But then, why wasn't he here? It was almost midnight.
She told herself he probably went out for a nightcap when his power failed, but she wouldn't feel right until she'd checked the apartment. And besides, she'd heard that sound, like something or someone falling. What if he'd tripped in the dark and hurt himself?
"If you're all right, Doug…" she muttered as she moved down the hall. "If you're perfectly fine and out enjoying yourself while I'm a worried wreck here searching your pitch-black apartment, I'm going to kill you."
She flashed the penlight's dim beam around the front room and found nothing out of place. Same with the second bedroom he used as an office. Odd to see his computer dark and dead. He hardly ever turned it off.
Nadia felt some of her prior annoyance creeping back as the penlight beam came to rest on Doug's phone. The least he could have done was check his voice mail before he went out. She idly lifted the receiver and put it to her ear.
Dead. That was odd.
Last stop was Doug's bedroom. The bed was unmade, but that was the rule rather than the exception, and everything looked pretty much the same as ever. Then what had made that noise? And why this deep cold apprehension gnawing through her? Why this vague feeling that she wasn't alone here?
Nadia moved toward the closet in his bedroom and had her hand on the doorknob when her penlight died. That does it, she thought with a sudden stab of plain old fear as another flash of lightning blazed through the bedroom window, casting weird shadows into the corners. I'm outta here.
But first… she moved back to the blessed light of the hallway and scribbled on the pad of sticky notes she kept in her bag: v
Doug—
I was here. Where was you?
Call me as soon as you get in.
Love.
N.
Nadia hurried to Doug's office, stuck the note to his monitor screen, then dashed back to the hall. As she closed the door and locked the bolt, she was plagued by the strange sensation that she'd missed something in there, something important.
MEMORIAL DAY
1
Nadia snatched up the phone on the first ring. "Doug?"
A heartbeat or two of silence on the other end. A throat cleared and then a familiar voice came over the wire, but not Doug's.
"This is Dr. Monnet."
"Oh. Dr. Monnet… good morning."
Nadia leaned back on her mother's old sofa, straining to hide the crushing disappointment. She'd been trying Doug's number for hours—before she'd left for the clinic, and while she'd been at the clinic—but yesterday's busy signals had been replaced by a robotic voice telling her that the line was out of service.
"Good morning," he said. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Not at all. I just got back from the clinic."
I just wish you were someone else.
"Such devotion."
"Well, as we both know, diabetes doesn't recognize national holidays."
"How true." He cleared his throat. "I was wondering if you were going to be in the lab today."
"I hadn't planned on it."
Actually she had, but only to remove the Berzerk from the imager's sample chamber. After that she might never go back, at least not until she had a good explanation as to why the inert form of a street drug matched the inert form of a molecule she'd been assigned to stabilize.
And then an alarming thought struck her. "Are you there now?"
"Yes. I stopped by. I thought if you were here we might discuss your progress."
Her heart fluttered in panic. She'd never dreamed Dr. Moanet would be there on Memorial Day. Should she run over? No. She couldn't go. Not until she contacted Doug and was sure he was all right.
"I… I have other plans."
"Oh. I see. Excuse me but did you…?" His voice seemed to falter. "Did you say, 'Doug,' when you picked up?"
Yes… Doug. A pang of longing seized her. Where are you?
And now, after giving Dr. Monnet a lengthy cock-and-bull story Saturday about how they were just acquaintances, how was she going to explain this?
"Yes. He, um, asked me out to dinner last night and never showed up. And now his phone is out of service. I'm worried."
"Because he's an old friend."
Nadia wasn't sure if that was a statement or a question. Either way, Dr. Monnet's voice was rich with concern.
"Yes," she said. "I'm going over there to check on him personally."
"Do you really think that's wise?"
An odd question. "What do you mean?"
"I'll meet you there."
"No. That's not at all necessary. Besides, he's all the way over in DUMBO."
"DUMBO?"
"Yes. It's in Brooklyn—Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass."
"That doesn't matter. Douglas Gleason is a valued employee. I insist. Give me his address."
Nadia didn't know what else to do. She gave him the address and he said he would meet her there.
This strange turn baffled Nadia, but at least Dr. Monnet would be leaving the lab. He hadn't mentioned the Berzerk in the imager, which meant he hadn't looked. Sometime today she had to get back there and clean up.
But Doug came first…Her worry for him blotted out all other concerns.
2
Luc stood outside the brick-faced apartment building on Water Street, one of many along the block. He looked up at the blue underbelly of the Manhattan Bridge; he could hear the traffic rumbling across. An odd place to hve, but he supposed one had to live somewhere. Perhaps the view of the city at night made it worthwhile.
He'd already been up to Gleason's apartment. He'd knocked and tried the door, but it was locked. Too bad. He was hardly eager to see Gleason's corpse, but if he'd been able to get in, he at least could have found the body himself, sparing Nadia the trauma.
Luc had told Prather he wanted Gleason handled differently this time. Macintosh had simply disappeared—bought a round-trip ticket to Chicago and never came back. He'd had no close friends, and when his family came looking, no one had any useful information, least of all his puzzled and concerned employers.
Gleason, on the other hand, was anything but a loner. And having a second GEM employee simply vanish—especially one with friends on the sales force, connections to dozens of doctors and their staffs, and a longtime relationship with Nadia—would make too many waves. It might even raise an official eyebrow, prompting an investigation into the whereabouts of both men. The last thing Luc wanted.
So Prather had been instructed to make Gleason's death look like a botched robbery. Very tragic and very final. And to cover all bases, Luc had requested a little vandalism as well—specifically, the theft of Gleason's company laptop and the destruction of his home computer if he had one.
That was why he'd insisted on meeting Nadia here—to help minimize the trauma of her finding an old friend dead. Even so, she wasn't going to be much use as a researcher for the next few days.
And every single day counted, damn it!
Luc paced the sidewalk. He wanted to see Nadia face-to-face. He'd experienced a moment of panic this morning when he'd checked the office and learned that she hadn't signed in. Was it because of the holiday or fatigue, or something else? He needed to look into her eyes. He'd know in an instant if she suspected him of being connected to Berzerk.
A cab pulled into the curb and Nadia alighted. Her face was drawn, pale. She looked worried.
"Good morning," Luc said.
She nodded. "I hope it is," she said. "You really didn't have to—"
"Let's not discuss that anymore," he told her. "I am here. What floor is Douglas on?"