Twisted Genius Page 2

  I conjured up the earlier TV image of Nick and Guy on the stairs wearing suits and nothing warmer. It had been unseasonably mild for January, hence Nick’s abandoning of his usual cashmere overcoat. He’d regret that now that the sun was going down.

  “Put your coats and ties in your briefcases,” I ordered, because Nick liked stylish clothes that stood out, and he’d gone soft these last years. He would never think to disguise himself. “See if you can find a place to grab sweatshirts and caps. Better yet, buy windbreakers. You’ll freeze.”

  “Will do,” he said curtly. “We’ll take the first train that arrives and wait for you to call back.”

  I didn’t want to believe anyone would intentionally harm my cosmopolitan half-brother. Why would they? He was a harmless embassy wonk. The whistle-blower had failed to stop the defeat of the health care bill. He was irrelevant now. It had to be a gas leak.

  Graham would know. He had contacts in the offices of every bureaucrat and civil servant in DC, maybe the world. The don’t ask, don’t tell policy worked well when it came to where Graham got his information, but I needed his help now.

  I’m short and don’t fit well into jeans, so I don’t own any. I dragged on my usual denim dress and draped a heavy fisherman’s sweater I’d been given for Christmas over it. With my long black braid in some control, I tugged on leggings and boots and ran back upstairs.

  Graham was back in his office with multiple monitors flashing scenes from every security camera in the vicinity of the explosion. “Suspected car bomb,” he said before I even asked. The man had eyes in the back of his head. “It took out a gas pipe. The garage is wasted.”

  “Nick’s okay,” I gasped. “He and Guy need a safe place.”

  Without questioning, Graham grabbed a piece of paper off his desk and handed it over his shoulder.

  That he had a safe house ready said more than I wanted to hear. He suspected Nick was a target of foul play as well.

  Chapter 2

  Using both his burner and mine, I texted Nick the instructions to the safe house, including the key code. Part of my don’t ask, don’t tell policy concerned Graham’s ability to summon hideaways at an instant’s notice. If we were to further our relationship, I’d have to start asking, and I didn’t think I wanted to hear the answers.

  Since I’d removed the GPS from my burner phone, I had to look up the safe house address on my computer before I headed out. Then I found the Metro that would take me there. The place appeared to be a small tower of condo flats in a nondescript area northeast of Dupont Circle, where we lived. I doubted that it came equipped with everything needed, so I threw some essentials from Nick’s old bedroom and some of my own supplies into a knapsack.

  I donned my new black leather jacket filled with necessities the police wouldn’t like to know about and set out. Black leather fits in anywhere better than my old army coat, and it smelled delicious. I wasn’t used to owning high-end luxury items unless I bought them used. I wasn’t certain I approved of conspicuous consumption, but I loved this coat. Nick had given it to me at Christmas, understanding me only too well—one of the many, many reasons I couldn’t lose my brother. No one else understood my dangerous insecurities the way Nick did, including Graham.

  Out on the street, the general populace seemed unstirred by the news of a bombing of a parking garage. Media sensationalism has desensitized us to tragedy. We needed Rambo riding a Humvee shooting weapons of mass destruction before we woke up to the violence around us.

  That philosophy didn’t keep me from shivering as I got off the Metro and hurried toward the street where I hoped Nick would be safely ensconced. I’d almost lost my brother. I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

  Therapists had tried to explain my need to internalize and control as a result of my childhood. Explaining didn’t prevent me from making it my goal to see that all my half-siblings were safe and well cared for at all times—an impossibility even I recognized. So maybe I had a Sisyphus complex.

  As an example—with the help of my half-siblings, especially Nick—I’d spent these last six months fighting to win back our grandfather’s inheritance against impossible odds. I’d moved mountains to provide a safe haven for my family.

  As a result, we now had a multi-million-dollar mansion and a fortune in the bank. Only none of us had really accepted that we weren’t still one step away from starvation and homelessness.

  Nick had come closest to reaching normality. He had a posh job at the embassy, his own sweet little house, and apparently, a boyfriend. Or maybe I misunderstood Graham’s look and Nick’s accompaniment of the whistle blower. That remained to be seen. I wanted Nick to be happy, but I’d never met this Guy, and nearly getting Nick blown up was not a promising start to any relationship.

  I approached the safe house indirectly, verifying no one followed me. I hoped it was an exercise in excess caution, but life had taught me that there was no such thing. I studied the empty apartment house lobby as I entered—no guard on duty but security cameras in every corner and two easily accessible exits.

  I buzzed the suite Nick had been given and it buzzed back. I’d feel relief, but I needed to see his face first.

  Not until the solid-looking suite door cracked open and I saw Nick’s eye above the chain did I allow myself to relax a fraction. “Are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?” I asked. If he punched me out, I’d still be happy just knowing he was alive and in one piece.

  He unchained the door and looked more relieved than peeved. We weren’t a family that hugged, but he squeezed my shoulders. “Squirt, meet Guy.”

  Huh, so he wasn’t denying the boyfriend.

  Withers looked a little worse for wear. Dark stubble accented high cheekbones. Brownish-black hair fell across his brow and into his deep-set black eyes. Nick had most excellent taste in companions. But Guy was attempting to staunch blood from a cut on his cheek, and his trousers looked as if they’d been rolled in mud and cut with scissors. He was still wearing what appeared to be a brand new nylon windbreaker with a Redskins logo on the back, but the white dress shirt beneath was filthy.

  Despite his obvious disarray, Guy made a cordial bow. “The sister, I assume? And not really called Squirt? Pleased to meet you.”

  “I’m Ana. Sit down so I can reach that cheek.” I dropped my knapsack on an ultra-modern chrome and leather chair and rummaged for the first-aid kit I’d thrown in. “Any other injuries? Do I need to call a doc?”

  “Just flying debris and throwing-ourselves-into-the-gutter injuries,” Nick said with an air of exhaustion, dropping into a gray leather lounge chair. “Nothing a good hot shower and clean clothes won’t fix.”

  I pointed at the knapsack. “Not stylish, but the best I could dig out of your closet in a hurry.”

  He nodded but didn’t get up. Instead, he watched me administering to Guy’s wound.

  “Does anyone care to explain why you believe it was Guy’s car that exploded? I’m sure there were others in there.” I dabbed the wound with antiseptic and rummaged for a bandage, pretty much the extent of my first-aid knowledge.

  “I have received threats,” Guy admitted. “They seemed foolish. I just have a single exposé that I have already given to the committee. There are copies in the cloud and my lawyer’s office and countless other places. Blowing me up will not make it disappear. And since the committee has rejected it, it is essentially worthless.”

  I looked at Nick, who shook his head in disagreement. “Once the media digs into the information he and his partner have collected, it will blow the pharmaceutical and insurance industries into particles of atomic dust.”

  I was contemplating the meaning of “partner.” Nick wasn’t his boyfriend?

  But I let the comment pass by and snorted at his naiveté. “If the writer of the report isn’t available to verify the facts, the drug lords will sue the pants off any third-party attempting to make it public. You didn’t really think Rose’s cabal of greedmeisters would allow that informa
tion to see the light of day?”

  Guy lifted an inquiring eyebrow as I packed up the first-aid kit. “Drug lords? Cabal of greedmeisters?”

  “Ana has a theory that Senator Rose is bought and owned by a cadre of wealthy industrialists who mean to control the presidency and Congress. So far, she’s only been able to make a few powerful men furious and bring down some corrupt CEOs. Rose remains lily-white,” Nick explained.

  “I know nothing of Senator Rose,” Guy said apologetically. “My paper applies to the price collusion among various pharmaceutical companies and a profit-sharing agreement with the insurance industries that allows both of them to pocket the difference between cost and price. There is also a chemical analysis of various popular drugs to show they do not justify their cost.”

  Which made little sense to me. I looked to Nick, our resident math genius. “I thought insurance companies fought to reduce the prices they have to reimburse to patients.”

  Nick shrugged. “It’s complicated. Companies with a patented drug can charge anything the market will bear, no matter their actual cost to produce. But once the patent expires, generic companies collude with some insurance companies to keep the same high price by giving kickbacks. And because consumers are used to paying the cost of the patented drug, they do not understand that they’re paying the same price for a cheaper drug.”

  “And as Nick says, companies with patents can raise their prices sky-high if people must have the drugs,” Guy explained, sprawling on the black-cushioned couch. “Nadia is a chemist who works for Scion Pharmaceuticals. She produced the cost lists for a hundred different popular drugs. The profit-making in this country is unconscionable.”

  I recognized Scion Pharmaceuticals even if I didn’t understand profits and losses and collusion. Harvey Scion was Rose’s chief campaign strategist and one of the major contributors to the dangerous Top Hat cabal. He’d been there on the steps with Rose when the bomb went off. That’s all I needed to set my worry cap loose. Top Hat had killed my grandfather and at least half a dozen others I knew of. They were ruthless.

  And Guy and this Nadia had dared to try to expose Scion’s evilness?

  A shiver ran down my spine as I regarded the two men slumped on the furniture—two men who had nearly died.

  “You have facts and figures supporting the accusation of collusion? And this Nadia can confirm them even if you’re out of the picture?” I asked. My worry gene escalated.

  At Guy’s nod, I added with urgency, “And where is this Nadia now?”

  “Picking her kids up at daycare, I imagine. She’s a single mother who prefers to work in the background. I am the one who is trying to put our evidence in front of people who must do something about this travesty of injustice.” Guy’s dark eyes flashed with the fires of a flaming radical.

  I glanced at Nick and noticed his admiration. My brother was a sucker for flaming radicals. My bad, I suppose.

  “Have either of you thought to call Nadia and tell her to move her ass and her kids into hiding?” I suggested.

  “I tell you, she is not—”

  Nick was already pressing numbers on his burner phone. Nick understood danger as this pretty numbers wonk did not. Guy frowned, shrugged, and waited for Nick to talk to Nadia. And waited. Nadia was not answering her phone.

  “She will not answer if she is driving,” Guy explained. “She does not have the blue tooth in her car.”

  “What’s her full name?” I was punching a text to Graham as I spoke.

  “Nadia Kaminsky,” Guy said with a puzzled frown. “She is divorced and has not lived here long. I doubt she is in your directory.”

  With the directional devices removed, the burner phones’ search engines were a little less intuitive. Graham was faster. As soon as he received my text, he shot back a link to a news site. By this time, Nick had given up on calling Nadia and watched my face.

  I tried not to be expressive, but my stomach sank to my boots as I opened the link. I handed my phone over to Guy, and he turned pale.

  “This is not possible,” he whispered. “It must be coincidence. She had the children with her!” he said, as if children were a magical protective shield.

  He pulled out his own phone, but Nick leaned over and took it away. “That could lead them directly to us. Keep it turned off.”

  Nick took my phone to read the story. “Hit and run. It could be coincidence. The drivers in DC are reckless idiots. This happens a dozen times a week. The driver could be drunk, an illegal, driving on an expired license. . . She’s probably fine.”

  Not if it was on a news site.

  Graham texted a hospital phone number. I had a really bad feeling about this. Normally, I would have handed it to Guy to call, but I was cluing in on his emotional state. Hysteria would be detrimental to his safety.

  I dialed and asked for Nadia Kaminsky. They put me on hold. Ten ages later, with Nick and Guy watching me as if I were hawk prey, I got an impatient female voice asking if I was a relation.

  I put her on speaker phone and did what I usually did in these situations. I lied. “I’m her sister. Please, you must tell me how she is, and the children? Please? Shall we come for them?” I unintentionally imitated Guy’s slight accent. It was a protective device left over from my childhood living in multiple unfriendly countries. Cursing in foreign languages was also useful.

  The nurse spoke more soothingly. “The children have been sedated. You may visit them, if you wish. Our visiting hours are until ten tonight.”

  “And Nadia?” I demanded, raising my voice hysterically. “How is my sister? Is she with them?”

  “She’s in ICU and can’t have visitors. Why don’t you come in and talk to her doctor? We cannot give out more information on the phone.” She made a few more reassuring noises and hung up.

  Dead silence. She had said what needed to be said without saying it. Nadia wasn’t going to make it.

  I’d say Guy and Nick looked horrified, but petrified might be a better word.

  Chapter 3

  “Nadia has no relations in this country,” Guy said in a shocked whisper. His big eyes were almost round with grief. “I must go to the hospital.”

  “No,” Nick said with more force than I had. “If the accident wasn’t coincidence, then Ana is right—Nadia was targeted as well as you. Going there will just get you killed.”

  “I am the children’s guardian if anything happens to Nadia,” Guy said in an urgent voice. “I promised her. She was thinking her abusive ex might come here and kill her, but not this. I do not want to believe it is my fault. . .”

  “It is not your fault if she chose to reveal mass fraud and corruption. She took her chances, just as you did. We don’t know for certain that she won’t recover,” I said. “Now it’s time for others to step up. I will go to the hospital and talk with the doctors for you. Unless she’s conscious and talking, they have no way of knowing if Nadia has a sister or what her sister’s name is. The children might be a problem if they’re awake. Do you have a nickname that might reassure them if I use it?”

  “They are so very small,” Guy said somberly, rummaging in his pocket for his wallet. “Nadia is such a good mother. . . I cannot believe. . .” He took the old-fashioned handkerchief Nick handed him to blow his nose and hide his tears.

  I wanted to cry with him, if only for the sake of those two children. I hadn’t known Nadia, but I knew kids, and their fate was breaking my jaded heart.

  Guy finally pulled out a photo of two dark-haired toddlers hanging off his arms. “Vincent will be six in a few days. He is in school part of the day, but Anika is just four. She calls me Kiwi for reasons only known to her.”

  “May I take this with me?” I studied the photo of two adorable brown-eyed children and swallowed a lump. “I need something familiar with which they can relate. They’ll be terrified.”

  “You know children well?” Guy asked with good reason.

  “Ana essentially raised all of us,” Nick explained so I didn
’t have to. “She may look and act like a Hell’s Angel, but she’s still a child inside.”

  I glared at him for the insult. I’d been hardened by the fiery furnace of reality. I was no marshmallow—okay, except maybe when it came to kids. “I know enough not to terrify them any more than they are, hence the photo. We’ll need to verify that Nadia’s house is a safe place to take them if they’re well enough to be dismissed. Get started on that.”

  Everyone was carefully avoiding the subject of whether it would be safe for Nadia to go home with them. ICU meant she wouldn’t be going anywhere soon, if ever.

  I really, really wanted my fear to be paranoia. I wanted to be proved wrong that Nadia’s accident had been more than that, but life had taught me otherwise. Coincidences didn’t happen, not when a billion dollar industry was about to be hit with corruption charges and lawsuits. As far as I was concerned, Rose and his supporters were homegrown terrorists who thought people were as expendable as cockroaches.

  As I rode the Metro to the hospital, I started making phone calls. Once away from Nick and friend, it was safe to use my own phone, thank goodness. I didn’t like keeping my contacts in a throw-away phone.

  Remembering Nick’s snark about my thuggish look—he bought me the black leather, for pity’s sake!—I stopped at the hospital gift shop before making inquiries at the information desk. I didn’t think a short female in denim and leggings looked like a gang member, but I’m not a style maven. The clerk in the gift store didn’t look the least surprised at my choice of a cuddly stuffed shark and monkey, so there, I could too look motherly.

  “We have biker dolls too,” the gray-haired clerk suggested, gesturing at a selection of big-eyed dolls sporting motorcycle helmets and riding Harleys.

  I refrained from beating her over the head with the shark. I shrugged off the jacket in the hall outside the shop, but I felt naked without all my weapons easily at hand.