“Untie me, Steve,” I beg. “You’ve got the wrong girl. I don’t know who the hell would want you to bring me here. I don’t have anything to do with this… this… whatever this is.”
He freezes. “You’re Zoe Bloom, right? He said you’d be near the front, surrounded by those big guys. Blonde. Petite. You fit the description perfectly.”
My forehead wrinkles. I lean back against the wall, feeling dizzy again. “This doesn’t make sense,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, but you did.” The man’s voice slithers in from the doorway like a snake, dripping venom.
I go still as my eyes move to take him in… and gasp when I realize exactly who brought me here.
Doctor Charles Birkin.
20
The Junkie
He’s more disheveled than his picture in the Lancaster Consolidated staff directory — gone is his tie, his crisp white physician’s coat. His hair looks dirty and overgrown. His clothes are stained and ill-fitting, as though he’s lost weight too rapidly to replace them.
It’s clear even before he enters the room that he’s on drugs. Junkies have a particular look — flushed, fidgety, covered in a faint sheen of sweat. Their eyes are always a little too wide, their moments a little too jagged.
“Zoe Bloom!” Birkin claps his hands as he steps toward me. “Let’s have a round of applause, shall we?” He looks at Steve. “Why aren’t you clapping?”
Steve’s hands curl into fists and he swallows. “I did what you said. Brought her here. Tell me where my family is.”
“Oh, Steve.” Birkin shakes his head and walks toward him, hands in his pockets. “Of course. You did a great job.”
Steve flinches as the doctor comes closer. “Just tell me.”
“Sure, sure.” Birkin stops less than a foot from the man, who’s practically shaking he’s so overwhelmed. “They’re…”
The doctor’s voice lowers; Steve leans in slightly to catch his words, his neck extending like a turtle poking out of its shell. Before he can move, Birkin whips his hand out of his right pocket and jabs a needle straight into Steve’s jugular.
I swallow a scream as I watch his eyes roll back in his head and his legs give out beneath him. Birkin laughs crazily as the big man crumples like a paper doll in the rain.
“Thanks for your help, Steve.” He shakes his head and turns back to me, grinning widely. “What a great guy.”
My heart is pounding; my eyes are locked on the empty hypodermic needle in Birkin’s hand. “Is… is he…” I swallow. “Is he dead?”
Birkin laughs again. “Of course not! What, do you think I’m some kind of monster?”
I don’t answer. Because obviously I think he’s a fucking monster, but I’m really not keen on having a needle shoved in my carotid anytime soon.
He takes a jerky step toward me. “Just a sedative; he should wake up in a few hours. I don’t kill innocent people.”
That’s good news.
“Then, please, let me go,” I whisper.
“But, Zoe…” He makes a tsk noise. “You aren’t innocent.” I watch his hands pull back on the end of the needle a bit, so the tube fills with air. “Do you know what happens to the human body when you push an air bubble into a vein?”
Shit, fuck, damn.
My heart pounds harder.
“The medical term for it is an air embolism. Fancy name for a bubble, in my opinion. Then again, given that such a little bubble can do such amazing things… like travel to your heart or your brain, block the blood flow until you slowly lose consciousness and die… I suppose it deserves some elaborate terminology. Don’t you agree?”
He takes a step closer, rolling the needle between his fingers.
“Please,” I whisper, trying not to panic. “Please, you’ve got the wrong person. I didn’t do anything to you.”
“Well, now, that’s just patently untrue, Zoe.” He frowns at me. “I got a very interesting phone call from Robert Lancaster’s Head of Security a few days ago! Mr. Linus – I believe you’ve met him. Not the friendliest man I’ve ever encountered, I’ll say that much.” His eyes narrow. “Want to take a guess where he was calling me from? I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t his beach house in Palm Springs.”
I drag in a shaky breath.
“Seems some people at the FBI had some questions for him. Questions about me. And the health of our employees.” He leans closer and I try not to show how much fear his proximity inspires. It takes all my self control not to squeeze my eyes shut.
“You can imagine, he wasn’t very happy.” Birkin’s pupils are constricted to pinpricks; a surefire sign he’s high out of his mind. “He told me all about you, and your little investigation. And then he told me it was my fault for keeping those medical records saved to the company network. He told me to fix it.”
I swallow, still watching the needle in his hand.
“So, Zoe, here I am.” He comes closer; I can feel his rancid breath on my face when he speaks again. “You and I are going to have a little chat about what you gave the FBI. And then you’re going to do what you do best.”