Vaccine Nation (6 page)

“What’s happened to you, John? Has someone threatened you?”

“David said he had something big, but they were onto him.”

“What was it?” Dani asked.

McCloskey was looking off into space, his mind someplace else.

“John?” Dani had her hands balled into fists, realizing she was squeezing the flash drive so hard it was pressing into her flesh.

McCloskey stood. “I think you should leave now. I can’t help you, Dani.”

Dani’s heart sank. Now she couldn’t bear to look McCloskey in the eye. This, the man who stood by his truth and disclosed everything, risked everything, was shrinking like a coward. Dani felt like her soul was weeping.

Then McCloskey said, his voice gentle, as she remembered him in the past, “I’m sorry, Dani, but I have my own problems. If you must know, I’ve been looking over my shoulder ever since I went public on Myriad. Remember that WikiLeaks fellow, Julian Assange? They didn’t get to him first, so afterward they discredited him by trumping up some nonsense about sexual assault. They’ll get you no matter how they have to do it. I’m waiting for a news report that I’m a financial fraud or I fondle little boys. I wish I’d never heard of Myriad.”

Dani felt betrayed. She fought back tears and wished she could recapture her anger at McCloskey, but she felt powerless.
Now what?

She left McCloskey’s building and headed west across 82
^nd
Street, no destination in mind. McCloskey of all people. He’d just curled himself into a fetal position, pulled the covers over his head and given up. Whoever was behind Maguire’s murder was
winning. She saw an image of the killer’s face, laughing, mocking her. It made her shiver, then made her angry. She clenched her fists, her jaw.
Damn you, whoever you are!
They may have squeezed the life out of McCloskey, but she swore they’d never do it to her.
Damn you!

A
FTER
S
TARK GOT OFF THE
phone with the client, he went back to tending to his eyes. Once he’d gotten a look at himself in the mirror, he’d wanted to find the little bitch. His eyes were red and swollen; nowhere near as bad as after his three days of “questioning” by the Lebanese, but they still looked like raw meat. He’d be wearing sunglasses even if he didn’t need them for a partial disguise. He’d need to change his look anyhow, since people had seen him in the office where he took out Maguire, and of course, the girl had seen his curly blonde hair. He’d shave his head.

Stark took his time, flushing his eyes with the saline he’d bought at the pharmacy down the block. It gave him a chance to think. What an asshole the client was. Obviously some fatcat boob who was used to telling people what to do. One of those guys who enjoyed seeing people shit their pants when he barked out orders. Nothing good ever came out of talking directly to the client, but in this case Xavier said the client would get another contractor if Stark didn’t speak to him. And something good actually had come out of it. It sounded like the guy was putting his own team on the girl. Any information they dug up would find its way to Stark. That meant less time chasing all over New York, pulling in his own sources to help track her down.

The sooner he got this over with, the better. If word got out that he’d let her slip away, it would hurt. Since Stark had gone
freelance 12 years ago, Xavier was his most important source for projects. The last thing he needed was Xavier losing confidence in him.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been such a prick to the client. He’d ease off the next time they talked. Toning it down was a skill he learned working for the Brits. They were such pompous fools it was hard to keep his mouth shut when he first started working for MI5 in counterterrorism. But after a few times mouthing off back at them, no worse grousing than he’d given his CIA handler in Lebanon, they made it clear they’d fire him if he didn’t button it up. Any “specialist” with his job description who’d been let go by an agency as important as MI5 wouldn’t have a way to earn much as a freelancer. So he’d learned to talk nice.

Stark finished flushing his eyes, then, the next priority, cleaned, oiled and checked his Ruger. No damage to it, but the silencer was bent. He got on the phone and arranged with Dante to locate another silencer. He put down the phone and sat back in the thing that passed for a sofa. Nobody could call the hotel room opulent, but it was clean, not too worn around the edges and serviceable. He could afford better, but why bother? This was his life. Modest hotels you could walk into with a bloody nose or shrapnel wounds on your face without attracting too much attention. It was better than most places he’d been, particularly when he was stationed overseas. A lot better. Being back home in the States made him think. He saw people living well. People who had normal jobs, normal lives. Things he didn’t let himself think about too much or he’d lose his edge. But no question about it, life was easier here, and he liked it. Even so, he’d never go back to Richmond again. And at 38, even though most would say he was getting old for the business, he had no intention of getting out. Solo jobs were still the way to go; less punishing than mercenary
work, so you could extend your career. That two-year mercenary stint he did before going solo was ridiculous. He hadn’t slept in a pup tent since Boy Scouts, not even in the Army. And the pay had sucked compared to freelancing.

Enough.
He opened his notebook computer, logged onto the Internet and started chasing down where the girl might be. Even the quick glimpse he’d gotten of her apartment told him she had a kid. She wouldn’t be dumb enough to go back there, or let her kid go back there, but figuring out where they might go, maybe family in the area, was a start. He wiped his eyes. They wouldn’t stop watering. Man, they still burned like hell.

Dani continued heading west across 82
^nd
Street. By the time she reached Madison Avenue she realized where she was going: 638 Park Avenue. She took in the familiar granite arch of the façade around the doorway, the green canopy extending onto the sidewalk. It was uncharacteristic for Angel not to be standing aside the revolving door at this time in the afternoon. Particularly on a breezy spring day like this. She knew he loved the action on Park Avenue: taxis cruising and honking; the neighborhood silver-hairs walking their bichons and poodles; and the passersby, who’d come to regard him as a cheerful Park Avenue institution, bantering with him. She pushed the brass and walnut revolving doors and emerged in the lobby to see Angel behind the concierge desk. His face exploded into a smile.

“Miss Dani,” he said.

It felt to Dani as if his warmth filled her lungs. “Hello, Angel. How are you?”

“Just great, Miss Dani. Great to see you. You been away a while.”

“Yes, maybe a little too long.”

After five minutes of talking about Angel’s wife and their children, Dani boarded the elevator. It made her feel guilty that this place felt so much like home. Upstairs, she fished her keys out of her pocket, unlocked the door and eased it open, hesitant. After six weeks she wondered if she’d see the presence of another woman, then wondered how she would react if she did. She closed the door behind her hard enough that anyone in the apartment could hear. At least anyone on the first floor of the duplex. “Hello?” she called. No response. She stepped into the foyer, instinctively started to put her keys down on the breakfront, then pulled them back and put them into her pocket. She noted the flowers in the vase; Casablanca lilies. James knew Dani loved them. They were probably a means of keeping the light on for her. Now she smiled to herself. They lasted for weeks; James, a romantic but always practical.

Emotions came to her in a flood.
Five years.
It was the longest she’d been with any man. Five years of laughing, arguing, touching, crying, making love, growing up…She began to cry. She sat on the rug, put her face in her hands and let herself sob, her shoulders heaving, her cries resounding in the apartment. After ten minutes she sat up, wiped her face.
Oh, James.
Was she crying over him? Or over this horrible day? She stood, inhaled and started toward the stairs.

She walked upstairs to the master bedroom suite and took a hot shower—it felt like the first of her life. Her bathrobe was still hanging behind the bathroom door. She walked into the closet to find neatly ordered rows of her blouses, shirts, skirts and jeans.
It made her heart ache. The life she had, could still have, but was gone. And now she felt a wave of guilt.

She turned from the closet, walked to the bed, picked up the phone from the end table and punched the keys.

“Charlotte, it’s Dani. Is he there?”

“Dani.” James’ assistant’s voice went down to a whisper. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“He’s in a meeting, on another floor in a conference room. I’ll see if I can reach him.”

“No, please don’t. Just tell him I called, and ask him to call me when he’s free.”

“We’ve been trying all day. We saw your picture on television. How awful for—”

“I’ve had my BlackBerry turned off.” She felt a surge of discomfort. “Please tell James he can reach me at his apartment.”

James never called back; he was home within an hour. Dani heard his key in the lock. She was dressed by then and hurried to the stairs, not wanting to have him encounter her in the bedroom. She only made it to the top of the stairs and stood there, poised, one arm on the railing as he gazed up at her. She imagined him seeing her as if in a Hollywood movie from the 1940s. It wasn’t how she wanted it. But descending slowly, dragging it out would be cruel, so she waited for him there.

Dani could see the emotion in James’ face, the hope in his eyes, his breathing showing in the rise and fall of his chest. Then, seeing him standing at the bottom of the stairs, her own emotions overcame her. She felt a soaring sensation in her chest and realized she was holding her breath. She had expected to begin by explaining to him all over again, the words she’d said to him six weeks ago and had re-rehearsed in her mind ever since. But
now it was all she could do to stand in place and wait for him to run up and take her in his arms. She buried her face in his neck, held him back as hard as she could. After a few deep breaths, she got her mind right again. “Just hold me, please,” she said.

Dani awoke in James’ guest bedroom, happy they hadn’t made love.
Too complicated.
She heard him chopping in the kitchen downstairs, preparing a meal.
Just like the old days.
She rolled over and glanced at the clock: 4:00 p.m. She rolled back, stared at the ceiling and let out a sigh. Was she disappointed in herself?
No.
She still wasn’t coming back to him. So was it unfair to come here, ask for his help? Then scenes from her day, this horrible day, flooded into her mind.
Give yourself a break.

James had his back to her when she entered the kitchen. An open bottle of burgundy stood on the island, two glasses poured. He turned. “After the day you’ve had I figured you could use something to eat before we talk.”

Dani climbed onto a stool and took a glass of wine in her hand. She realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Food would be good. Talk, too.”

He turned back to the stove. “Sounds like you could use some legal advice.” He put two steaks in a pan.

Five years earlier she’d met James at an art opening at the Museum of Natural History, a high-ticket event she’d been comped for because her cousin had sponsored it for Patron Tequila. She went with Berny Schwartz, her 65-year-old friend she worked with at the Polo Ralph Lauren store at Riverside Square in Hackensack. They ran into James McFarlane, who turned out to be one of Berny’s better customers. Somehow, even though she and Berny had worked together at Polo for three years, she’d never met James. The three of them left the opening within an hour and had a lovely dinner at Le Boite en Bois on the
Upper West Side. Dani was impressed. James ordered the wine, knew about food and helped her with her choices, and looked like a Polo model, with grammar, diction and an obvious education to match. He was a partner at Jones Day, one of the biggest corporate law firms in the country, specializing in mergers and acquisitions. Dani could remember laughing at herself about that: none of it really mattered to her except that he wore Purple Label and he was funny, had gentle hands and kind eyes. She didn’t give a damn about wine and it was only Mom who would have cared about his grammar and diction.

James told her that after they started dating he couldn’t believe his good fortune. Some mid-20s waif, as thin as a ballet dancer with swimsuit-model breasts staring out at him from a silk dress, had been right under his nose for three years and now he’d finally discovered her. It took him a few weeks after that to tell her that he was recently separated from his wife, had moved out of their home in Saddle River and back to an apartment in the city.

Dani had been anticipating a lecture from Mom for dating a man 14 years older than her, but all Mom said after meeting James for the first time was, “Aside from your father, that’s the best looking man I’ve ever seen.”

Dani was still living in Hackensack at the time, in the midst of her fight with DYFS over Gabe. James served as back-up advisor to Dani’s local lawyer. Even his skills and experience hadn’t been enough to win that fight. But he was instrumental in helping her sort out how to walk through the minefield of Child Protective Services in New York and even had contacts at the Mercer school that were helpful in getting Gabe accepted. It was hard for Dani to handle being that grateful to anyone. And that gratitude made it all the more difficult when she’d told James six
weeks ago, after he’d proposed marriage, that she wasn’t sure she was ready to make that commitment. Two days later she’d told him she thought it would be best if they broke up.

Now she looked at him across the island in his kitchen, over the remnants of their dinner, wondering why she was running away from him. It wasn’t because of Gabe. He and James had clicked immediately and Gabe even got along with James’ two boys. And the money wasn’t an issue; he could afford any private school for Gabe. Maybe it was because he had everything in their life planned out in his logical mind as carefully as he prepared a brief for a client, and she was afraid she’d be swallowed alive.

“So, your next move is?” James said.

Dani was relieved. He’d said, “Your,” not “our.” Either he was accepting it, or he realized this was the wrong time to push her about coming back to him. “I’ve been stewing over that since I left McCloskey’s apartment.”

“I haven’t seen the news since I left the office, but I’m sure you’re still all over it.”

“Not the kind of fifteen minutes of fame I was hoping for.”

“It’ll all die down if you just go to the police.”

The pock-marked man’s face flashed in her mind again. “I’m afraid.”

“I can call them, tell them I’m your lawyer and ask for protective custody. Better yet, I can say something to the press first, put it under a microscope to make it harder for anyone to come after you.”