Fatal Reaction (17 page)

CHAPTER 42

The reflection of the gas fireplaces’ flames danced along the loft bedroom ceiling. An empty bottle of wine sat on the nightstand, along with two glasses.

Dorian propped himself up with his elbow, satisfied after not one, but two back-to-back lovemaking sessions. The first was purely animal, leaving Colby with a blouse full of popped buttons, and him with a back full of scratches. The second was softer, gentle and confirming, and afterward, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Dorian planned on sleeping until morning. Maybe going out to breakfast, or taking something in if Colby insisted on hiding, but when he saw that the alarm clock read 1:00 a.m., he knew she had other ideas.

“Something I can help you find?”

Colby slammed the dresser drawer and pulled a zippered sweatshirt over her blue lace bra. “I can’t stay,” she said, stepping into her jeans and checking her cell phone.

“What do you mean you can’t stay? It’s one in the morning.” Dorian peeled back the comforter and patted the vacant spot next to him. “Come back to bed.”

“I can’t.” Colby sat on the edge of the bed and put on her socks. “We have to go.”

“Says who?” Dorian tried to pull her in, and she pushed him away.

“I’m not kidding. Jared left a message at the house. He says he’s coming home.”

“And?”

Colby picked Dorian’s clothes up off the floor and all but threw them at him. “And I need to get home before he does.”

“I thought you said he filed for divorce, and that it was over with him? Why does it matter if you’re home or not?”

“Because I signed a goddamned prenup, that’s why. The papers cite infidelity as his reason for divorcing me. I’ll have nothing. I might be able to convince him the dinner was a one-time thing, throw myself at his mercy, but this . . .”

Dorian pulled up his plaid boxers. “Take it easy.” He got out of bed and went to hold her. “Are you worried about money?” He laughed. “That’s not a problem.”

“Not yet it’s not.” She handed him his pants. “Put these on. We have to go.”

“All right, all right. But so what if he knows about us? You know I’ll take care of you.”

“Maybe I’m tired of being taken care of.” Colby hurried downstairs and flipped the switch, extinguishing the fireplaces and plunging Dorian into complete darkness.

“Hey, a little light up here, please.” The bulbs in the gunmetal chandelier lit, bathing the loft in soft white light. “Thanks a lot.” Dorian finished getting dressed and went down to meet her.

“I’m driving.” Colby stood at the door, holding her keys tight.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I’m fine.” Her hands shook, and her lower lip quivered.

Dorian folded her into his arms. “Come here a minute, would you?”

She protested at first, and then gave in, starting to cry. Her chest heaved against him, and she sniffled.

“It’s going to be all right,” he said. “We’ll get back there, and you can tell Jared you were out at a bar, or something. No one knows we’re here.”

“What if
he
knows? What if he found out somehow?”

“It’s impossible, Colby. You said yourself that he’s working. It’s going to be fine.”

“I’ll drop you at the impound lot on my way home,” she said, pulling away from him. His Range Rover, which had been towed from County, had to be accounted for.

Dorian kissed her. “I don’t want you to worry longer than you have to. Drop me by my place. I’ll get a ride to the lot tomorrow. It’s probably closed, anyway.”

CHAPTER 43

“Jared. What are you doing here?” A cold breeze pierced Ana’s T-shirt as she stood in the open doorway.

“I just got off work and saw your TV on. I thought I’d take a chance. Did I wake you?”

“No, God no. Come in.” Sleep hadn’t come easy, or without pills since Sydney’s death.

Ana hung his coat and turned on the kitchen light. “Can I get you a cup of coffee, or a glass of wine?” She had never seen him in street clothes, but she very much liked the look of him in jeans and a sweater.

“A glass of wine sounds good, if you’ll join me.”

Ana set two stemless wineglasses on the counter, uncorked a bottle of Merlot, and poured it through the aerator. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what brings you by?”

Jared slid a manila folder across the breakfast counter. “Your sister didn’t have cancer, did she?”

“I guess that’s the question.” Ana sat on the couch, and Jared sat next to her.

“She never told you about any of this?”

Ana shook her head. “She probably didn’t tell me for the same reason I haven’t told Mike—she wanted proof. Sydney was more like a mother to me than a sister. She kept her problems to herself, no matter how hard I tried to get her to talk. I’m guessing you have all the confirmation we need.”

Jared nodded. “There’s no pathology report from your sister’s surgery because it wasn’t done. Her hysterectomy was the same day as Dorian’s first transplant, a woman named Stephanie Martin, who is currently in the ICU. There’s no way that’s a coincidence.”

“He lied to Sydney, then?”

“Probably. Dorian does that.”

“Why her?”

“Sydney was a match. I ran through Dorian’s orders.” Jared pointed to the file. “He tested over a dozen patients, running typing and antibody screens, looking for a compatible donor for Stephanie Martin.”

“Who else would have known about the testing?”

“The pathologist, Marco Prusak, would’ve run the tests. I’m not sure that, out of context, anything would have looked suspicious, but it puts a new spin on his protest.”

“Do you think he was in on it?”

Jared shook his head. “No way. He hates Dorian, though I have no idea why. Kind of gives him and me a common enemy, you know?”

Ana did know, but she hadn’t said anything in order to spare Jared the humiliation. “I heard about what happened at the hospital benefit. I’m really sorry you had to go through that.”

“No apologies necessary, and it’s not the first time she’s embarrassed me.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I’m not,” Jared said. “Not anymore.” He set his hand on hers, testing the waters. Ana’s heart raced, but she didn’t pull away. “If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” He kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back and tasting the wine on his lips.

Nothing ever felt more right, or wrong.

He ran his hand along her jaw, and she felt the ring, a reminder she shouldn’t have needed.

“Wait.” Ana backed away, her eyelids barely open, the thoughts of Misty destroying Sydney’s marriage intruding on her and Jared’s moment. “I don’t want it to be like this.”

Jared kissed her again, half-dazed. “Like what?”

“An obligation, or a fling. I’m not a home wrecker, and I don’t want you to think that your gathering information about my sister is why I’m doing this.”

“I can feel that it’s not.”

“Then I don’t want anyone else to think it, either. I have to finish this thing with my sister, and you need to be divorced.” A bit of distance between them and she was thinking more clearly. “Sydney figured this all out. She knew she didn’t have cancer, and it got her killed.”

“You think Dorian killed her?”

Ana shrugged. “What else fits?”

“Dorian’s a lot of things. He’s immoral, unethical, and greedy, but that doesn’t make him a murderer. I’m not saying he’s innocent. I’m just saying it doesn’t seem like something he’d do, and I don’t think he could’ve pulled this all off alone.”

“Then I guess we have to figure out who else has something to lose.”

CHAPTER 44

By the time Colby arrived home, she was sure she was sunk. Jared’s message said he’d be late, but no later than one o’clock. Colby checked the time, drew a deep breath, and opened the garage door, relieved to find his parking space empty.

All of the explanations she’d worked up in her mind, the excuses about where she’d been and whose sweatshirt she was wearing, vanished with a sigh. She went inside the house and flicked the light switch, finding the bulb dead.

A sliver of moonlight crept from between the living room drapes, barely enough to illuminate a path three steps in front of her.

The hardwood floors radiated cold through her socks as she walked with her arms outstretched, her fingertips brushing along the walls.

“Hello?”

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting and she squinted, staring at the spectral, gray outline in the distance.

“Jared? Is that you?”

A sharp pain tore through the sole of her foot. A shard of glass from the shattered light fixture embedded itself in her instep. She doubled over, limping for the next few steps until she could pull it out.

“Jared, this isn’t funny. I’m hurt.”

The entranceway lamp turned on, and a dark figure stood next to it, cloaked in head-to-toe black from ski mask to soaking-wet boots. The shadow wasn’t Jared; it was someone else.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Her voice trembled.

The intruder wasn’t much taller than Colby, and the person’s body, though masked by heavy clothing, appeared slight. Colby looked around the room for anything she could use as a weapon and came up empty. Her mind shouted a thousand escape routes, the most direct being a straight line to the front door. She ran, but her assailant was faster. A gloved hand snagged a handful of her hair and yanked her backward, off her feet.

“Help!” Colby scrambled to get away, pulling until her hair felt as though it might come out at the roots. “Help, Jared!” She tried to crawl, digging her fingertips into the area rug. “Help me, please.”

The assailant turned Colby over and climbed on top of her. New fears entered her racing mind, terrifying thoughts of being raped, or worse. She drove her knee into the person’s groin and the attacker let out a loud, but absolutely feminine, “Oof!”

Her assailant was a woman.

The fact did nothing to help Colby’s situation, but it gave her the glimmer of hope that she had a fighting chance—a level playing field. She balled up a fist and landed two solid punches to the right side of the woman’s head.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” The woman produced a syringe from her pocket, and pulled the cap off with her teeth.

“Get off me,” Colby shouted, and dealt another blow to the woman’s face.

The syringe skidded across the hardwood, and the woman howled, holding her hand to her eye.

“You bitch!” The woman returned the jab, landing a solid, lip-splitting punch to Colby’s mouth.

A warm, metallic film coated her tongue, and a second punch came, harder than the first. Colby’s nose filled with blood, the smell of which made her sick to her stomach. She kicked her legs, desperate to get to her feet, and had started to gain ground when the woman pulled the wrought-iron lamp down on her head.

Colby howled, disoriented and in crippling pain. Her vision blurred, and she lay motionless, stunned by the impact and fighting unconsciousness.

The attacker clamped down on Colby’s throat and pinned her to the ground. Colby pried at the woman’s hands, but was unable to loosen her unbreakable hold. The blood in her nose made it hard to breathe. Her eye swelled, and her stomach churned. There was no recovering any kind of advantage.

This is it.

The woman reached for the wayward syringe and stabbed the needle into Colby’s thigh, sending her drifting toward death.