Never Happened (11 page)

“Who says I like him now?” She suddenly wished her phone had a record option. Why was it all this crazy shit happened when no one else was around to see or hear it?

“There are things you don't know.”

“You're right there,” she snapped. “Like who killed my friend.”

“Yes.”

She could almost see this jerk nodding his head as if she were a slow learner under his tutelage.

“Detective Henson. You want to know who killed him.”

“Was it you?” Hey, why beat around the bush?

“I'm afraid you'll have to ask Mr. Blake about what happened to Detective Henson. My only concern is the contact lens you have in your possession.”

Her gaze narrowed and her temper flared. “Since you're probably the one who's been going through my things I would think you'd know I
don't
have it.” Asshole. She understood that she wasn't thinking rationally right now but she rarely did when she got this angry. And all the rationality in the world wouldn't change how badly she wanted to kick this guy in the teeth.

“We need to discuss this matter, Miss Jackson. It is of the utmost importance that I reclaim the item. I will gladly tell you everything you want to know about Blake and the danger he represents for you if you'll meet me face-to-face.”

“Like I'm going to meet you.” Please, what did he take her for?

“Name the place, Miss Jackson. The more public the better. I will be happy to meet on your terms.”

Well now, that put a whole different spin on things. If she could pick the time and place, she was all over it. She had questions for this guy.

“All right then.” The more she knew about Blake
the better she could handle what was to come. And even if this was a setup, she needed to know this new player.

The game had already begun and she was way behind. Any leverage she could obtain was essential. She owed it to Henson.

 

Alex dressed for the occasion. White low-slung slacks, white scooped blouse and matching summer jacket. The powder-blue pointed-toe stilettos and leather belt were her only concessions to color.

Her maternal grandmother's advice on the topic had always stayed with her. Always dress your best, she would tell Alex, on two occasions in particular: when you were going to the bank for a loan so they would know you're good for it; and, whenever you go to the doctor. Alex remembered asking her why she should dress up if she felt sick enough to go to the doctor. Her grandmother would tell her sagely, “So they'll think you're worth saving.”

Well, this wasn't the bank or the doctor's office, but the idea was the same. She wanted this guy to know that he was dealing with a woman fully capable of meeting whatever challenge he tossed her way.

Besides she always liked to look especially good
when she went to the mall. It was impossible to go and not see someone she knew. An old friend from high school or a man she'd dated. Miami was full of guys she'd dated once or twice. Good thing there was a steady flow of new ones moving into town every day.

Life never got boring in Miami.

While she waited near the fountain she contemplated all she knew about Henson's death. Not that much. Only that one phone call he'd made to her and what O'Neill had told her. But that was enough. It didn't take a degree in psychology or criminology to know why he'd told the story he had. He'd been made. The cops knew the body they'd removed from his house wasn't him. The only way he could possibly hope to protect himself was by being incarcerated just as Blake said.

The whole idea of being in danger over that stupid contact lens still felt surreal.

But Henson was dead. Timothy O'Neill's home was a pile of rubble and his friend was dead. Whatever this was, it was bad and it was big.

Her main objective with this meeting was to get a visual ID of this new player and to determine if he was a good guy or a bad one. What she learned about him, considering his opinion of Blake, would
help her come to more accurate conclusions about both men.

Alex checked the time on her cell and surveyed the crowd mingling around in the mall's main thoroughfare. Lots of people. She wasn't afraid. He couldn't touch her here without being caught by mall security. At least two security guards hung out close to the fountain at all times. To prevent potential thieves interested in grabbing a handful of the coins glittering at the bottom of the lovely fountain pool. She waved at one of the guards. They'd dated years ago. He was married now, but they were still friends.

Her senses went on edge as a distinguished gentleman of about sixty moved toward her. Charcoal suit, gray hair, confident stride. Hands right where she could see them and thankfully empty.

“Miss Jackson,” he acknowledged as he moved up beside her at the fountain's south side.

“Mr…” She frowned dramatically. “I don't think I got your name.”

“My name is not important.”

Of course it wasn't. Why hadn't she thought of that line? She'd heard it in at least three movies.

“Sorry, pal.” She backed away a step. “I don't talk to strangers.”

Urgency and no small amount of irritation claimed his expression. “My name is Marshall Avery.”

“All right, Mr. Avery”—she folded her arms over her chest—“I want to know what this whole thing is about.”

He smiled. She was certain it was meant to be pleasant or charming but it wasn't. “It's about a technology war, Miss Jackson. Our country is losing, save for a few very special projects. The contact lens Crane was wearing is a prototype. If it falls into the wrong hands…” He heaved a monumental breath. “We're already far behind on too many fronts. We need this development.”

“Why was Crane wearing it?” If it was so top secret and so important, what was a guy like Crane doing with it in Miami?

“Crane was one of our test subjects. A ghost living among Miami's citizens, overlooked and ignored. The feedback he and the handful of others participating in these tests provide is invaluable to the technology's success. It is imperative that this unfortunate accident not destroy the whole program.”

She had to admit that what he said made some sense. “If Crane was so important to the program why would he kill himself?” He had to know how im
portant it was to protect the lens. Why jeopardize something this important?

“We believe he was murdered.”

“Why didn't the murderer take the lens?” He had to give her more than that.

“We can only assume that he was unfamiliar with the design we'd selected for Crane. The various venues of this technology are a closely guarded secret.”

“What exactly is the technology?” Might as well go for the gold. Her curiosity hadn't been this high since she'd made out with Frankie Barker under the bleachers at her old high school's football field.

“I'm sure you know I can't share that information.” His smile was a bit more sincere this time. “If you have the lens I must reclaim it. There is no reason for this to burden you further. I'm certain you realize how dangerous this could prove.”

She was relatively certain she'd just been threatened.

“First, I'll need the rest of the information on Blake you promised. You did say everything. Then we can discuss where the lens might be.” No way was she admitting that she had it just yet.

His eyes tapered with suspicion. “Are you saying you don't have the lens?”

He was fishing. He or his associate hadn't found it in her home so he was trying to intimidate her into an answer. She'd been right to be overly suspicious of this guy when he'd called. Thank God she'd had the foresight to properly prepare.

“If you're not going to hold up your end of this bargain,” she argued, “we have nothing else to discuss.”

“You're on the verge of making a very serious mistake, Miss Jackson. I would suggest you do all within your power to get the lens back to me in a timely manner. You won't find anyone else who can protect you from Blake.”

“What about Blake?” He'd told her that Blake was not to be trusted. She wanted to know exactly who Blake was. “Are you telling me he's an enemy of this country? That he'd steal our technology to sell to someone else for his own benefit?” Wouldn't that make him a terrorist? “And how do I know you're not after the same thing?”

His eyes turned cold and hard with impatience. His right hand slid into his jacket pocket. “Miss Jackson, I have a 9 mm Beretta in my pocket. I don't want to have to use it, but believe me, I won't hesitate if the necessity arises. Let's take a walk so that we may discuss the subject further without any interference.”

Alex studied his pocket where his hand now rested. There could be a gun in there. Her heart had started to beat a little faster, pumping adrenaline through her veins. She couldn't help Henson if she got herself dead. But she couldn't give this guy what he wanted without knowing who the hell he was and who the hell Blake was. She refused to let Henson's death be for nothing.

“I can prove Blake killed your detective friend,” the man insisted, “but first you must come with me. It's for your own safety.”

“If you can prove who killed my friend, then we have something to talk about,” she allowed, “but we'll do it on my terms.”

Avery's face reddened with the rage seeping out around his rigid composure. “You'll come with me now unless you want to become one of Miami's sad statistics.”

Alex refused to let fear get the better of her. She nodded toward the upper gallery where folks on the second level walked past. “You see the gentleman wearing the bow tie up there?”

Avery glanced briefly in the direction she'd indicated.

“He's got his finger on speed dial for 911. Down
here there are two guards less than fifty feet away who're watching every move we make. One of 'em's a friend of mine. How do you want this to end, Mr. Avery?” She went on when he made no move to answer. “All I want is the truth. I want whoever killed my friend to pay and I want your precious technology to end up back where it belongs. You can either help me accomplish that or you can do what you will and take your chances on surviving.”

Instead of responding he did the last thing she'd expected.

He wheeled around and hurried away.

What the hell was that about?

Just then, in her peripheral vision, she got her answer.

Austin Blake.

Alex
didn't stick around to see how things turned out with Blake and Avery, if those were even their names. When Blake didn't slow in his pursuit of Avery as he rushed right past her, she figured she was free to go.

She'd thanked her security guard friend for helping her out before meeting with the Professor at the escalator. Twenty minutes later they had arrived back at the office. She told herself that the shakiness she felt as she climbed out of her 4Runner had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with victory, but she had a feeling that might be a lie.

Avery had scared her.

Dammit.

A great deal of who she was, okay, maybe her entire existence, was tied inextricably with her sense of independence. Being afraid didn't bode well with
maintaining the level of confidence required to feel totally independent.

As Alex and the Professor pushed through the glass entry door, Shannon looked up and asked, “How'd it go?”

“That depends upon your vision of what the end result should have been,” the Professor told her.

Alex tossed her purse onto the sofa and dropped next to it. “I met the guy. He said his name was Marshall Avery. He wanted the lens. Insisted it was some kind of advanced technology that would cause the end of the world if it fell into the wrong hands.”

Shannon made one of those
yeah right
sounds.

“He wanted Alex to leave the mall with him,” the Professor said, cutting to the part she wanted to forget as he settled into one of the chairs flanking the sofa. “He claimed to have a gun in his pocket.”

“Oh my God!” Shannon's eyes were wide with a far too familiar fear. “What do you think he intended to do? Surely he wouldn't have hurt you?”

Alex turned her hands up in an I-dunno gesture. “Blake showed up and Avery took off.”

The Professor's gaze bumped into hers and something in his eyes told her that what he had seen wasn't quite that simple, but he didn't argue.

“What're you going to do now?”

Alex wished she knew. All she'd gotten from Avery were more questions instead of any answers. And he wanted the lens. Desperately.

A few hours ago she'd been all cocky and determined to strong-arm the truth out of the guy. But that hadn't happened. At this moment she wasn't certain of anything, most assuredly of what she should or shouldn't do.

The police, including Patton, wouldn't listen to her when she suggested that Henson's accident had been no accident. Even O'Neill had wimped out on her. Giving the kid grace, his friends were dead and he was terrified that he would be next.

That left Alex with no avenues whatsoever other than Avery and Blake.

How the hell could this happen in real life?

Bizarre computer chips and secret agents!
Gimme a break!
This was movie and book fodder, not part of the regular workday grind. A week ago her biggest worry had been whether she'd end this dating dry spell before she set an all-time personal record.

And here she was wondering if that old guy would have killed her had she not had the foresight to arrange for a backup plan.

The idea of dying now, at forty, with so much life ahead of her…so many things she wanted to do, made her feel sick to her stomach. Henson had lost out on his entire future. Sure his career had already reached great heights but what about his other goals—like a wife and kids. He'd wanted those things and he'd missed out. If she had died today, what would she have missed out on?

That nothing came immediately to mind bothered her unreasonably. She had things to look forward to…she had friends….

Just stop it, Alex. What the hell had been wrong with her the past few days? She just couldn't get past all this intense self-reflection.

Focus. She had to stay focused. It was the only way to ever get justice for Henson's murder.

Trying to look at the situation rationally, if what Avery said was true, Crane hadn't committed suicide at all. He'd been murdered just like Henson. But that didn't make sense, either, because he'd still been wearing the contact. She didn't buy Avery's suggestion that the killer hadn't known what to look for. That would make for one dumb killer.

Why didn't the government simply come in and take what was theirs? She could only imagine the sur
veillance techniques they had at their disposal. Why were people merely assuming she had the lens? Why didn't they know for sure? Her home had been searched at least once. Where was that fancy technology she'd seen used in the movies? Even her ingenious hiding place shouldn't withstand fancy gadgets designed for finding hidden items.

Was that why Blake and Avery had shown up in her life? Were they supposed to watch her until they had the truth or the lens, whichever came first? Had they been hired to retrieve it at all costs?

But which one was the bad guy? Obviously they weren't working on the same team.

“Perhaps it's time to take this one to the FBI.”

Alex snapped out of her troubling thoughts, surprised at the Professor's pronouncement. “But you were the one who suggested I see what Blake was really up to by cooperating to a degree.”

“That was before men started wielding weaponry,” he countered frankly. “A deflated tire is one thing, a faulty brake line another, but this is an entirely different ball game, Alexis. You're in over your head, I fear.”

Deep down she knew he was right. Hell, he was always right. But she couldn't back off. Not now that she fully understood what would happen if she did.

The local police weren't going to take her seriously. Henson's death would never be properly investigated beyond the obvious. She couldn't let go and pretend that didn't matter. He deserved better than that. She was the only person who could see this through.

She turned her full attention to the Professor. “You're right. I am in over my head. But I can't let this go. I'll just have to be careful.”

“How did I know you'd say that?” Shannon shook her head. “You always were bullheaded.”

Before Alex could respond, Marg entered the lobby in a flurry of reds and golds. “You're not going to believe this,” she huffed impatiently. “I crashed my Miata.”

Alex was on her feet before the statement stopped reverberating in the air. “What? Are you okay?”

Marg chafed her hands up and down her arms. “I'm okay, but I was terrified there for a second.” She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “All I could see was the back of that bus coming closer and closer.”

Alex put her arm around her mother's shoulder. “What happened?”

Marg shook her head. “I don't know. I pushed the brake, but it didn't work…just went all the way to the floorboard without doing a damned thing.”

That was it. Alex had Shannon call Brown back to the office via a taxi. All the vehicles they drove would be checked again before anyone else got behind a wheel. If it took all night, so be it, they'd use rentals instead. She'd have every single vehicle checked every day, if necessary.

The Professor borrowed Patsy's shop van from next door and he and Brown headed off on a call where a landlord had found a meth lab in a house he rented. He'd already called the cops and reported the situation.

Alex dug around in her purse and pulled out the card Blake had given her. She went into her office and punched in the number; the call went straight to his voice mail. If she hadn't been so furious she would have enjoyed the deep, husky sound of his voice, but she was mad as hell. She left him a message to get back to her ASAP then closed the phone.

He had some explaining to do. She wasn't ready to call him a killer as Avery had, but she damn well intended to find out.

Then she went across the hall to the lounge to check on Marg. She was seated at her table, scanning her messages.

Alex pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.
She couldn't ever remember being more terrified than she had been when her mother had said that her brakes failed. For all the arguing they did, for all the trouble she gave Alex, she didn't want to lose her.

“You sure you're okay?”

Marg nodded, the blond ringlets hanging from her meticulously coiffed bun bounced. “I'm fine, Alex. I'm just worried about my car.”

For the first time in a long time, Alex looked closely at her mother. She was a beautiful woman for her age. She was a beautiful woman for any age. The tiniest lines had started to crease the corners of her eyes. Worry lines no doubt. Alex had been there all those years when Marg and Dex Jackson had fought like cats and dogs. His constant boozing and womanizing had provided fertile fields for dissension. The marriage had been doomed from the beginning. It was an outright miracle the two had stayed together as long as they had.

“How'd your meeting go?”

Marg shot her a look. “You should come along and see for yourself.”

Alex heaved a sigh. “I don't have a physical intimacy problem.”

“That's right,” Marg agreed. “What you have is a fear of commitment.”

Oh, Jesus. Alex pushed out of her chair, gave herself the element of height. “I don't have a fear of anything,” she snapped. “I simply chose not to spend my life catering to someone else's needs.”

How the hell could her mother, of all people, say this?

“Alex.” Marg looked up at her, her voice far too calm. Alex wanted her to be as furious as she was. “I know that your father and I did this to you.” She held up a hand when Alex would have launched a verbal defense. “I'm very proud of you for being so independent and capable, but there comes a time when everybody needs somebody.” Her eyes searched her daughter's. “I just don't want you to wind up alone like me. I've been watching you all these years and I know what I see. Your fear is going to cost you far more than you know. That old saying better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all wasn't coined for nothing.”

Alex didn't respond, she just went back to her own office. She had wanted to retaliate with some witty remark, but the words had hit far too close to what she'd been feeling lately for comfort.

So she did the one surefire thing to take her mind off the subject. She grabbed herself a Diet Coke and
snack crackers and started plowing through the work she'd been putting off.

“I could file some of those final reports if you get around to them,” Shannon said from the door. “And those invoices need to be signed off on, too.”

Alex groaned. What had sounded like a good plan now felt like slave labor. God she hated reports. She stared at the pile of paperwork on her desk. Putting it off any longer would equate to negligence.

She took a swig of her drink and dived in. If she worked hard enough she wouldn't have to think about the idea that the weekend was coming and she had no date. Not even a prospect.

Going into week four was absolutely unacceptable.

No. What was really unacceptable was the idea that her mother could be right about too many things.

Alex had never been one to wait for things to come to her. Going after what she wanted was a standard she lived by. Since she didn't like cruising the club scene, she'd just have to dig out her little pink book.

Or maybe she'd call Cody and see what he was up to this weekend.

Certain her dating hiatus was coming to an end, she continued to plow through the mound of paperwork on her desk.

Pretending it would go away hadn't worked. Neither had praying for a thief with a paper fetish.

 

Alex gave herself a pat on the back as she surveyed her now amazingly neat office. She'd finished all the reports and signed off on every single invoice. She'd even taken the time to organize the clutter. A little anyway. It wouldn't get her any kind of beautification award, but at least one could walk through without stepping on something or tripping.

Deciding that she'd accomplished more than enough for one afternoon, she grabbed her bag and headed for the door, turning her light off as she went.

Shannon would be proud. No, she'd be shocked.

Alex did a double take in the front office. The Professor sat behind Shannon's desk. Before she could ask where Shannon had gotten to, the phone rang and the Professor answered with his own rendition of the company motto.

She assumed that if he was back so was Brown, but he was nowhere in sight. Alex had to admit she was a little disappointed that she'd missed whatever fashion statement he'd made this morning. Shannon had mentioned something about Britney Spears and rolled her eyes.

The Professor took a message and placed the receiver back into its cradle. “Shannon had an appointment and had to leave a few minutes early.”

It was past six. Alex doubted she'd left early as far as what her actual work schedule was. But she knew it was early for Shannon.

“Where's Brown?” Maybe he'd gone out on an assignment she didn't know about. Shannon probably hadn't wanted to disturb her once she'd started on the reports for fear Alex would use the excuse to move onto something else. But then that didn't feel right since Shannon never left the office without giving Alex a heads-up.

“He had an appointment.”

Now she was really suspicious. Not that Brown didn't have his share of appointments, but because of the way the Professor avoided eye contact when he told what was obviously a lie.

“Oh.” Alex started to leave it at that, but her curiosity wouldn't let her. “What about the cleanup with the possible meth lab?”

“Formaldehyde.”

“Formaldehyde?” Why would anyone dump formaldehyde? She tried to think what drug-making processes required that particular chemical.

“The previous tenant liked preserving his pets who passed away.”

An icky sensation crept over Alex. “Don't tell me he had Fido in a big glass jar.”

“A lizard, a boa, two guinea pigs and one cat.”