Parallel Lies. Kate Donovan
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gave Theo a scowl. “That guy never answers his phone. What the hell are we paying him for?” Without waiting for a response, he asked Sabrina, “Where did Shelby meet this Miller guy?”
“At my house.”
“Huh?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s a nice story, actually. Like she said in her message, he’s a sweet guy. And he’s probably harmless. But I had to know for sure. So I came here.”
Theo gave her an encouraging smile. “We’re glad you did. Aren’t we, Zack?”
“Yeah. Thrilled. Let’s hear the sweet story.”
Sabrina settled into a gray-velvet wing chair. “A few weeks ago, my cat disappeared. He does that a lot, so I didn’t take it too seriously. But after a week passed with no sign of him, I started posting notices around the neighborhood. The next day, Johnny came to my door with Zorro. That’s the cat’s name. Anyway, he had a cast on his leg. Zorro, not Johnny,” she clarified sheepishly. “Johnny explained that he had found him a week earlier, lying by the side of the road, hurt. So he took him to the vet.”
“Miller lives in your neighborhood?”
“No. He was just visiting his sister in Sacramento. He’s from Seattle. Apparently he was out jogging when he found Zorro. Anyway, I was grateful to him. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Zack drawled. “Go on.”
Sabrina wasn’t sure what he was implying, but she was sure she didn’t like it. Turning away from him, she addressed her uncle. “I invited him in. He stayed for dinner and we had a lot of fun. He seemed like such a nice guy.”
“He probably is,” Theo told her. “Your father raised you to be a good judge of character.”
She smiled in genuine relief. “Thanks, Uncle Theo. I hope you’re right. Even now, looking back, I can’t imagine a nicer guy than Johnny. We had so much in common. We talked and talked, long into the night. I was coming down with the flu as it turned out. Otherwise—” She flushed but admitted, “Who knows what might have happened? But as it turns out, I was too sick to be even remotely attractive. So we just talked. About a million different things. Then the next day, when Shelby heard how sick I was, she came over to take care of me. Johnny came back to check on me, and they hit it off. Like an inferno.”
Sabrina stared down at her hands, suddenly embarrassed. “Just listening to myself, I can imagine how I sound. Jealous, right? But I’m not. I guess I’m just overprotective. The truth is, she found someone. Someone terrific. And he wants to spend some time alone with her. Sounds like a victimless crime, right?”
“I have a question for you,” Zack said.
She looked up, surprised. “Sure. Ask me anything.”
“What specifically did you and Miller talk about?”
“Hmm?”
“You said you talked long into the night. About what?”
“Well, about everything. All kinds of things.”
“Everything under the sun?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“What?”
He reached over and took the recorder from her hand, then worked the controls until he had rewound the tape a bit. Then he played back the part that said, “…doesn’t just go to sleep when he’s done, you know? We stay up for hours after, talking about everything under the sun….”
Sabrina licked her lips, confused.
“Give me a topic. Something you two talked about. Current events? Your favorite movies? Capital punishment? Smoking in bars?”
She struggled with her memory. Or rather, the lack of it. And despite all the training she had received from her father, she began to slowly, quietly, panic. “I don’t remember. Uncle Theo? What does it mean? I don’t remember!”
“Settle down,” Zack murmured. “It might not mean anything. Just take a deep breath.”
For the first time, and only in the slightest of ways, he reminded her of her father, and she responded by breathing deeply, in and out, until her nerves had steadied. Then she forced herself to look straight into his green eyes. “What does it mean?”
Zack cleared his throat. “Did your father ever talk to you about DT3?”
The panic bubbled back up her spinal cord and into her brain. Not because she had heard of DT3—she hadn’t. But it sounded so ominous. “It doesn’t ring a bell. What is it?”
“A drug. An experimental one that was being developed here at Perimeter—Damn it.” He turned toward the phone, which had begun to ring. “Give me a minute.”
Punching the speaker button, he demanded, “Who is it?”
“Zack? Hey, man. It’s me. Connor. Did you want something?”
“Where the hell were you? Don’t you work for a living?”
“Lighten up,” Connor advised with a laugh. “I’m here now. What’s up?”
Zack glanced toward Sabrina, then murmured, “I need some information about one of Sully’s daughters.”
“Which one? The warrior? Or the con artist?”
Zack winced. “The younger one. Shelby. I heard she’s got a new boyfriend.”
“She gets a new boyfriend every week,” Connor told him, laughing again. “She’s got a big heart, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m on the speaker phone. The other daughter’s here with me.”
“Shit.” Connor cleared his throat audibly. “Sorry, Miss Sullivan.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “I just need to know where my sister is.”
“Huh?”
Zack took over, suggesting tersely, “Tell us about the new boyfriend.”
“I haven’t read the report yet. It’s not due until Friday,” Connor explained. “I’ve had my most reliable guy checking her place a couple of times a week. He mentioned the new boyfriend. Said he looked pretty solid. Hold on. Let me grab the file and see if we’ve got a photo. It’s here somewhere and—oh, shit.”
Zack leaned toward the machine. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re not gonna believe this, Zack. It’s John Derringer! I’m looking right at him. A picture of him, I mean. Shit, shit, shit. I can’t believe it. What does he want with Sully’s kid?”
“Shut up,” Zack instructed. “Just fax me what you have and stop causing a panic.”
“I’ll go over to her house right away.”
“It’s too late for that now. Just fax me what you have and stand by for further instructions.”
“I’m sorry, Zack—”
“Just answer the goddamned phone when I call back.”
“Right. Jeez, what could Derringer want with—”
The rest of the sentence was cut off and Sabrina knew Zack had terminated the call. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Theo, and both men seemed stunned.
She wanted to ask who John Derringer was, but it didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered were those three little words. It’s too late…
“Oh, God,” she whispered, her heart and soul flashing back to the moment, five long years ago, when she’d heard about her father’s death at the hands of Adonis Zenner. “This can’t be happening. Not again.”
“Don’t worry,” Zack told her. “We’ll get her back.”
“You