Page 62 of Rogue Protector
“It is for big pharma,” I explain. “The researcher I’m working with at Johns Hopkins? He thinks the drug he’s developing would have been worth a hundred times that if anyone else had realized a use for the phytotoxin first. Remember that guy who tried to boost the price of some crucial medication a few years ago? I don’t remember what it was for, but he was all over the news and went to jail eventually. His company bought the patent for the drug and the pill went from like five dollars each all the way to seven hundred bucks a dose overnight.”
Wren beams at me. “Don’t lose her, Austin. I mean it. She’s smart.”
He readjusts his arm, sliding it around my waist instead. “Not planning on it. Ever.”
Oh God.I don’t know if I can handle all this talk about forever when I’m staring at the faces of the men who tried to murder me, but Austin’s warm and solid andrealand maybe this is exactly what I need right now.
“So they’re small potatoes,” Austin says. “What does that have to do with anything?”
All the pieces fall into place. “They know what the phytotoxin’s used for.”
“Gold star.” Wren claps her hands a couple of times, then zooms in on the pictures of the Nozanita board. Arturo’s real last name is Garcia, and Martín’s is Alvarez. Also, Martín is dead. So there’s one bad guy you don’t have to worry about anymore.”
She says the words to matter-of-factly they take a moment to register. “Dead?”
“Yep. His body showed up in a morgue in Tuxtla Gutiérrez this morning. At leastsomecountries take photos. If he’d died in Peru…I doubt we’d know.”
“How did he die?” Austin leans closer to the tablet and lowers his voice. “I stabbed him in the chest before…”
“Austin, I was there. Remember?” I elbow him gently in the ribs. “Not saying they’re fond memories, but you whispering isn’t going to take them away.”
He lets out a heavy, resigned breath and nods. “I know, sweetheart. I just…”
“Want to protect me. I know.”
Somehow, in the last few minutes, I no longer care that Wren can see us—or hear us. Or that she’s clearly a little impatient to tell us the rest of what she’s found.
When she clears her throat, though, we tear our gazes away from one another and stare back at the tablet.
“You didn’t kill him, Austin. His neck was broken. The stab wound to his chest would have been fatal though, because the coroner’s report shows he had…” Wren furrows her brow, “a tension pneumothorax. I looked it up, and basically, air gets trapped in the chest cavity, compresses the lungs, and can eventually end up stopping the heart. Super painful. Ultimately, someone put an end to him. Quickly.”
I’m not sure what answer Austin was hoping for. Thathekilled Martín or that he didn’t, but I can feel the tension radiating off of him.
“What about Arturo Garcia?” he asks. “Any evidence of his whereabouts?”
“No. The smaller airports around Chiapas don’t have surveillance cameras I can tap into, and facial recognition is only getting me so far. Iamrunning scans on all of the main entry points to the United States within two hours of Edgewater, but if he came in like you did, on a private plane, there might not be any record of the flight.”
“Fuck. So we have no idea if Mik is still in danger. None.” Pushing to his feet, Austin starts to pace, and Wren huffs.
“First of all, Mr. GrumpyGus, I’m not done. Second, Ripper got some info on that crate that showed up at Mik’s lab, so you sit your butt down and listen.” Despite her words, she winks at me and mouths,“Men,” before Austin takes a seat again.
“I’m running full bios on every single member of Nozanita’s board. Friends, family, recent travel…all of it. Plus, searching for any patents they’ve filed recently. If they’re after that phytotoxin stuff, I’ll know about it. Soon. But my computer power’s limited right now because Ry has half of my home office torn up and there’s not enough electrical in the main room. Ripper’s at Hidden Agenda setting up a server farm so we can work faster, and he’s been on this with me since this morning.”
“And third?” Austin asks. “There’s a third, isn’t there?”
Wren’s expression softens. “There’s always a third. Mik, how well do you know a guy named Walter Ulreet?”
The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it, and tell her so.
“He works at Johns Hopkins. With Dr. Brian Branch.”
“Oh!” How could I have forgotten about him? Probably because Brian always called him Wally and I never made the connection. “He’s a research assistant, I think. Right?”
“Yep. But here’s the thing that worries me.” She leans closer to her screen, her expression grim. “Over the past seven months, he’s flown down to Lima, Peru four times. The last time was two days ago.”
“Goddammit.” Austin runs a hand over his jaw, then turns to me. “Mik, if this Nozanita is trying to beat anyone else to market with this Parkinson’s drug, they’ll be able to set the price and make a fuckton of money. Enough money to be willing to kill for.”
Austin
