not ready. I told you. I’m still working out some issues, but I should have it soon.”
Their words echoed through the large area.
Virus? Bidding? She didn’t recognize the first voice, but the second one belonged to Alan Roberts—a virologist like her.
“How soon is soon?” the first voice asked.
“Soon! Okay? I’ll call when I’m ready.” A pause. “I’m serious. I think I’ve got it, I just need to run a couple of more tests and then it’ll be ready.”
“How much longer?”
“Twelve hours, okay?” Alan threw the notebook onto his workstation area and it landed on top of the manila file folders that always seemed to overflow his desk. “I have to make sure it’s right. The first test said it was.”
“Then why more tests?”
“To make sure. If you sell a defective product, your investors might take exception. Just let me do my job, then you can do yours.”
“Twelve hours. That’s it. I’ll let the buyer know we’re a go.”
“Fine,” Alan said. “You have my account number. Make sure the money lands there like it’s supposed to.”
“Of course.”
Robin eased closer, careful not to do anything stupid like knock something over or misstep. She could see the two men huddled in the corner. She and Alan shared a love of the classics, and he usually had a jovial personality in spite of his daughter’s medical bills. Leukemia had taken its toll on the family.
A deep scowl creased his lean face. “I’ll figure it out. Get out of here before someone sees you.”
“Right.”
Robin held her breath as the second man turned on his heel and strode to the door that would lead him out of the back of the lab. How had he even gotten in? He’d need a key card to get out. The sick feeling that had been growing as she listened now blossomed into full-fledged nausea.
They were selling a virus? But what kind? And how would they get access to it? Or had they built it?
Alan slammed a fist on the desk and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Unsure whether to leave or confront him, she hesitated. A shot sounded, and Alan jerked, then dropped to the floor. Robin clapped a hand over her mouth.
Blood from the bullet wound in the middle of his back stained his white lab coat. Robin swallowed a sob, terror pounding through her. Alan rolled with a grunt. Another pop stilled him. The killer ran out the door. She heard two more gunshots as she turned to run. But she had to check on Alan. She hurried to his side and knelt next to him. His eyes were open with his pupils fixed.
Robin scrambled to her feet, her lungs desperate for air, adrenaline racing. The door opened and Alan’s killer stood there, hand grasping the collar of the man Alan had been speaking with. He dragged him back into the lab, then released his hold. In slow motion, she watched the victim thud to the floor.
Time sped up again when the killer swept a hand over Alan’s desk, raking up the files he’d been working through. Vaguely, her mind registered that the shooter had been in the lab the whole time. He’d heard the same conversation she had. And he’d had a gun. Why?
Frozen, she ordered herself to move and couldn’t. The man turned and jerked when he saw her standing there. Hard eyes never left hers. Breath caught in her constricted throat. “You killed them,” she whispered. “Why? How could you?”
“Call it an unexpected moneymaking opportunity that I’d be crazy to pass up.” He lifted his phone. “I’ve hit a small snag in the plan. Warn me if anyone approaches while I take care of this.”
“Snag in what plan?” Why wasn’t she running? Run!
“Sorry, Robin.” He lifted his weapon.
Robin screamed and lunged sideways. The bullet shattered the beaker on the table behind her. Stumbling, refusing to fall, she got her feet under her and raced through the lab, dodging chairs and tables, her goal the back hallway that held the break room, conference room and restrooms. She’d never make it to the exit.
Another shot whizzed too close to her cheek as the footsteps behind her pounded faster. No! She would not die like this. She burst into the men’s bathroom, slammed the door and locked it. If he saw her dart down the hallway, he’d assume she’d go into the women’s bathroom. Locking herself in the men’s might buy her an extra lifesaving minute or two.
She shoved her hand into her lab coat pocket and froze. Her phone. Where was it?
A picture of it sitting on her workstation flashed through her mind. With no way to call for help, her panic bloomed, exploding through her.
Think. Think.
Panting, lungs straining for air, she went to the window.
A loud boom shuddered through the building and sent her to her knees. The door exploded inward and slammed into her like a missile, knocking her to the floor face-first. Her forehead connected with the solid tile floor. Pain arched through her and blackness coated her.
Toby Potter watched the flames shoot toward the sky as he raced toward the building. “Robin!”
Sirens screamed closer. Toby had been on his way home when he’d spotted Robin’s car in the parking lot of the lab. Ever since Robin had discovered his deception—orders to get close to her and figure out what was going on in the lab—she’d kept him at arm’s length, her narrow-eyed stare hot enough to singe his eyebrows if he dare try to get too close.
Tonight, he’d planned to apologize profusely—again—and ask if there was anything he could do to earn her trust back. Only to pull into the parking lot, be greeted by the loud boom and watch flames shoot out of the window near the front door.
Heart pounding, Toby scanned the front door and rushed forward only to be forced back by the intense heat. Smoke billowed toward the dark night sky while the fire grew hotter and bigger. Mini-explosions followed. Chemicals.
“Robin!”
Toby jumped into his truck and drove around to the back only to find it not much better although it did seem to be more smoke than flames. The thick cloud decreased his visual field, but he had to try. Robin was in that building, and he was afraid he’d failed to protect her. Big time.
The lab backed up to a wooded area left by the designers of the campus to make it feel less city and more rural. He’d always appreciated the beauty of the place, and now he had visions of it burning, the trees and animals caught in the path of the flames. And Robin.
Toby parked near the tree line in case more explosions were coming. The lot on this side was smaller, just one row along the length of the building.
At the back door, he grasped the handle and pulled. Locked. Of course. Using both fists, he pounded on the glass and metal door. “Robin!”
He fumbled for the key card FBI special agent Ben Little had provided when Toby had agreed to take the case, allowing him access to the building when it would be empty. Better for snooping and spying.
Another explosion from inside rocked Toby back, but he was able to keep his feet under him. He figured the blast was on the other end of the building—where he knew Robin’s station was. If she was anywhere near that station, there was no way she was still alive. “No, please no,” he whispered. No one was around to hear him, but maybe God was listening.
He raced down the side of the building, trying each door only to find them locked. He wasn’t getting inside. And no one was coming out. Where were the fire trucks? He knew his concept of time was skewed. What was merely seconds seemed like hours.
Heart in his throat, he finally backed away, his mind flashing through times spent with Robin. Eating at the university cafeteria, walks around the small pond near the library, laughter