Die Again Tomorrow (25 page)

CHAPTER 46

J
oan anxiously climbed the steps up to Adam's fourth-floor walkup. It was far too late to be surprising him with a visit, but what she had to tell him was too important to wait. If she risked phoning first, he would brush her off, so she'd just decided to show up and hope for the best.

They hadn't seen each other since the day of her grandson's birth and her mortifying encounter with the OB-GYN nurse. Since she'd refused to explain herself, Adam had grown wary and aloof. Now he wasn't returning Greg's calls or hers. Not that she could blame him. Ever since he was a kid in a sandbox, he'd demanded the highest standards of integrity from the people around him. There was no surer way to lose his trust than to steal, cheat, or lie. Joan supposed she could take credit for instilling him with such rigidness. She ought to be proud. Instead she was petrified.

She knocked softly on his door. It wasn't long before she heard quick footsteps approaching. She attempted a half smile for the peephole, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The door opened a crack and Adam's weary face poked through. Like any father of a newborn and a toddler, he looked utterly wiped out—his eyelids sagged, his floppy hair was disheveled, his skin oily.

She felt a stab of guilt over the bombshell she was about to deliver. But he had a right to know the truth. She couldn't shield him from evil forever. Especially when the evil was his own father.

“Mom?” His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, sweetie. We need to talk.”

“Now? I just put the kids down and I—”

“Now,” she said. “This is the only time I have.”

Greg's late-night ER shift meant she could steal away for a couple of hours, but tomorrow, Friday, he had the day off and would want to spend it with her.

“Can I come in?” she asked. “It's important.”

He hesitated for an awful moment, and her heart constricted—she didn't know if she could handle a rejection by her own son when she needed him most.

“I know you're disappointed in me.” She looked him in the eye. “But there's a lot you don't know. I want to tell you—if you'll let me.”

He must have read the pain on her face because he nodded. “Okay. But not inside.” He stepped out onto the stoop beside her and quietly closed the door.

She winced. Was he too angry to let her in?

“I don't want to wake them,” he said. “Getting them both to sleep is a miracle.”

“I remember when you were a baby.” She couldn't keep the ache out of her voice. Those days were so simple by comparison—full of exhaustion, yes, but also boundless joy. “Whenever you cried, Daddy used to carry you around the house pointing at all the paintings on the wall.”

It was the word
daddy
that brought tears to her eyes. Who was that tender loving man and where had he gone? Had he ever even existed in the first place?

Adam folded his arms. He was apparently in no mood for nostalgia. “So what don't I know? Besides the fact that”—he counted out on fingers—“one, Dad's a jerk, two, you put up with it, and three, you got yourself kicked out of the hospital?”

She sank to the top stair and curled her fingers around the balustrade, too nervous to face him head-on. He sat down beside her, his elbows resting on his knees.

“This is going to come as a shock,” she said, looking down at her lap, “but your father—it seems he . . . has an alter ego.”

Adam raised a dubious eyebrow. “What, like Clark Kent and Superman?”

She grimaced. “Not quite. I only just found out myself, so I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. I should add it's not for sure—we have no solid proof—but it's looking frighteningly plausible. If it's true, it would explain a lot.”

“Just spit it out, Mom.”

She exhaled a shaky breath. And then out came the whole story. The layers upon layers of deceit and manipulation whose sheer audacity dizzied her. She recounted to Adam how the financial crisis had depleted their nest egg. That much was certain. But after that, things got dicey. Greg gambling away their remaining savings? A lie. Instead he appeared to be running an illegal hedge fund that bought up “lives.” Greg fearing he was going to be targeted by some malicious investor who owned his life? A lie. It seemed
he
was the investor. He'd been covering it up with fables about his victimhood so she would stand by him without ever learning the truth. The unspeakable irony was that she'd become preoccupied with tracking down a criminal who was right beside her all along. A criminal he'd led her to believe she might unmask through investigating his hospital. That was why she'd snuck into Roosevelt, which later got her kicked out.

Adam listened in stunned silence. “So Dad's wealth in the last few years came from other people's deaths? I thought it came from medical consulting.”

“So did I.” She pulled her coat's wool collar away from her neck. “It makes me sick. All those trips we took, the penthouse, your trust fund . . .”

The horror in Adam's eyes gutted her. “But how do you know all this? Obviously Dad hasn't told you himself?”

“Of course not.” She held out her left hand, where the ruby lay sparkling on her ring finger. “Because of this.”

She recounted the recent events—Greg giving her the ring in a seemingly sweet gesture, then meeting Isabel, finding out it was really a tool, calling the number to find out the real deal, and finally, the encounter she'd had that very afternoon. Meeting a very tall older man with ice blue eyes, who said he was an undercover federal agent—he'd shown her his gold badge—and learning that Greg was suspected to be a violent investor who went by the name Robbie Merriman. The ring had been mailed to the investor in an attempt to find out his real identity—it contained an embedded GPS chip—and lo and behold, Greg was the one who received it. All signs pointed to his guilt. But there wasn't enough evidence to arrest him yet. It was too circumstantial. He needed to be trapped into confessing the truth.

And the agent wanted Joan to help make it happen. Her cooperation was the only way she could prove she wasn't an accomplice. Then she'd be granted immunity from any subsequent prosecution.

“I thought you had a right to know,” she finished, picking up Adam's hand. “And I wanted you to understand what I'm facing.” Her voice choked up. “I just don't know how I'm going to get through it. It all feels so surreal.”

Adam draped his arm around her heaving shoulders. “I had no idea. This is absolutely insane.”

She wiped her eyes. “And your dad has no idea I know anything. I hate to think what he would do if he found out.”

Adam's tone sharpened. “You think he would hurt you?”

“I hope not. I think he loves me. But before this week, I thought a lot of things.”

He suddenly whirled to face her. “Why don't you come away with us? We're still trying to move to Kansas anyway, so what if we all just packed up and went? We could stay with Emily's parents until we figure things out . . . put some distance between you and Dad . . .”

“I wish.” She shook her head. “I already promised to help. I'm central to the plan—any minute I could get a call. Plus I'd look guilty if I fled.”

“What's the plan?”

“I can't go into it. I signed a confidentiality agreement.”

She also didn't share with him the grim temptation worming its way into her mind. She imagined herself peeking over a balcony from the thirtieth floor. Leaning a little farther, testing the resistance of the bars, testing her very sanity. One tumble, and it would all be over. Or one quick gunshot . . . A painless escape from the public disgrace that lay ahead, the shame and stigma that would follow her for the rest of her life.

She didn't know she was capable of such warped thoughts. Realizing that she was terrified her. Did it mean she might act on them, too? Clearly she didn't know her husband; did she even know herself?

She clasped her chest to quiet her racing heart.

“I'm here if you need me.” Adam rubbed her back. “You're not alone, okay?”

She managed a grateful smile, then glanced at her watch, a beautiful mother-of-pearl Omega that Greg had given her last year on her fifty-sixth birthday. As soon as she looked at it, she knew she would never wear it again.

“Do you have to get home?” Adam asked.

It was after 1
A.M.
Unless Greg got called into surgery, he would return from his shift soon. “I should,” she said. “But first can you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Can you let me see the kids for a second? I promise I won't wake them.”

“If it'll help.”

“It will.”

He got to his feet, pulling her up with one hand. Then he put a finger to his lips as he opened his front door. They crept inside the dark apartment, where in an alcove off the side of the living room, baby Justin and little Sophia were sound asleep. He lay in a crib on his back, his chubby arms flung up by his cheeks. She was tucked under her hot pink twin comforter, her blond ringlets cascading over her pillow.

Joan tiptoed as close as she dared. The mere sight of her sweet grandkids was fuel. Soon she would have to wrench her gaze away, say good-bye to her son, return to the stranger impersonating her husband. There was no telling what her future held, or how long she might stick around to find out.

But if something were to happen to her, at least—at the very least—one of her final memories would be of the faces she loved the most.

CHAPTER 47

I
sabel paced back and forth outside the blue curtain that partitioned off Richard's hospital bed on deck 1. After the fight, an ophthalmologist who was on board researching ocular biomechanics had been woken up to look at his injured eye. First Richard's pupil had to be dilated with special drops, which required twenty minutes to take effect. Now the examination was in progress, and then the specialist, Dr. Reynolds, was expected to come out and announce his prognosis.

It was after 1
A.M.
, but Isabel was jittery with adrenaline. She kept scratching at her throat where Chris had squeezed it. The pressure of his monstrous fingers felt permanently imprinted on her skin. The fact that he'd gotten caught was a slight comfort, but she remained too shaken up to indulge any real relief. She replayed the encounter in her mind: him coming to her door, the stupid fake flower, his pretend apology, the sudden blow to her forehead. A tender purple lump had popped up there, but otherwise she'd escaped relatively unscathed.

As she waited to hear about Richard, she chided herself for falling prey to Chris's bait and switch. She was a survivalist, but yet again she very nearly failed to survive. If it weren't for Captain barking his lungs off and Richard coming to the rescue . . .

The uncomfortable truth was that when it came to actual survival scenarios, whether on television or in real life, she needed backup. When had she ever come through totally on her own? Even with the white-water rafting episode, she'd counted on the few men in the group to help with chopping wood for shelter and kindling before she made the fire. Completely alone? Never.

She spun angrily on her heel, thinking about how she could have been stronger or smarter. Not that it mattered. The point was that she was okay. And hopefully Richard would be, too. She hated to think where she would be without him.

Chris, apparently, would have taken off with the only vial of X101 in existence—and run straight to the enemy camp: Robbie Merriman. Their surreptitious partnership floored her. At least they couldn't get away with anything together now. Chris was currently subdued in restraints up on deck 3 while his fate was being determined. The only upside to it all was that finally Galileo would have to admit she had been right all along.

Just as she was thinking about what punishment he would impose, she heard his footsteps exiting the stairwell. His catlike stride was unmistakable; no one else on the ship moved as efficiently. She crossed the room to greet him at the doorway to the hospital chamber, which was really the ship's converted formal dining area. The relics of its past life seemed incongruous: the crystal and gold chandelier, the oak-paneled walls, the crown moldings along the ceiling. The whole room was about the size of a basketball court, but the original open-plan style was separated by newly built walls that sectioned off the three operating rooms from the triage area of patient beds, where Richard was currently being examined. Each bed was cordoned off with heavy wraparound curtains, though they hardly muffled Richard's moans.

Isabel tried to block them out as Galileo strode into the chamber. He looked surprisingly calm for someone who'd just been betrayed by one of his allegedly loyal scientists. Despite the late hour, he was dressed in a pair of ironed jeans, a gray T-shirt, and loafers, and his wavy dark hair was combed back off his forehead. His smooth brow and relaxed shoulders gave the impression that he was doing rounds, not managing a crisis.

“My dear.” He reached out his arms. “What a nightmare. Are you okay?”

She let him embrace her. “Not really,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I'm more worried about Richard than anything.”

“I was hoping Dr. Reynolds would be done by now.”

“Any minute.” She pulled away and looked up at him. A smidgeon of resentment crept into her voice. “So you really didn't see any of this coming, huh?”

“Truthfully?” He sighed. “Yes and no.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

He met her frown with a sad smile. “I knew you were telling me the truth before. I just couldn't say so.”

“What?” She stared at him, flabbergasted. “Why not?”

“Because of the X101. Chris was the only one with enough expertise to reverse engineer the formula. If I'd punished him any earlier, he wouldn't have cooperated, and Horatio's legacy would be lost for good. I was waiting for him to make a few more doses before I did anything. I just didn't expect him to try to escape tonight, or to go after you
.
”

Her jaw hung open. All the doubt and disappointment she'd been harboring toward him faded like smog on a clear day. “So you weren't blowing me off?”

“Just the opposite. I installed a camera in his lab to record him working. He never suspected that
I
suspected him, so he never noticed the tiny bulb in the ceiling vent watching him the whole time.”

“Seriously? So it's possible to synthesize the drug from a surveillance video?”

His lips tightened. “It's not ideal, but it should work. The key is that we recovered the vial he was trying to steal, so we have an example of a perfect batch. That's absolutely critical for engineering another one at this point. Without that, I don't know if the video alone would cut it. But with the two together, we should be good.”

“I'm no expert,” she said, “but didn't Chris just develop a chemical check to streamline the process, so you don't need a previous dose to make a new one? He was just bragging to me about it earlier.”

Galileo conceded her point with a nod. “He did. And it is pretty brilliant. But it's only useful as a final check once you've got the process down. It's like plugging your answer into an algebra equation. It will tell you if you're right, but it won't tell you how to fix it if you're wrong. That's where the previous dose comes in, for help with calibration. So thank God we got that vial back before it was too late.”

“Thank Richard,” she said, craning her neck toward his closed blue curtain a few yards away. His intermittent moans were still audible; she wondered how much longer the doctor would take.

They started to walk side by side toward his unit before she stopped and crossed her arms. “I don't get something.” Her slim brows knitted together. “If you're so sneaky, why couldn't you have just installed a camera a long time ago to watch Dr. Quinn? Wouldn't that have been easier than waiting years for him to open up? And then his secret process wouldn't have almost died with him.”

Galileo's head dipped back as if to say
I wish it were that easy.
“Clearly,” he said, “you didn't know Horatio.”

“What didn't I know?” Her nostrils flared in defensiveness. “He was kind. He was a genius. He saved my life and Richard's.”

“And he was absurdly paranoid.” Galileo's tone grew weary. “For years he was convinced I was spying on him, and used to tell me off through the ceiling vent. You think he wouldn't have noticed a camera bulb somewhere?”

She closed her mouth. “Oh.”

“I had to build up his trust, not destroy it.” The corners of his eyes crinkled in a mournful smile. “We were so close. Man, do I wish things had happened differently.”

“I'm sorry. I still can't believe he's gone.”

“Death is mind-boggling. One day you're talking to someone, and the next—” His voice broke off. He paused to collect himself, dabbing gently at his eyes.

The visibility of his emotion left her speechless. Normally, his stoic competence was a mask he wore every minute of every day. It came as a revelation to peek behind it—to see that deep down, he was still human.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I don't talk about this much”—he stared off into the distance—“but fourteen years ago, I lost my only child.”

Her hand flew to her lips. “I'm so sorry.”

“She died at eleven.” He shook his head. “And it was all my fault.” He stole a glance at her and a tremendous guilt lay bare in his eyes. “She inherited a rare genetic disorder that ran in my family. I never should have taken the risk, but I was young and careless
.
By the time she was born, it was too late.”

She drew a sharp breath. “That sounds unbearable.”

They stood in silence for a moment, each absorbed in private thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was fierce.

“There was an experimental drug that was showing promise in clinical trials. I got her into one, but she was randomly assigned to the control arm so she got the standard crappy treatment. I begged and pleaded, but no doctor was allowed to give her the new drug before it was FDA-approved. She died waiting.”

Isabel stared at him in horror. And just like that, the mysterious puzzle of his identity clicked into place. She realized she didn't need to know his real name or where he grew up or any other incidental detail to make sense of who he truly was: A father spurred on by grief.

“Hence the Network . . . all the researchers . . . even me being brought back . . .”

He nodded. “I promised Hallie when she was dying that she wasn't going in vain. That I'd figure out a radical way to end suffering and disease, and no one was going to stop me.”

He swept out his arm toward the triage area, hidden behind the blue curtains, and the walls that carved out three world-class operating rooms. “You, too, are part of her legacy. But even after all this time, the loss can still hit me fresh.”

She touched his arm. “I understand. My dad dropped dead of a heart attack last year and I think I'm still in shock. If only he'd gotten the X101 . . .”

“I'm sorry.” He paused. “But if it's any consolation, you have my word that we're going to keep working on it and testing it until it's ready to go mainstream. Sometime soon, heart attacks will no longer be a death sentence.”

“I believe you.” She let out a sigh. “You know, the same thing happened to Richard's dad.” She glanced longingly at his hospital curtain. “He understands what it's like, too.. . . It's just hard to let go.”

“I don't think I ever will,” Galileo said. “And I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“I wonder if everyone is always mourning someone, even if it's just in the backs of their minds.”

He contemplated her with a sad smile. “Perhaps.”

“At least,” she said, “my mom and brother are safe.”

“Oh, I mailed them that jewelry box today, the one you bought in Chinatown.” His characteristic grin unexpectedly returned. “I think they'll be delighted to get something from you.”

“That's great, thanks.” She tilted her head at him. “What're you up to?”

“Me?” he said. “Nothing, why?”

She saw he wasn't going to tell her anything, so she shrugged. “Whatever. As long as they're okay.”

“They're fine.”

“Do you have a family?” Her own directness took her aback; the question had just slipped out. “I mean, not like it's any of my business.”

His smile widened. “In fact I do. You know Theo? He's my stepson.”

“Really?” She blinked, assimilating this new tidbit. “I thought he was just another young researcher you recruited.”

“Oh, no. I've been married to his mom, Natalie, for a decade. She's a scientist, too.”

“Is she on board?” Isabel mentally scanned through the female researchers on the ship, but none of them struck her as charismatic or sexy enough to attract a man like Galileo.

“Unfortunately not,” he said. “She's working at a chimp facility in Namibia at the moment. We were planning to set sail there before we met you.” There was no resentment in his voice—just matter-of-factness. “So, a slight detour for now.”

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “I totally forgot to ask about your meeting with Joan earlier. How did—”

Just then Richard's blue curtain whipped back and out stepped Dr. Reynolds, a slight wisp of a man whose tortoiseshell glasses covered half his face. He pushed them up on his nose as he walked toward her and Galileo. On the narrow bed behind him, Richard was sitting up, swinging his legs to the floor. His left eye was covered by a taped piece of gauze. When he refused to look over at her, she knew the news was bad.

Dr. Reynolds grimly pressed his lips together, then addressed Galileo. “The repeated blows to his eye caused his retina to detach. Unless he undergoes emergency surgery in the next few hours, his blindness will be permanent.”

“So what are we waiting for?” she demanded. “The ORs are empty.”

The doctor shifted his gaze to her. “I'm not a retinal surgeon. He needs a specialized procedure to implement a piece of silicon called a scleral buckle around his eyeball. He has to get to an outside hospital—and the closer it is, the better, so we don't waste time.”

Isabel sprinted to Richard's bedside and pulled him to his feet. “Let's go! Come on.”

He rose unsteadily. She could tell the news had left him stupefied. Another surgery, another recovery. A chance of lost vision for life. No wonder he seemed so reluctant to put one foot in front of the other.

Galileo's commanding voice filled the space. “I'll have Theo escort you to the nearest hospital in midtown. We'll get the ambulance ready right now.”

Isabel shot him a grateful look as Richard stopped short, turning to her.

“You stay here. You've been through enough for one night.”

“No way. I'm not leaving you.”

His one good eye blinked rapidly. “I'm going straight into surgery anyway. You can come in the morning after you get some rest.” He kissed the top of her head. “Stay. You're safe here now.”