Gemini Rising (Mischievous Malamute Mystery Series, Book 1) (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

After my illuminating call with the Stanton brothers, I powered my cell phone off. I needed time to think. Good thing I had at least six hours on my hands.

Did I take Abe and Elijah seriously? You betcha. Don’t get me wrong, despite their good looks, those boys could be pretty darn intimidating. They did have some valid points—I hadn’t been particularly careful the past few days—and besides, it wasn’t going to kill me to cool my jets for a while.

I settled on the couch and proceeded to sift through the photos Daniels had supplied while Nicoh placed his large head on my feet. I opted to look through the Alcore photos first, which included many of the same people as the one he had shown us earlier, in similar poses. Perhaps it had been an attempt at a public relations photo-op?

I had hoped for a more detailed shot of Alison Anders, but the angle and distance were consistent from one photo to the next. Still, I was drawn to her face. It was like looking at a time-warped version of myself. Although her mouth was serious, her eyes were warm, the same shade of blue, with a hint of violet. Her soft reddish-brown hair, though styled more simply than was typical for the era—it was the 1980s, after all—cascaded over her shoulder in a long ponytail. No-nonsense bangs framed her heart-shaped face. I shuddered, the resemblance was downright eerie.

My thoughts drifted to the woman I’d known to be my mother, who had raised and nurtured me, given me unconditional love. While there had been several similarities—it was the woman in the photo who had given me life.

I lingered on that for a moment. Had Alison survived, would she have loved me as equally? My eyes drifted to her left hand. It was pressed, almost protectively, against the base of her ribcage, right above her tummy, exposing the small swell I’d missed before. Even with her roomy lab coat, it was obvious she was pregnant. I looked again to her eyes and found my answer.

I shuffled through the rest of the photos, wishing Daniels had provided a date and some names to identify the members of the Alcore team. My wish was partially granted when I flipped to the last photo in the stack. Someone had neatly typed the name of each person in order of appearance and row on a sticker affixed to the back of the photo. I glanced through them and not surprisingly, only recognized Alison’s name. There was still no date, but Alison and her baby bump made the timeframe a bit more definitive.

I moved to the GenTech photos, which differed from Alcore’s in that they were of smaller groups of three to four people, all at work in what appeared to be various locations of the lab. Working on the Gemini project, perhaps? This time, each photo was labeled with a date and the names of the people in the image. I panned through several, searching the names, looking for one in particular.

I was about halfway through the pile when I found it—a photo of Martin Singer. The photographer had captured three-quarters of his face. He was ruggedly-handsome, with dark eyes and sharp, angular features that would have made him look severe, had it not been for the mop of wavy brown hair that brushed the base of his neck, giving him a boyish, playful look.

Based upon his facial expression, he was deep in conversation with the man to his right, who was looking—no, glaring—directly into the camera, as if annoyed by its presence.

Taking in the man’s features, I gasped—not because his stare seemed to bore through me—because he looked eerily similar to someone else I had seen recently, also in a photograph. My heart clenched as I checked the name on the back of the photo. I double-checked. The label identified the man as Theodore Winslow. Coincidence? Definitely not.

There was no doubt in my mind Theodore Winslow was Winslow Clark’s/Tanner Dolby’s father.

My mind started racing. Daniels had said only mothers had been cloned, resulting in female offspring. Had he been misinformed? Or lying? Was it possible GenTech had progressed further on the Gemini project than originally thought?

I wondered who had taken the photos. There was no signature or copyright on the back. Convenient. Could it have been Daniels’ mysterious Mr. X? There were so many pieces to the puzzle strewn about, yet I had a sneaking suspicion we were closer than we thought. I pulled out a stack of index cards and started writing the items we had learned to this point.

It had started with Alcore and GenTech. Both had initiated controversial human cloning projects, funded by the same sources. GenTech had reportedly progressed more quickly, producing several successful offspring while Alcore had struggled, yielding none. GenTech was quick to conceal their results—possibly to retain their competitive advantage over Alcore—by severing the connection between the mother and children shortly after birth, using the pretense of a secure adoption.

Enter the Sterling Joy Agency—owned by GenTech—managed and operated by the conveniently missing Maxwell and Mavis Baumgardner. Sterling Joy appeared to exist for the sole purpose of unloading Gemini’s offspring. By separating the twins, then adopting them to parents in different states, they were able to assist GenTech in concealing the project’s secrets.

In doing so, the Baumgardners retained Jonathan Silverton as their lawyer to oversee both sides of the adoption and serve as liaison for the agency. Silverton seemed to work exclusively for Sterling Joy, as no other clients were ever identified. That being the case, he was likely at the forefront of the interactions between GenTech and Sterling Joy and could easily have been singled out as the scapegoat if and when crap hit the fan.

I wondered if Silverton had gone to his grave feeling remorse for his involvement, essentially off-loading cloned babies for GenTech, spreading them throughout the country to childless, unknowing couples. Had he been alive, I would have asked him.

If he had felt remorse, had he forwarded the birth certificates and other documents on to the Winestones? I tended to think he had. I also believed he had sent the same documents to my parents, the ones that had upset my dad shortly before he and my mother perished in the plane crash.

Had those last repentant acts also made him a liability? If so, had his stroke been induced—made to look like an accident—as a means of averting a repeat performance? I realized I had identified far more questions than answers, all of which would need to be given some more thought. In the meantime, I returned my attention to GenTech.

GenTech employed Martin Singer, one of five scientists, on the Gemini project. Martin had an affair with Alison Anders, a researcher for the competition, on a similar, less successful cloning project. Although Daniels said X never spoke of their involvement, or even indicated anyone had ever been the wiser, someone at GenTech had known enough to pay for Alison’s medical bills after her death. Paid, despite the fact Martin had allegedly removed the formulas and destroyed the Alcore lab once the project had been terminated. Yeah, right.

If that weren’t crazy enough, there were the events surrounding our births. Before Alison went into premature labor, she and Martin happened to make arrangements with the Sterling Joy Agency in the event they both unexpectedly died? Arrangements—as in separate adoptions—which also happened to be the status quo for GenTech at the time. Conveniently, both Alison and Martin passed within days of one another, and the adoptions went off without a hitch. I shook my head. Something didn’t sit right with me. A lot of things, if truth be told.

There was also the recent discovery of Theodore Winslow, who—after seeing the father-son similarities—was likely Clark’s/ Dolby’s father. Winslow, also a scientist, worked side-by-side with Martin at GenTech. What was the state of their relationship? I wondered. Not to be cliché, but they say a picture is worth a thousand words, and if the pictures I had seen were any indication, it was tumultuous at best.

Had Winslow used the project to produce his own clones? Had Martin felt the need to remove the formulas and procedures from GenTech because of people like Winslow? Finally, had Winslow sought revenge against Martin by turning his son into a manipulator and cold-blooded killer?

I was contemplating the validity of that theory when the doorbell rang, forcing Nicoh into his grumbly guard dog mode. I looked at my watch. Abe and Elijah had made good time. I rose, squinted through the peephole and after taking in their stern looks, mentally prepared myself for a continuation of the morning’s butt-chewing as I opened the door.

“Why is your cell phone off?” Abe growled before I had an opportunity to speak. Though Nicoh was familiar with Abe and his brother, he was wary of the tone and quickly moved his body protectively between us.

I scruffed Nicoh ears gently, ignoring the question. “Well. Hello. To. You. Too. You two made good time. Won’t you please come in?” My voice remained calm. Pleasant.

Elijah huffed out something that sounded like “hi” and pushed passed his brother, apparently taking me up on my offer. Nicoh and I moved to the side as he entered. Abe scowled but muttered his own greeting and followed.

“I turned my cell phone off so I could think. After the reaming you two gave me earlier, I took some time—” I had prepared a little mea culpa speech, but Abe put his hand up to stop me, his expression softening, and when he spoke, it was not the incensed tone I had anticipated. It was one of concern.

“We’re sorry, AJ. We were worried when we couldn’t get a hold of you. After everything that has happened…” he looked down at his feet, unable to finish his thought. A moment passed before Elijah completed it for him, his voice uncharacteristically shaky.

“What my brother is trying to say is we care about you. We don’t want you getting hurt on our watch.” Abe looked up for only a moment to affirm what his brother has said, then sullenly resumed staring downward.

Understanding washed over me. They were unable to contact Victoria that last day. In their race to reach me, they feared history had repeated itself.

“Ohhh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.” I choked back a sob, awkwardly balling my fists at my side. Now I was the one left staring at my shoes.

Abe shocked me when he pulled me into a tight hug, a motion which almost forced tears to spring freely from my already dampened eyes. He released me and Elijah followed suit, enclosing me into a massive bear hug. At this point, all three of us sported red-rimmed, dewy eyes, which thankfully, none of us was quick to point out.

Once we had all recovered from our moment, Elijah was the first to speak, “AJ, we’ve got some news. Anna called us while we were on the road. She heard from Paul Switzer at the Jaguar dealership over in Malibu.” He let out a deep breath before proceeding, “Tanner Dolby is dead. His body was found in a ravine near Big Bear by a couple of hikers. The condition of the body was pretty degraded, but the medical examiner’s office was able to make an identification based on dental records. Anyway, they estimate he’d been dead at least eight months.”

“Before the Winestone’s accident,” I said quietly, positive the colored had drained from my face.

He nodded. “And before the falsified mix-up with Mrs. Winestone’s Jag.”

“How did he die?” I asked.

“Undetermined. Could have been anything from exposure to a fall. There wasn’t enough left.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure he left this world with help from his twin brother, Winslow Clark.”

Chapter Thirty

I showed Abe and Elijah the photos Daniels had supplied, including the one of Martin Singer and Theodore Winslow, then shared the conclusions I had drawn, adding in the one I had formulated about Tanner Dolby and Winslow Clark being twins, rather than the same person. It was the only way he could have been in two places at the same time. One was dead in a ravine while the other worked at the Jaguar dealership in Malibu. Actually, if you added in his stint as a crash site investigator, that would make it three. Regardless, the former Clark/Dolby, now Clark, had been a very busy, very bad boy.

When I finished, Abe excused himself, stepping outside. “Let me give Anna a quick update. She’s still trying to track down a co-worker of either Martin’s or Alison’s and this information could be useful.”

“Pretty sketchy, huh?” I asked Elijah.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied, “though it would be helpful to know to more about Martin’s working relationship with Winslow.”

“I could give Daniels a call, see if X had mentioned anything specifically?” I shrugged.

“Worth a shot,” Elijah agreed.

Several messages awaited me as I powered my cell phone on. “How many times did you two call me, anyway?”

Elijah grinned at me sheepishly. “Uh, maybe a couple?”

I laughed while I dialed the number Daniels had supplied during our visit. The older gentleman picked up on the first ring, and once greetings were exchanged, I asked him about the GenTech scientists. Abe came in the front door and tucked his cell in his pocket as I hung up with Daniels.

“Everything cool?” I asked.

He gave me a quick thumbs-up, indicating Anna was good to go.

“So, I called Daniels while you were outside and asked him if X had ever mentioned the working relationships among the scientists at GenTech, and he literally burst out laughing. He asked if I meant the ongoing feud between Theodore Winslow and Martin Singer.”

“Interesting,” Abe commented as Elijah nodded.

“Their relationship was contentious, at best. X told Daniels the two were often seen in heated arguments and while it didn’t turn physical, it caused a great deal of tension for the entire Gemini team.”

“Any idea what fueled it?” Elijah asked as he settled on the couch, Nicoh nestled comfortably at his feet.

“Egos?” Abe offered.

“Indirectly, yeah. Martin felt Winslow was pushing the project farther and farther into moral and ethical gray areas. You know, the kind that make you feel squishy just thinking about them?”

Both Abe and Elijah both shook their heads in the affirmative. Abe made himself at home on the other end of the couch, opposite his brother, while I paced.

“Martin tried to rein Winslow in and even attempted to get the other team members involved, but Winslow was the lead scientist, which gave him a great deal of authority and control over the project. Most were afraid he’d boot them off the project or make it difficult to move to another if they challenged him, so he was basically allowed to do as he pleased.”

“Jerk-wad,” Abe grunted.

“Major jerk-wad,” I corrected. “Regardless, Martin remained diligent in his efforts to keep Winslow under control and remained a thorn in his side until the project was dismantled.”

“Martin wasn’t afraid Winslow would oust him?” Elijah asked.

I shook my head. “Winslow may have been the lead but Martin had a sharper mind. He needed Martin. Unfortunately, from what X told Daniels, he used Martin as well, taking Martin’s formulas and tweaking them to fit his own purposes, which tended toward the—”

“Squishy gray areas?” Abe finished my sentence.

“The squishy gray areas,” I agreed. “Anyway, I’m guessing Winslow was pretty bent when Martin snatched the formulas and project procedures.”

“Bent enough for revenge,” Elijah stated, more than asked.

We all looked at one another. It was definite possibility. But after thirty years?

I remembered I hadn’t listened to my messages and quickly dialed my voicemail as I went to the kitchen for beverages. There were eleven waiting for me. Eleven? I glanced back at the two and smiled.

Both were working hard to be Nicoh’s favorite. Abe was giving him belly-scratches while Elijah mussed his face and ears. Delighted whoo-whoos filled the air as Nicoh reveled in the extra attention.

The first three messages were from Abe and Elijah, clearly not happy campers. The fourth was from Leah, about four hours earlier, letting me know she would be working late on a story and would catch a ride home with her editor. Her editor? Ok, that was weird. I continued to listen to rest of the messages. All were from Abe or Elijah. The content, more of the same. I shook my head. They were persistent, I’d give them that. I was about to send a snarky comment to that effect in their direction when my phone rang.

By the time I finished the call, I had dropped the phone on the floor and collapsed to my knees. My body shook as Abe and Elijah rushed to my side.

“It was Leah’s editor,” I whispered, barely able to form the words. “He wanted to know when he could expect to see her today. He said he knew we were working on a side project and if she didn’t want to jeopardize her current job, she needed to check in ASAP.”

I took a deep breath and upon noting their confused expressions, added, “I dropped Leah off in front of her office building over six hours ago. One of the messages was from her, a couple of hours later, telling me she was working late and wouldn’t need me to pick her up after all,” I choked out the last words, a sob threatening to break free. “She said she was getting a ride with her editor.
That
editor.”

Abe and Elijah moved to the floor with me, a brother flanking each side.

“AJ—” Elijah started, rubbing my arm tenderly.

I didn’t give him a chance to finish, “He has her, doesn’t he? Clark has her.”

I looked at them both earnestly, but regardless of the response, I knew it was true. Leah told me as much in her message. She wouldn’t ask her editor for a favor, much less catch a ride with him. Ever. Period. She knew I’d known that and used it as a means to let me know something was awry.

“We need to call Detective Ramirez,” I said firmly, without waiting for a response.

“Agreed. I’ll handle it.” Abe patted my hand as he rose from his squatted position and moved into the kitchen, already dialing.

“He’ll need an update,” Elijah called after his brother.

An update, meaning from the time Ramirez called to confirm the identification of Tanner Dolby’s car to the discovery of his body in Big Bear. It was a call I was glad I wasn’t making. Best to let them talk ex-cop to cop. Regardless, I had a feeling Abe would be earning his keep on that one.

Elijah looked at me for a long moment, and I realized he was still holding my arm, almost as though his grasp was keeping me upright. Perhaps it was. Finally, he spoke, his tone quiet, but even. Confident.

“We’ll get her back AJ, I promise.”

Before I had a chance to respond, my cell phone rang. Fortunately, it still worked after I had dropped in on the hardwood floor.

“It’s Leah’s number!” I exclaimed, tilting the screen so Elijah could see.

He nodded. “Put it on speakerphone.”

I did, and at his second nod, answered it, “Leah?” I heard a mechanical click on the other end.

“Arianna? It’s me. I don’t have much time.”

It was a recording. Though her voice echoed over the speakerphone, she sounded so small, so alone. My heart clenched for my best friend.

“He wants to make a trade. You…for me. My office building…the thirty-first floor in one hour. The key card for the elevator is in your mailbox. Don’t bring the cops. And don’t be late.”

The recording ended and so did the call. I couldn’t do anything but stare at the phone lying in my outstretched palm.

“She must be so scared,” I uttered, barely a whisper, my heart breaking into a million pieces.

Had he hurt her? Or worse? I hadn’t heard Abe come back in. He gently took the phone from my hand, and for the second time that afternoon, pulled me into a hug.

“It’ll be ok, AJ. She’ll be ok. I promise.” Both brothers had given me their word in as many minutes.

As I pulled away, I looked each of them in the eye. “I’m going to hold you to that. Both of you.” Pulling myself together for Leah’s sake, I asked, “Now, how are we going to do this?”

Twenty minutes later, we had formulated a plan and were en route to Leah’s office building. Ok, it wasn’t much of a plan because Clark held all the cards, but it was something. I was glad to have it, as well as Abe and Elijah on my side.

I knew Clark had purposely selected the thirty-first floor because the top ten floors in Leah’s office building were currently empty. Number thirty-one was smack-dab in the middle of the empty floors, meaning there would be no traffic coming or going and no neighbors above or below.

I hated to think how he had managed to secure a key card or when he had slipped it into my mailbox. The mere thought of him being that close to me—ugh. I needed to stop that type of thinking and focus on the plan.

Abe and Elijah would accompany Nicoh and I as far as Clark would allow. Leah had specified no cops and perhaps we had taken liberties with that statement, but for the time being, that didn’t rule out everyone else. I’d much rather have them cooling their jets on the elevator than thirty-plus floors out of reach.

Ramirez would have an undercover team waiting at a safe distance, but since we’d decided not to risk wearing any special gadgets Clark might find, they’d be flying blind, waiting only on signals from Abe or Elijah. Yeah, like I said, not much of a plan. It wasn’t something I could control, or worry about. I’d let the rest of them do that. For now, all I could think about was Leah.

I was surprisingly calm as the four of us entered Leah’s office building, my mind clear. Even Nicoh stood at attention, his head held high, despite being tethered to my side. Abe and Elijah were equally stoic, clad in all black ensembles, one flanking us on each side. From the hostile, almost frightening expressions each wore, I was glad they were on my team.

Clark had selected a time of day where the hustle and bustle of the workday had long subsided and we moved easily through the lobby to the bank of elevators that would take us to the thirty-first floor. As the massive doors slid shut, I caught a glimpse of a figure lingering next to the faux palm trees that lined the hallway. Our eyes connected as the gap disappeared and the elevator began its ascent.

Ramirez.

It lasted seconds, but the ride to the thirty-first floor felt like an eternity.

“You sure you’re ready to do this?” Abe asked, his tone was one I would have expected him to reserve for a comrade heading into battle, not for a hysterical photographer with knocking knees and sweaty palms.

I gave him a curt nod. Sure, why not? I thought to myself. I was ready. I did this kind of thing every day, between picking up dog doo and dealing with self-important, entitled clients like Charlie. Oh yeah, here it was, on my daily to-do list: rescue best friend from maniacal killer. Easy peasy. Rah. Go team. I blew out a deep breath as the elevator slid to a halt, then inserted the key card Clark had supplied. The doors screeched opened, resembling fingernails on a chalkboard. Fitting—in a Freddy Kruger sort of way.

We peered around as we edged out of the elevator and found nothing but a hallway leading to the left. A sharp voice boomed over the intercom, nearly piercing my eardrums, “Ms. Jackson. I need you to throw that key card as far down the hallway as possible. No girly throws, please.” I tossed the card as requested and it landed about fifty feet ahead of where we stood.

“Very good, Ms. Jackson. I guess lugging all that camera equipment around does a body good.” Obnoxious. “Your arm candy can step back into the elevator. Their job is done here. They may return to the lobby and tell Detective Ramirez to get his men out of the building, while making sure they do the same. In the meantime, I need you and your canine to move slowly down the hall.”

Great. I glanced one last time at Abe and Elijah and gave them a single head nod. Their faces were stony and expressions unreadable as they moved onto the elevator and the doors closed. I waited until I heard it descend before advancing slowly down the hall.

I reached the end before I heard the voice again. This time, it was almost conversational, the frosty tone gone, “Ah, finally, we are alone. Please turn right. You will see a series of concrete posts immediately to your left. Select one and secure the canine’s lead to it. I’ll wait.” How considerate, I thought snarkily as I turned into an expansive, unfinished room.

The floor hadn’t been built-out yet, so all the beams, wiring and fluorescent lighting remained exposed. I saw the concrete posts the voice had referenced and made a show of looping Nicoh’s lead around it twice before tying it off.

His warm eyes bore into mine, pleading as I took his big head in my hands and whispered, “I love you, Nic, be a good boy while I get Leah.”

He started to howl when I moved away, so I stretched out a hand, touching it gently to his nose.

“It’s ok, baby.” He tilted his head, obviously not satisfied, but ceased nonetheless.