past week were an anomaly. His wife’s kidnapping and poisoning made him realize life held no guarantees. He shouldn’t take anything for granted. Life was precious, and he needed to savor every moment he had with his family.

When the car slowed and bounced over a speed bump, Deren opened his eyes. Why had the agent turned into the church parking lot? Then he spied Damien and Peggy on the pavement.

Tommy and Mike bounced with excitement. He nudged Molly.

“Wake up.”

Molly blinked. When she caught sight of their family, she turned back to Deren, her eyes sparkling. “Look who’s here!” She 270

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waved through the window and unbuckled her seatbelt. As soon as the car stopped, she opened the car door.

Deren hurried around the car to help Molly. “Mommy, Mommy,” the boys shouted in unison. Tommy wrapped his arms around a leg, while Mike buried his head in her stomach. Peggy hugged her daughter. Damien tugged Deren over to join in a group hug. Wiping away tears, Molly bent down and kissed her sons.

“I’m glad to be back home.”

Damien said, “Sorry to put you through this, Molly, but the town has a welcome home party for you in the social hall. Then your mom and I have a surprise for you at the house.”

Peggy dug into her purse for a small pack of tissues. She placed a tissue into her daughter’s hand before taking a dab at her own tears.

Deren blinked. He’d never seen stoic Peggy cry. He patted his brother’s shoulder. “Thanks for holding down the fort for me.”

“No problemo. Molly, now you’re supposed to click your heels and say, ‘There’s no place like home.’”

Molly laughed through her tears. “You silly man.” Turning to Deren, she said, “There’s no place like home” and mouthed, “I love you.”

Deren took her hand. “Take a deep breath, Partner.”

Molly stared into his eyes. “After last week, I can get through anything.”

The Patterson clan and the FBI agents headed for the social hall. Deren gasped at the size of the crowd. The whole town must be here. A welcome home banner stretched across one wall. He recognized most of the well-wishers as fellow church members, neighbors, and college faculty, and there were a few he didn’t recognize. Molly’s face grew red, embarrassed from all the attention. He placed his hand on her back to guide her along.

At each step, people welcomed her home with hugs and kisses.

Deren received a few pats on the back. Across the room, he spied 271

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James Madison and his wife. Not ready to speak to the dean, Deren steered Molly in another direction.

All of a sudden, microphones were shoved in front of him and Molly, with members of the press firing off questions faster than they could respond. Deren read the camera logos. WBNGTV in Binghamton, ABC, CBS, and NBC. Molly whispered in Deren’s ear. “Thank you for bringing me a change of clothes. I’d be mortified to be filmed in a scrub shirt and torn sweats.”

Deren resisted the urge to sniff the shirt he’d worn for the last three days. The reporters’ questions, while innocent at first, began to demand more graphic details of Molly’s ordeal. Noticing the haunted look in his wife’s eyes, he held up his hand. “That’s enough for now. We’re thankful to have Molly back home. We’ll be happy to take more questions after she’s had some time with her family.” The press drifted away.

Deren held one of the press behind. “I’d like you to meet Andy Schiff.”

The Binghamton reporter stared at Damien. “You twins or something?”

Damien laughed. “Or something.”

Schiff said, “Nice to meet you all. Family is good to have around at a time like this. I’m glad everything turned out well.”

He scanned the crowded hall. “This is quite the turnout. It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Mrs. Patterson, I’m thankful you’re back home with your family.”

Molly smiled. “We watch you every night on the news, although I have missed the last few evenings.”

At the laughter of others, her cheeks pinked.

Schiff said, “Once you’ve had time to settle, would it be possible for me to call? I’d like to do a follow-up interview.”

Molly’s eyes widened.

Deren drew her closer. “Is that all right with you?”

She nodded, seemingly shell-shocked from all the attention.

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Deren said to Schiff, “We have company until Sunday morning. Give us a call anytime after that, then Molly can answer your questions.”

“Thank you.” The newscaster stepped away, heading to the cluster of cameras where others were being interviewed.

One of the church women brought over a tray of refreshments.

Deren chose a finger sandwich. The boys let go of their mom long enough to grab a cookie.

Deren leaned closer to whisper in Molly’s ear. “Don’t look now, but Dean Madison is on his way over. Probably hoping for a photo op.”

Molly elbowed him.

Madison took both of Molly’s hands in his massive ones.

“We’re thankful for your return home.” He turned toward Deren. “I need to speak to you privately. Not here, but as soon as possible.” He walked away.

Overcome by a sense of vertigo, Deren swayed.

Molly clutched his arm. “Are you all right?”

He nodded.

“What was that about?”

“I-I don’t know. He called me after I got out of the hospital.

He let me know how unhappy he was about the shooting, kidnapping, and theft on the college campus. I’m not sure if he wants me to follow him.” He gestured to the crowd. “This isn’t very private. I’ll talk to him later. I see someone else I want you to meet.” Deren led her toward a couple, Tommy still clinging to her side. “This is Detective Douglas Henderson. He was very helpful this past week.”

Molly shook his hand. “I appreciate all you did, Detective.”

“It was an unusual case, to say the least. I’m thankful for the happy ending.” Henderson introduced his wife.

Mrs. Henderson said, “Welcome home. I’ve seen you in church. I’m glad we finally met. I must say, this is quite a homecoming party.”

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“I’m overwhelmed by the response.”

“So, Molly,” the detective asked, “What are you going to do for excitement now?”

Molly chuckled. “I’ve had a lifetime of excitement in one week.” She glanced at Deren. “I think when Tommy starts first grade in the fall, I’d like to take a course at the college.”

“Great idea, Dear.”

Someone came by with a tray of drinks. Children’s laughter vibrated through the hall.

Peggy touched her daughter’s forearm. “You have so many friends here. It’s more than I expected in such a small town.”

Deren nodded his agreement. “It’s a good place to raise a family.”

“There’s no place like home,” Molly said, sliding her arm around his waist.

Deren kissed the top of her head.

At some point, Pastor Paul quieted everyone. His rich baritone voice filled the hall. “Thank you all for helping to celebrate the safe return of one of our members. We are grateful to have Molly Patterson back among us. Let us bow our heads in prayer.”

The room grew quiet. “We thank you, Heavenly Father, for returning our lost sheep to our flock. Lord, we praise your name for reuniting Molly with her loving family.” He continued for another five minutes.

Touched by the pastor’s words, Deren snuck a peek at his wife. Molly’s head was bowed. He noticed a slight shake of her shoulders and saw a tear hit the floor. He wrapped his good arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. At the end of the prayer, Molly blew her nose. The chatter commenced.

The Winslows shouldered their way over. Rita gave Molly a hug. “We’re glad to have you back.”

“Welcome home, Molly.” William studied his shoes. “Um, this might not be the right time to ask, but we were wondering…”

Rita nudged him to continue.

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“We’re grateful for your help with our bookkeeping, a big help, but we need someone we can rely on in the front of the store. The work ethic of our student employees is sketchy at best.”

He ducked his head. “That is, if you’re interested.”

Molly beamed. “I’d be happy to. I’ll stop in next week to work out a schedule.”

Deren felt a peace wash over him. How blessed he was to have his wife back, being surrounded by family. Everything was falling into place like pieces of a puzzle.

Standing on tiptoes, Molly surveyed the room.

Deren leaned over. “Who are you looking for?”

Molly frowned. “I don’t see Kelly. I thought for sure she’d be here.”

Deren recalled his confrontation with Stan. “She may have other things to tend to.”

“What would be more important than me coming home?”

He rubbed her back. “I’m sure she’ll visit when she’s able. You ready to head home?”

“I’d like to say goodbye to Agents Fletcher and Sanchez.”

“There they are, talking with Detective Henderson.” Deren steered Molly and the boys through the thinning crowd.

Molly said, “Thank you for everything, Special Agent Fletcher and Special Agent Sanchez. You have been a huge help to me and my family.”

Fletcher seemed to suppress a smile and gave a slight nod.

“FBI Special Agents at your service.”

Sanchez gave a snappy salute.

Tommy tugged on Molly’s pant leg. Why do you call them special agents?”

Molly said, “Because they are special.”

Fletcher smiled. “Best wishes to you, Dr. and Mrs. Patterson.”

He stooped down. “Bet you boys are glad to have your mom back home.”

Tommy buried his face in Molly’s leg.

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Mike said, “Yes, Sir.” “Dr. Patterson,” Henderson said, “I was just telling the agents about your dispute with Dr. Edelman.”

“It was more like squeezing a confession out of him.”

“The agents need to talk to him. I’ve stopped by his house several times, but he’s not there. Have you heard from him?”

“No.” Nor did Deren want to.

The detective turned to the agents. “I’ll drive you over. It’s not far.” He patted his breast pocket. “I’ve got a search warrant.”

Before they left, Fletcher said, “Speedy recovery to you both.

Dr. P., we’ll keep you posted about your stolen property.”

The three headed for the door.

“What’s going on with Stan?” Molly asked.

Deren whispered in her ear, “I’ll tell you later.” *** Officer Turner was glad his college professor was healing, and his wife was home. Making his way through the crowd, he marveled at the turnout, greeting those he knew by name.

He spotted Sheila, one of the EMTs who tended to Dr. Patterson’s gunshot wound. He never followed up to see if she was a member at one of the local fitness centers. He headed toward her like a homing pigeon.

“Hey, Officer. Good to see you,” she said, with a coquettish dip to her head.

Was she flirting with him? He certainly hoped so. Taking off his cap, he tucked it under his arm. “It’s Matt. Good to see you too, Sheila.”

“The Pattersons certainly have been through a lot.”

“Yes, they have.” Anything Turner planned to say left his head. He shuffled from one foot to the other. He’d never been comfortable with the meet-and-greet of the dating scene.

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The two stared at one another for a moment. Sheila smiled, revealing her underbite that he found endearing.

His stomach fluttered. Encouraged, he said, “You know, Sheila, I’m off duty in another hour. Would you like to go somewhere and grab a drink?”

“That sounds great, Matt. I volunteered to help with cleanup, so the timing should work out perfectly. I have to warn you, though. I’m on call this afternoon.”

Was she teasing him? “I’m not worried. Nothing ever happens in Buchanan.”

Sheila’s head tilted back and laughed, a rich tone. “Tell that to the Pattersons.”

He grinned. “After I drive the guest of honor home, I’ll come find you. See you then.” He replaced his cap on his head and left.

Through the thinning crowd, Turner approached the Patterson clan and touched the brim of his cap. “I’m Officer Turner. If you come with me, I’ll drive you home.”

Mrs. Patterson said, “We won’t all fit.”

Her mother said, “I’ll ride with Damien.”

“Let’s load up, gang.” Dr. Patterson herded his family outside.

Turner settled Mrs. Patterson in the back seat with her sons on either side, while Dr. Patterson slid in the front passenger seat, clutching an overnight bag.

Turner started up the black-and-white. “Everyone got their seatbelts on?” The thought of sitting next to Sheila at the bar swelled his chest. He glanced in the rearview mirror. “I think this special occasion calls for some lights and sirens. What do you say, boys?”

“Yay.” The younger boy bounced and clapped his hands, while the older one’s grin could compete with the Cheshire Cat’s.

Turner flipped a switch. Red and blue lights reflected off the parish hall windows. He whooped the siren several times before pulling onto the street. Turning to check the passengers in the back, his heart warmed at the sight of the little boy with his nose 277

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plastered against the glass. With lights flashing, Turner drove below the speed limit, well aware of his precious cargo.

278

Chapter Thirty-Three When the patrol car pulled into the driveway, Molly thanked the officer for the ride. The others chimed in. As soon as Deren opened the back door, Tommy bolted out. Molly scooted across the seat and held out her arm for Deren to help her out of the car.

Mike and Deren escorted her up the walkway.

Stepping onto the porch, she noticed several slats were a lighter color. She looked at Deren. “You did this?” She admired the new planks.

“Damien helped.”

“Thank you.” She kissed his cheek, knowing Damien performed the bulk of the work.

Upon entering the living room, her jaw dropped at the sight of the new sofa. “What’s this?”

Molly looked at a grinning Damien. She thought the surprise was the porch. She hugged him and thanked him for both the couch and the work he had done on the porch.

Her mom gripped Molly’s upper arms and looked ready to burst. “I have a surprise for you, too.”

Holding on to the banisters, Molly followed her mom up the stairs. What could it be? Her mom sure seemed excited about it.

“Slow down, Mom.” Her mother stood in front of the closed spare bedroom door.

Her eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands to her chest. Her words gushed out like water shooting out of an open fire hydrant.

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“Although I was devastated by your delay in getting home, the extra day gave me time to finish, so I could see your reaction.”

Peggy took a breath. “Now close your eyes.”

Molly covered her eyes. The simple action worked like a time machine, returning her to her youth. When her dad returned home after a week on the road, she and her five siblings would crowd around him and the bag he held above their heads. “Now close your eyes and hold out your hands.” Her pulse would race.

She imagined the weight of a small bag or wrapped box being placed in her outstretched hands. She’d wait, ready to burst, until Dad would say, “Open your eyes.” Each gift would be a toy, trinket, or candy. Although inexpensive, their value was in the thought that went into each selection.

The creak of the opening door brought her back to the present. She bounced on her toes. “Can I look now?”

“Yes, you can look now.”

Molly’s hands slid from her eyes to cover her open mouth.

The previously empty room burst with colors. Her vision blurred before she could process the scene. Various blue, brown, and green hues swam before her eyes. Blinking away the tears, the kaleidoscoping colors transformed into checkerboard quilts, curtains, and scenic wall pictures. Even the lampshade on the nightstand matched the two twin bedspreads. “You did all this? I love it.” All the emotions of the past week merged, overwhelming her. She burst into tears and hugged her mom. How had her mom managed to accomplish all this in just a few days? Then she recalled her mom’s tenacity when Molly’s oldest sister entered the local beauty pageant.

Peggy rubbed her back. “Now you have a place for company.

I know your dad stopped a few times when he had sales in the area. I’m sorry I haven’t been here before now. Between babysitting your sisters’ toddlers, handling Lily’s postpartum depression, and your dad having to cover more territory because of the constant turnover, we haven’t been able to take a vacation.

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I promise we’ll make time soon, and I’m sure Arlene would like to visit once her hip mends.

“I tried to make the décor boy-friendly, so it’s ready when the boys want to have their own rooms.”

After saturating a wad of tissues, Molly composed herself before going downstairs.

As soon as Peggy entered the living room, she announced, “I’d like to stay until Sunday. Is that all right with you, Damien?”

“Certainly.” Damien turned to Deren. “I’ll definitely have to treat Pam to a weekend at the spa.”

Molly wondered what that was about. *** After dinner, they all migrated to the living room. Molly sat on the new sofa with Tommy in her lap and Mike by her side.

Deren’s heart warmed at the sight. Peggy perched on the other side of the sofa while Damien sat in the armchair.

The doorbell chimed. Deren rose from his recliner. Who could it be? They’d already seen the entire town.

He opened the door. “D-dean Madison.” What could he want? When Deren remembered, his stomach dropped. The dean said he needed to talk to Deren. In private. He’d already gotten a lashing about not reporting the phone calls. Was Madison here to give Deren more grief? Acting as a good host, he introduced Madison to his brother and mother-in-law.

“Nice to meet you both.” Madison lowered his voice. “Deren, I’d like a private word with you.”

Expecting another reprimand, Deren’s blood roared in his ears. He led the dean to the kitchen.

“W-would you like some coffee?”

Madison took a seat. “No thanks. I won’t be staying long.

Sit. What I want to discuss with you was not appropriate at the welcome home shebang.”

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The room spun, and spots appeared before his eyes. Deren sank into a chair before he could pass out. Could the dean kick him off the faculty?

Madison folded his hands and tapped them on the tabletop.

“You know, Deren, I have to tell you how deeply disturbed I am about the goings-on these past few days.”

Deren attempted to swallow. No spit. He tensed. Gripping the edge of the table, he braced himself for the bad news.

“The recent events are very disturbing. The publicity alone could have a negative impact on the reputation of our fine institution. I hope this doesn’t affect our enrollment for the upcoming freshman class.”

“Yes, Sir.” Deren stared at the table.

“The theft of that gene of yours is unconscionable. I’ve spoken to our attorneys. As soon as we know who stole your research, we will sue.”

Deren looked at Madison. “The FBI suspects a foreign company.”

Madison gave a brief nod. “The school will take the necessary steps to make sure they don’t benefit from the theft.”

“That would be good.”

Madison jabbed his index finger on the tabletop. “Don’t you dare let anything like this happen again. I should have been informed immediately about those phone calls.” His voice softened, and he placed his palms on the table. “What I want to talk to you about is your gene therapy technique. I have connections at Johns Hopkins. I’ve spoken to one of their top genetic researchers about your protocol. He’s interested in utilizing your technique in one of his clinical trials.”

Tension drained from Deren. The worst was over. “That is excellent news.”

“I can’t promise anything will come of it, but I will do my utmost to help turn this into a positive outcome. I like to reward our dedicated faculty whenever I can. I’ll be speaking to the 282

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Board of Trustees about you and your co-authors receiving a small percentage of any royalties that might result from this collaboration.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Deren knew the steps involved in clinical trials. It could be a decade or more before he’d see a penny. A lot could happen between now and then.

“However,” Madison held up a finger as if testing the wind direction. “I want to make sure this type of thing doesn’t happen again. I’ve decided to set up a review committee, headed by me, to evaluate all scholarly material before submission to a journal. I’ll be sending a memo to the faculty outlining the process.” The raised finger now pointed at Deren. “No more surprises. Donations are up right now, and I want to keep it that way.” Madison rose and headed for the front door, with Deren hurrying to keep up. Before leaving, Madison said, “Keep up the good work.”

Deren watched as the head of the college bustled to his car.

How would the faculty react to the memo? He hoped no one would discover he was the reason for the draconian measures.

Molly rested her hand on his back. “What was that all about?”

At least he could tell her the good news. “The dean said someone at Johns Hopkins is interested in my gene insertion technique. If things work out, I could get a small share of any windfall.”

“That’s wonderful, Dear.” Her eyes gleamed. “I can’t wait to tell the others.”

Returning to the living room, Molly’s limp seemed more pronounced.

“Guess what, everyone? The dean agreed that any royalties from Deren’s research would be split between him and the college. Isn’t that great?” The news brought claps and cheers.

Deren didn’t correct her error. Animal studies would be necessary before any clinical trials. It would be years until any royalties would roll his way, and the split wouldn’t be even. Not 283

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the time to burst her bubble. He’d let her dream.

Tommy tapped the tips of his fingers together. “If it’s a million dollars, would you take me to a Pirates game?”

The twins exchanged looks. Damien said, “You know what, Champ? Your Aunt Pammy and I were planning on taking everyone to a ball game on your next visit.”

Tommy’s eyes grew round as saucers. He and Mike raced around the room.

The gaiety continued as each one took a turn spending a million dollars. Deren’s sides ached, laughing at the outrageous spending sprees.

Ready to turn in, Deren helped Molly up the stairs.

“Thanks, Dear. Being on my feet during the welcome home reception aggravated my sprain.”

Deren climbed into bed next to Molly and turned off the table lamp.

“I did a lot of soul searching during my recuperation in the hospital, trying to figure out why I’ve been unhappy to the point where I wished we’d never left Pittsburgh.”

Deren’s muscles tightened.

“It’s the constant home maintenance, the mounting bills, missing birthday parties for my nieces and nephews. And the way Kelly’s been acting lately. I let all my resentments fester.”

Molly patted his side of the bed. “Don’t worry. I realized how toxic it was to dwell on the past. My siblings and friends have their own families and lives to live. I need to focus on the now and the future. I’m looking forward to helping customers at the hardware store. I’m excited about finishing my degree. Maybe you can help me decide on what course I should take first.”

“We can talk about it tomorrow. Sounds like you’ve got everything planned out.” He tried to sound cheerful.

He rolled over on his side, his back to her. While his wife had a plan, he still had some decisions to make regarding his research, which had been derailed.

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Chapter Thirty-Four Saturday Molly balanced an icepack on her elevated foot while her mom washed the breakfast dishes. The chiming doorbell interrupted their conversation.

Deren called out, “Kelly’s here to see you, Hon.” Buoyed by the thought of seeing her friend, Molly limped down the hallway. Before facing her friend, Molly hesitated. Were they still friends? She stepped outside. Seeing the pain etched on her friend’s face, Molly gave her a hug.

Kelly held her tight. “I’m glad you’re home safe. I was so worried.”

They sat on the porch swing. “I missed seeing you at the church yesterday.”

Kelly wrung her hands. “I apologize for not making it to your homecoming party. With the tense situation between Stan and Deren, I wasn’t sure what kind of reception I’d receive.”

“I see.” Molly folded her arms across her chest. Kelly could have left Stan at home. Everyone had problems. But wait, hadn’t Deren told her something happened with Stan? With all the excitement, he hadn’t given her any details.

Kelly stared at her lap. “I would have stopped over yesterday, but I didn’t want to disturb your first day back with your family.”

When she raised her head, her eyes glistened with tears.

Molly’s breath caught. What could be wrong?

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“Stan and I have been having some difficulties for a while.

It all came to a boil a few months ago when his contract wasn’t renewed. I’ve been racked with indecision about leaving him. I should have confided in you. It might have helped me face reality sooner.” Kelly’s head dropped forward, her long hair covering her face. “I’m sorry, Molly. What Stan did was inexcusable.”

“You have no reason to apologize. You are not responsible for what he did.”

Staring ahead, Kelly twisted the ring on her finger. “He’s gone.”

“Stan?”

Kelly nodded. “He took the car. Two suitcases and some of his clothes are missing. And he cleaned out our bank account. A detective and two FBI agents stopped by last night with a search warrant for the house and to charge Stan with an intent to steal.”

She stifled a sob. “Because he fled, he’s now facing a charge of evading arrest.”

“Oh, my.” Molly reached over and squeezed Kelly’s hand.

“Could he go to prison?”

“If they catch him. I’ve spoken to a divorce lawyer.”

Molly hadn’t realized the extent of Kelly’s anguish. “What will you do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to leave Buchanan, but I don’t make enough at the college bookstore to be the sole support of my children.”

“I don’t understand. What about all your recent purchases?”

Kelly gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Not the wisest thing to do when you’re pretty much living paycheck to paycheck.

Although buying nice things was a mood booster, the feeling didn’t last. Then, like an addict, I’d buy more things I didn’t need.

Forgive me if I was overbearing at times. Are we still friends?”

“Of course.” Molly held Kelly’s hand. “If you forgive me. I was jealous of your being able to afford all those frills. Deren and I have been struggling with money issues as well. It took the 286

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kidnapping and almost losing my life to realize possessions don’t bring happiness. Family is what is most important. Also, having such a good friend as you.” She squeezed Kelly’s hand.

“Thanks. I’ve been trying to figure out how to manage on my own.”

The news was like a dagger in Molly’s heart, a flashback of her public-school years, with her best friends moving away. Would Kelly’s circumstances mean she’d have to move? Molly bit her quivering lip. “What will you do?”

“Stan mentioned the college wants to add more on-line courses to compete with that growing market. I have some experience since I update the bookstore website. I’ll check with the college to see if I can help somehow. It would mean having two jobs, but my hours at the bookstore are flexible. My children are old enough to take on more responsibilities at home.”

Molly’s spirits lifted. “I hope it works out so you can stay in Buchanan.”

“Me too.” Kelly rose. “I have to get going. I have an appointment with my divorce lawyer. I’ll talk to you later.”

Molly remained in the swing long after Kelly left, the bombshell she dropped still smoldering.

Pastor Paul and Connie Krafczk stopped by, followed a few minutes later by Peter O’Malley. Molly ushered them all inside.

Deren dragged a few kitchen chairs into the living room to accommodate their visitors while Peggy brought out a tray of snacks.

Once everyone was seated, Peter asked, “What did the FBI guys say?”

“They’re watching several biotech companies for any suspicious activity,” Deren said.

“Is this about the theft?” Connie reached for a cookie.

“An unscrupulous company could use the gene in fertility clinics, for couples who want high IQ offspring.”

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“Didn’t you say they took your mouse gene?” Peggy snapped.

Molly bristled at the tone. No wonder Deren complained about her mom’s attitude. Looking over at her husband, she saw his lowered head. Her mom could be overbearing at times. Molly learned to brush away unwelcome comments like cobwebs on the ceiling. “Mother, Deren’s just speculating what the thieves could do with the gene.”

Peter said, “That’s right. They could use the mouse gene to find an analogous human gene, then profit off it.”

“Sounds like Brave New World,” Connie said.

Peter wiggled his hand. “Something along those lines.”

“Sounds unethical,” Pastor Paul said. “In fact, it smacks of eugenics, or the next step beyond breeding to improve inherited traits.”

“How do you know about eugenics?” Molly asked.

“I’m a theologian, my dear.” Paul chuckled and fingered his white collar. “It was one of many topics covered during my seminary studies.”

“A designer baby sounds expensive. Another have-and-havenot distinction,” Damien said.

“Based on one’s ability to pay would create inequality in society,” Paul said.

Molly gasped. She had not considered this aspect of designer babies.

O’Malley said, “Adding genes to germ cells may have other unexpected effects. Our smart mice are sterile.”

Connie covered her mouth and snickered. “So much for an intelligent heredity line.”

“Deren, didn’t you tell me that you used a virus to insert the gene?” Molly asked.

“Yes, we used the herpes zoster virus,” Deren replied.

“Isn’t that the shingles virus? My uncle had the shingles, and he said it was the worst pain he ever had,” Peggy said.

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“We only used the part of the viral genome necessary to insert our gene into chromosomes.”

Pastor Paul frowned. “I didn’t realize this kind of research was being done at the college.”

Deren and Peter exchanged glances. Deren took in a deep breath. “To set the record straight, the intended use of our gene insertion technique is to incorporate a functional gene in individuals who inherit two copies of non-functioning genes.”

The pastor nodded. “A noble cause. Now somebody else has your gene. Stealing and kidnapping don’t say much for their morals.”

Molly said, “Hopefully, they won’t be able to use it.”

Peter’s brows knitted. “What makes you say that? After all you went through, you know how ruthless these men are.”

“I might have sabotaged their plans. During the flight out of Buchanan, the plane hit some turbulence. While the bad guys were busy talking to the pilot, I opened the container’s stopcock to let the dry ice vapors escape. I’m hoping the gene thawed, making it useless.”

Peter smiled. “That’s brilliant.”

Damien raised his fist. “Way to go, Molly.”

The pastor tented his fingers. “The Lord was guiding your hand.”

Molly beamed.

Pam stared at her daughter. “How did you know to do something like that?”

“I married a scientist, didn’t I?” Molly noticed a spark of admiration in her mother’s eyes.

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Chapter Thirty-Five Sunday The Patterson clan filed into a front pew. Deren scanned the rows, noting a higher-than-normal attendance. Curious souls, most likely. After the service, Molly chatted with other parishioners while Deren stood nearby, his thoughts elsewhere.

After lunch, he helped his brother load the car for his return trip to Pittsburgh. “Thanks for everything, Damien. I appreciate your help and support this week. And the couch.”

“No problemo, Bro.” Damien punched Deren’s good shoulder.

Deren and his family waved goodbye as the car pulled onto the street. He had to decide what to do next with his research.

Drawing Molly close, he kissed her forehead. “I’m going to take a walk.”

“Everything all right?” she asked.

“I need some time to work out a few things.”

“You’ll be back before Andy Schiff calls?”

“He said he’d call at two, right?” When Molly nodded, he patted his back pocket. “I have my phone in case I lose track of time.”

He watched his family go inside before heading toward campus. Strolling beneath shade trees along the sidewalk, he paused to watch a street game of cricket. On the next block, the scent of grilled red meat made his mouth water. He heard

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the laughter of a family enjoying a cookout. A blue jay flew by, probably hoping for a few dropped morsels.

Deren hadn’t seen or heard from Stan since the confrontation.

According to Kelly, he packed a bag and hightailed it out of Dodge. If Stan returned, he’d be arrested.

A sudden sadness washed over him. He missed the old Stan.

How long had it been since their families got together? Something they used to do on a regular basis. He and Stan spent a lot of time working on several research projects. His friend’s interest in research and teaching waxed and waned. Deren sensed that Stan had some problems at home, although he never spoke of them. Is that what motivated his greed? Deren kicked at a stone in anger at all that transpired from Stan’s selfish action.

Concerned about how recent events might affect the acceptance of his manuscript, Deren spoke to the editor of the Journal of Recombinant DNA Research. The editor apologized for his secretary selling journal submissions to biotech companies.

“I should be getting the reviewers’ comments within the next few weeks. If your manuscript is accepted, I’ll put it on the fast track for publication.”

Fingers crossed, Deren would have another solid publication before the Promotions and Tenure Committee met. And thanks to Dean Madison, Deren’s gene insertion technique would begin animal trials at Johns Hopkins.

However, the remaining piece of his research needed to be resolved.

He walked past the administration building, strange not to see students bustling about. An eerie silence blanketed the campus.

He stopped on the road near the science building and stared at a slightly darkened spot in the asphalt. An area darkened by his blood. His breath caught as he relived the terrifying experience.

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He continued toward the science building. The absence of the usual euphoria of a successful research project left a hollow feeling. His chest ached. Research meant to help others had instead resulted in bodily harm and death.

Turning his key in the lock of the front door caused Deren’s wounded shoulder to spasm. The hollow sound of his footsteps echoed down the hallway of the empty building. Unlocking the door to the student lab sounded like a gunshot. He passed rows of empty lab benches on his way to the small back room. Picking up his bound journal, he flipped through the pages. Several vials remained from his latest project.

He positioned a plastic shield over his face and then slipped on asbestos gloves. With his good arm, he dragged the freezer tank out from under the table. He tugged at the stopper, feeling the resistance. A slight pop sounded at its removal. After setting the stopper on the workbench, he lifted one of the baskets out.

Removing the three vials, he placed them in a beaker filled with tap water.

Due to the extreme temperature difference between the water and the minus Celsius tubes, a mist hovered over the surface of the liquid. Deren shed his protective equipment before carrying the beaker to the safety hood in the main lab.

He snapped on latex gloves and filled another beaker with seventy percent ethanol. After unscrewing the lids, he poured the contents of the vials into the ethanol. He imagined the denaturation process, the unwinding of double-stranded DNA and the separation of the nucleotide threads.

Deren stared at the beaker, his vision unfocused. To think something invisible to the naked eye could cause so much damage—monetary greed resulting in a ruined friendship, bodily harm to him and his wife, and the loss of two lives. Like a row of dominoes, each event nudged one tile and then the next.

He poured the contents of the beaker into the hazardous waste container. The end of his current project.

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The FBI agents warned him that as long as any material existed, someone would seek it out. Deren could not let that happen.

His heart heavy, he stripped off the gloves.

Now things could get back to normal. *** Professor Park puzzled over the results from the last run.

By the time he returned to Seoul, most of the vials had thawed, and unfortunately, much of the DNA had degraded. He was only able to capture snippets of DNA from one vial. A few small segments of nucleotides were all that remained of the gene.

Mr. Chung was applying a lot of pressure on Park to recover the intact intelligence gene. But the president of NewGen was a businessman, not a scientist. He didn’t appreciate the enormity of the task at hand. His only concern was the results.

Park had delivered on the genes stolen from the California lab. Wasn’t that enough?

Park wiped his clammy hands on the sides of his lab coat. He had to succeed. He needed this job to support his wife and his two college-aged children.

Comparing small nucleotide fragments to the entire mouse genome was a daunting task—an unsolvable puzzle, since many genes contained similar sequences. Without the entire gene, it was like putting a shattered Humpty-Dumpty back together again.

To have plenty of material to work with, he took the DNA mush and used PCR to amplify the intact snippets. Accessing the Mouse Genome Informatics database, he was able to eliminate almost half of the estimated fifty-five thousand genes in the mouse genome. Next, he began the tedious process of manually examining the remaining genes one by one. With painstaking effort, he eliminated another gene with no commonality to his 293

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nucleotide fragments. Once he’d exhausted all the currently recognized genes as potential candidates, he’d have to tackle those that’d not yet been identified. And there were an estimated seven thousand of them!

Near tears, he rubbed his forehead with the back of his forearm. This task could take years, and Chung was not a patient man.

Park had left the Seoul National University because he couldn’t hack the demands of academia, and now his research career was in jeopardy. What was left for him?

And to top it all off, he had the feeling the National Intelligence Service was watching him. He could go to jail for his accomplice’s attempted murder of Dr. Patterson. Park buried his face in his hands and wished he’d never heard of the intelligence gene. *** Novack stood before his bathroom mirror, staring at the few white hairs near his temple. Forty-one was too young to be going gray, but he had to admit it gave him a distinguished air. A ring tone sent him rushing back to his desk to answer his burner phone. “Leon, you back in town?”

“I’m still in Virginia. Sorry to tell ya, but the Patterson woman survived. Either the dosage wasn’t strong enough, or else the hospital gave her something. Like I said, I failed. She’s back home now. The FBI guys stuck to her like glue, so I couldn’t do anything. Want me to try again?”

“Hmm.” Novack sank into his leather chair. So, Mrs. Patterson wasn’t dead. When the president of NewGen said the samples had thawed, Novack had flown into a rage and ordered Leon to drug the woman. Another attempt on her life wasn’t worth the risk of Leon getting caught and could point to Novack’s involvement.

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However, his anger should have been directed at Chung, not Dr. Patterson.

Novack fingered his pen. Dr. Patterson seemed bright.

Perhaps his next research endeavor would also be profitable, something that might not happen if he were a grieving widower.

Maybe it was a good thing Patterson’s wife survived the attempt on her life.

“Time to come home, Leon. And don’t worry about your bonus. You earned it.”

A whoosh of breath whistled over the line. “Thanks, Patrick.”

Novack set down the burner phone and leaned back in his chair.

His plans hadn’t worked out as he’d hoped since the Koreans beat him to the gene. Although Novack preferred to have exclusivity of the gene, he could work with another company if it meant unimaginable profits.

But now Chung claimed the gene didn’t survive. Was he being truthful? And he swore that Patterson had handed over all of the samples.

Novack tented his fingers. Did he believe this? No, but it wasn’t worth pursuing. Chung also said the FBI was watching his building.

Novack had a visit from the FBI yesterday, something he didn’t want repeated. They grilled him about his name being on a list. Novack confirmed having paid the secretary for advanced copies of submitted manuscripts. He admitted speaking to Patterson several times about the gene, but that was as far as it went. Despite Novack’s denial of any further involvement, he suspected he’d be under the watchful eye of the Bureau, at least for a while.

Walking to the window, he clasped his hands behind his back and stared out at the bay. Several boats rocked with the gentle undulation of the waves. The view had a calming effect.

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What should he do next? With the FBI watching, Novack needed to be careful. He would let things cool down a bit. In the meantime, he’d keep an eye on Dr. Patterson and his next research project.

The End

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PURSUIT OF A SCIENTIST’S GENETIC RESEARCH JEOPARDIZES HIS CAREER AND ENDANGERS HIS FAMILY

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Assistant Professor Deren Patterson hopes his ground-breaking research will guarantee his promotion at Buchanan College. Wrapped up in his own work, Deren and his wife Molly clash over domestic issues, mounting debt, and his time away from family.

Soon after Deren submits his manuscript and before being made public, a number of disturbing events occur. A scientist, whose research is similar to Deren’s, is brutally murdered. The next day Deren receives a generous offer to purchase part of his research. How did the caller get access to the privileged document? And why the interest in a mouse gene?

Deren’s indecision on how to handle the situation sets off a cascade of events. His research is stolen and his career is in jeopardy. Can he keep his family safe?

GENE-IUS

SHARON L. WENGER received her undergraduate

Sharon L. Wenger

degree at Thiel College and a Masters and PhD in Human Genetics at the University of Pittsburgh’s School of Public Health. Following a fellowship in cytogenetics at Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh, she joined the faculty at the University of Pittsburgh, then later at West Virginia University. where she was responsible for the clinical cytogenetics lab, teaching, and research. She is a member of Pennwriters and Sisters in Crime. An avid reader, Sharon and her cat Sherman live in Pittsburgh near her three grown children, brother, and twin sister.

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