The Cure (11 page)

“I have business here in San Diego,” said Erin. “We’ll have to make it Wednesday at one thirty.”

“What business could possibly be more important
…”

Drake stopped abruptly, and Erin could imagine him almost literally biting his tongue. He had spoken with a fanatic intensity she had never heard in his voice before.

“Okay,”
croaked Drake, as though making a studied effort to speak calmly, but forgetting his teeth were clenched. “Wednesday at one thirty it is.”

“It occurs to me … Drake,” said Erin, “that I don’t even know what you look like.”

“I’ll send photos to your phone before our meeting,” he said. “I look forward to seeing you at the bookstore. Lunch is on me.”

“You’re damn right it is,” said Erin. “And this had better be good.”

“It will be,” he assured her. “Trust me.”

She ended the connection. Trust was the
last
thing she intended to give the man who had been impersonating Hugh Raborn. He had betrayed her for two years, and she had no idea what was really going on. She intended to take paranoia to ridiculous levels.

And he must have known she now had far less trust in him than she would have for a total stranger, which was why he knew to suggest a meeting place that was crowded and out in the open. Even so, even given her expertise at hand-to-hand combat, she intended to be prepared for this meeting, and take nothing for granted.

Something stunk so bad in Yuma that she could smell it in San Diego. She would go into this meeting with Raborn … with Drake … with her eyes open. And her concealed carry loaded.

11

THE MORE ERIN
considered the situation with Drake, the more nervous she became. He seemed confident he could straighten it all out, but what if he was a psychopath himself? His actions seemed to fit the profile. Was he the one psychopath on earth who actually wanted to cure himself? Unlikely. There were doubtlessly many layers to this onion.

But if he was a psychopath caught in a lie, he would do just what he was doing. Roll with it. Come up with a web of even smoother lies to cover his tracks.

Whether he was a psychopath or not, she had to be prepared for him to tell her more lies, weaving a tapestry of deception that was utterly convincing somehow. So no matter what he told her when they met, she’d be a fool to trust him. It wasn’t enough to go to the meeting prepared for a physical trap—she needed to be prepared for a psychological one as well.

What she really needed was a way to check up on what he told her. She needed to stalk him after the meeting was over and they had parted ways. His words were sure to be convincing—but his actions? If he told her he lived in Yuma and she followed him and learned otherwise, then she would know for sure he was still lying to her. But if his actions matched his story, then she could start to believe. She needed to be paranoid, but she also didn’t want to be boxing at shadows if he did tell her the truth.

Courtney would be at work until dinner, so she had plenty of time on her hands. She Googled “GPS tracking devices” on her phone. Endless links appeared immediately. She scanned down the page. The Spy Gear Superstore caught her eye. Spying was exactly what she wanted to do after her meeting with Raborn—with Drake—was over in two days’ time. But was there really an entire store—no, an entire
superstore
—devoted to spying? Was there anything you
couldn’t
get through the Internet?

She touched the link on the screen and was taken to the superstore. Hundreds of “most popular products” came up on the screen.

Erin shook her head in disbelief as she slid her index finger down the screen, scrolling. Was this for real? Pens with cameras inside?
Neckties
with embedded cameras? Really?

Hidden cameras appeared to be the site’s biggest sellers. Cameras in sunglasses, alarm clocks, hats. You name it, someone had put a camera in it. Apparently, nanny-cam technology had come a long way.

Erin continued scrolling down. Invisible ink? Seemed a bit juvenile for this site. Lock-picking tools. Night-vision equipment. Her eyes narrowed. A flash drive preloaded with software that, when downloaded to another computer, would allow the owner of the “spy drive” to record and monitor all activity on the host computer from their own; everything from keystrokes to Skype sessions. She couldn’t imagine how anything like this could possibly be legal.

She next came to listening devices. She had seen cheap versions of these advertised on television, which the announcer claimed were useful for amplifying sound to help people better hear their televisions, or live performances from the backs of crowded theaters. But while these legitimate claims were being made by a voice-over, the commercials showed people using these devices to eavesdrop on private conversations, which had always made Erin’s stomach turn. The device shown on the Web site was orders of magnitude more sophisticated than the ones she had seen before. It was a six-panel snap-together parabolic dish for only—only!—nine hundred dollars, which could apparently pick up a conversation at almost four hundred yards.

She found the link to GPS devices and searched through them. There were a wide variety, but one in particular was perfect for her needs. It was about the size and weight of a dime, and could be attached to clothing. It used a tiny battery, and rather than doing any work itself, it synched up with the target’s cell phone, causing the cell phone to beam a signal to the person who had deployed the device, providing its location. Parents and employers could already get software that allowed them to track the cell phones of their kids or employees—which Erin thought was a scary trend. This device did the same thing, only with more stealth and less permission.

Erin pasted the name of this device into the search bar and looked for a bricks-and-mortar store that would sell it in the general vicinity, along with directions. A half hour later she arrived at the winning store, a place called Modern Electronic Surveillance, and pulled into the parking lot.

Just as she turned off the engine her cell phone vibrated. She checked the caller ID, but it only told her it was an unknown caller.

“Hello?” she said tentatively, wondering who might be calling.

“Erin Palmer?” said the caller, a man with a deep voice.

“Yes.”

“My name is Steve Fuller. I’m with a company called Advanced Science Applications.”

“How did you get my cell phone number?”

“Sorry to intrude on your privacy, Miss Palmer. I tried you at home, but your roommate mentioned you had left for a visit to San Diego. She thought I might be able to catch you on your cell.”

Erin turned the key slightly, just enough to get power to the car, and lowered the windows. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re a very well-funded private company involved in a lot of cutting-edge, next-generation science. Your research in psychopathy has recently come to our attention. We also understand you’re close to finishing your doctorate. We’d love the chance to persuade you to come work with us when you have.”

They must have seen the
Wall Street Journal
piece, thought Erin. But if so, they would immediately come to the same conclusion that everyone did after considering a psychopath early warning device. Well, everyone but her, that is. That it was a device society would never sanction.

But a cure—that might be more interesting to industry. Did they suspect her secret activities over the past two years? She shook her head. She was being silly now. The incident with Drake had her jumping at shadows.

“Thanks for the interest,” she said. “But industry really isn’t my thing. And there’s no way you’d have any interest in me if you really understood my work.”

“I understand how you might think that. But I believe I can convince you otherwise. You’d have unlimited funding. No need to write grants, no need to worry about campus politics. And your compensation would be higher than I’m guessing you could imagine.”

“Why would you possibly be willing to spend so much money on my research?”

“I’ll explain that to you as well. If you could just meet with me at our facilities for a few hours, I can answer all of your questions. And I’d be very surprised if I couldn’t persuade you to join us.”

“When did you have in mind?”

“Actually, since you’re in San Diego already, I was thinking we could take advantage of that. That’s why I was eager to call you before you returned to Tucson. Do you have any free time tomorrow?”

Erin frowned. She had decided to take a single day to relax at the beach with a friend—the first time in years—and suddenly everyone wanted to schedule critically important meetings for that exact day. “I’m afraid not,” she replied.

“What about Wednesday at noon? I’m prepared to be very flexible.”

Erin considered. She had no idea what this was, but for some reason her intuition was warning her she needed to find out. Something didn’t add up here. It was a strange coincidence that this mystery company was located in San Diego, but if she didn’t clear this up it would gnaw at her. She would wonder what they knew, who they were, and why they had interest in her. As if she didn’t already have enough gnawing at her as it was.

If she agreed, she’d have to extend her stay and text Drake that they’d have to move their meeting back a day. Two enigmas vying for the same time spot on Wednesday. What else could possibly be thrown at her today? She paused for several seconds and considered what to do.

Screw Drake,
she decided finally. He had deceived her royally for over two years, so it would serve him right to have to wait an extra day for the information he so desperately wanted. Provided he could even convince her there had been a purpose to his deception.

“Wednesday at noon will work,” she said.

“Fantastic!” said the caller. “If you can tell me where you’ll be on Wednesday morning, I’ll have a car pick you up and take you to the San Diego heliport. The one we fly out of.”

“Heliport?” said Erin. “You aren’t located in San Diego?”

“Very close—at least as the crow flies. We’re just outside of Palm Springs. An easy helicopter ride, but with all the twists and turns through the mountains, it’s a longer drive than it should be. And I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than I have to. But I’ll have a helicopter fueled up and ready to go, and we’ll get you here in no time. I promise to get you back before dinner.”

This was a new wrinkle, and once again she wasn’t sure she liked it. “Could you hold on a minute?” she asked.

“Sure,” said the man named Steve Fuller.

Erin quickly Googled “Advanced Science Applications” on her cell phone. The Web site was very slick, and there was even a recruiting page that made specific mention of the company’s fleet of five helicopters intended to shuttle their employees to Stanford, UCLA, Silicon Valley, and the numerous other high-tech centers in California an employee might want to visit.

“Sorry about that,” she said into the phone a few minutes later. “I’ll tell you what. If you send directions to the heliport to my phone, and the time you want me, I’ll get there myself. No need to send a car. And understand that I only packed casual clothes. I wasn’t expecting to be interviewed.”

“Sounds great. And casual is fine. We already know we want you. This is more of you interviewing
us
. And I appreciate your flexibility to meet with us on such short notice.”

Erin waited while Fuller sent directions, confirmed that she had received them, and then ended the call.

She threw her head back against the headrest and rolled her eyes. She was going from one fishy situation to another. Was it surreal, alternate reality day? She didn’t trust this situation as far as she could throw it.

If this Steve Fuller did know about her activities, she would be at his mercy. She had broken the law. She was in this up to her neck. Three men had died. To make matters even worse, one of the deaths had occurred immediately after she had administered one of the test treatments in the trailer, and she had deliberately covered it up with a fake story about being attacked, and by roughing up a man who was already dead. Yes, all three men were convicted killers, but she would still be sent to prison for years, maybe decades. And not as a researcher either.

It was unlikely that Fuller knew. But he
was
awfully eager to talk to her. And she was a nobody. There was no way he would be giving her the VIP recruiting treatment on the basis of a pie-in-the-sky remark about working toward a remote psychopathy detector quoted in the
Wall Street Journal
.

She continued to search the Internet for more intel on Advanced Science Applications but came up completely empty. Other than their Web site, she didn’t get a single hit. For a company with this high of a profile, this was astonishing. And highly troubling.

She next searched for Steve Fuller, who had to be pretty high up in the company to be able to send cars and schedule helicopters. He had a common name, but searching the name in combination with the company name, science in general, and business, didn’t get her anywhere either.

Things just kept on getting stranger. And Erin Palmer couldn’t help but feel more unsettled than she had in a long, long time.

12

ERIN FORCED HERSELF
to put both Drake and Steve Fuller out of her mind later that night and Tuesday while she was with her friend, although she wasn’t entirely successful. The good news was that she wasn’t entirely
unsuccessful
either, and managed to get reacquainted with the concept of actually having fun for long stretches at a time. She told Courtney that Hugh Raborn had been out of town, after all, and her friend was very supportive and genuinely disappointed for her.

If only her friend had known the truth. On the other hand, it wasn’t as though
Erin
knew the truth either, she realized.

Erin had traded texts with Drake and he had agreed to change their meeting to one thirty on Thursday, at the same meeting place, although the tone of his texts didn’t fully conceal the fury she knew he was feeling at a further delay. She could only imagine how pissed off he really was. She had also changed her flight to a day later as well as her rental car.