Left To Die

He turned at her, scowling. “How’s that your business?”

Adele threw her hands up in surrender. “Sorry. You don’t seem that interested in talking.”

He sighed, heavily, and with much show of grave sacrifice, he reached for the TV remote and clicked the button. He turned, swiveling his large chair so he was facing her.

“What do you want to talk about?” he said.

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” Adele could feel herself easing back toward the front door. It had been a mistake coming here. She’d shown up, she’d said hi. That was all that could be expected. Her dad was the same as he’d ever been. She was amazed her mother had ever lasted to begin with.

“Do you want me to ask if you’ve been seeing someone? Is this one of those female things? You’re not in poor health, are you?”

Adele just shook her head. “You know what, I can’t really stay long. I just wanted to stop by and say hi. Anything you need? I can swing by the store and drop it off later.”

Her dad waved away the offer and turned slowly back toward his TV, reaching for the remote. “Your German has gotten worse,” he added as an afterthought.

Adele hesitated in the door to the kitchen, glancing at her father’s profile. He was one of the few people who seemed happy in their discontent. And there was nothing she could do to change him. Stronger people than her had tried and failed.

“I’ll see you later, Dad,” she said.

The Sergeant nodded a couple of times. “See you, Sharp.”

For some reason, Adele thought of Robert coming to pick her up at the airport. She thought of him tearing up at the thought of her moving into her room in his mansion. She thought of the way he smiled whenever he greeted her, of staying up late at night, talking by the fire.

But people couldn’t choose their fathers. They couldn’t choose their families.

Adele began striding back toward the front door, wishing she hadn’t come to begin with.

“Sharp, make sure to clean your bowl. I’m tired of cleaning up other people’s messes! Also don’t splash the soup against the sink, the aluminum can rust.”

Adele bit her lip, but backtracked to the sink, turned on the water, and rinsed out the bowl she hadn’t asked for. She washed it with soap and water, listening to the hum and chatter from the TV room, and then turned to leave again.

A weight of sadness burdened her shoulders as she approached the front door. For some reason, unbidden, she thought perhaps she should go for a run in the morning. She didn’t want to miss a day. She hadn’t in years. Running always made her feel better.

As she contemplated the route she would jog, wondering if she could find a good trail nearby, she paused. A frown flitted across her features.

“Hang on,” she said, softly. “What was that you said?”

But her dad ignored her, and she thought she heard him turn the TV up.

Tired of cleaning up other people’s messes. Adele turned back toward the front door, heart hammering. The drug from Lion Pharmaceutical had been slated to be destroyed. But it was a highly controlled substance. There was no way they’d simply thrown it in the trash.

The samples that Peter Lehman had stolen were only part of the supplies destroyed.

So who had cleaned up the mess?

They would’ve had to hire a specialist. Adele’s footsteps quickened as she hurried toward the door, and she put on her shoes.

“Don’t run in the house! You’ll leave scuff marks!”

She ignored her father and raced out the door, making sure to slam it as hard as possible as she jogged down the patio steps.

Her phone was already in her hand as she broke into a brisk walk, hurrying back toward the bus stop.

“John, meet me at Lion Pharmaceutical. I’m serious. I don’t care who you’re having drinks with. No, now. Please.”

Adele closed her phone and jammed it back into her pocket.

Someone had to have cleaned up after the disposal of Project 132z. She needed to find out who was responsible for disposing of the samples. That, she was certain, had to be the key to everything. Whoever had disposed of the samples might have also known enough to steal some of them… And use them in America and France.

Adele quickened her pace until she was nearly jogging now, racing back toward the bus stop and away from her father’s house.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

For the second time in the day, Adele burst through the door of Director Mueller’s office without invitation. Again, he was on the phone.

Mueller scowled at Adele and threw his hands to the heavens. “What?” he demanded.

Agents Renee and Marshall followed closely behind as Adele came to a halt in front of the standing desk and peered across the smooth, varnished surface, meeting Director Mueller’s glower. “Who disposes of your chemicals?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, who handles the disposal of your chemicals? You can’t just throw them in the trash, right?”

Director Mueller frowned. “If you must know,” he said, testily, “we often incinerate, but sometimes we have contracts with agencies,”