One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(74)

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A half hour later, we walk into a brightly lit brick building in the Seaport district, where Knox Investigations headquarters are located. Nate, Luca, and two other badass-looking dudes I recognize from Phoebe’s Christmas party all look up when we enter.

“Long time no see,” Luca jokes, coming forward to ruffle my hair. “You miss me already, babe?”

I punch him in the arm with my free hand. “Shockingly, this visit has nothing to do with you.”

“Did you bring the files?” Nate asks, approaching with a serious expression on his face.

I nod and glance around. “Is there a computer I can use?”

“Here.” A tall, gorgeous guy with dark hair, caramel skin, and stunning green eyes stands and offers me his desk. “Use this one.”

“Thanks…” I trail off questioningly.

“Theo,” he says, grinning in a way that probably makes panties all over the Boston area burst into flames.

“Zoe,” I return, dropping Parker’s hand as I move toward the empty chair.

My eyes lock on the towering blond man with bulging muscles and a crew cut leaning against a nearby desk.

“Owen,” he offers, narrowing his eyes at me. “Gotta admit, I pictured you taller.”

I glance at Nate. “I see my reputation proceeds me.”

His eyes crinkle in a smile that doesn’t touch his mouth. “Just show us what you found.”

I sigh and settle into the chair, plugging in the drive and pulling up the documents as fast as possible. Parker, Luca, Nate, Theo, and Owen all line up behind me. It’s only slightly intimidating to have five mammoth men hovering, their eyes watching my every keystroke.

“You’re hovering,” I murmur at them as my fingers fly over the keyboard.

None of them moves so much as a muscle. Damn macho men.

I do my best to ignore them as I pull up the files.

“Look. See here?” I point at the screen. “Almost every employee has a clean bill of health. Not just clean, actually — perfect. Not even a case of the sniffles, among ten thousand employees. The files are almost identical. As though someone just changed the names but copy and pasted the rest.”

Nate leans closer. “What do we know about the doctor?”

I shake my head. “As far as I can tell, Dr. Charles Birkin isn’t even a licensed physician. Not anymore.” I hit a few keys and pull up another document. “I found an old court case from ten years ago — he was disbarred from practicing medicine for fabricating lab results during a clinical trial.”

“Sounds like a real standup guy,” Parker mutters.

“I haven’t even told you about his arrest for writing himself dozens of unauthorized prescriptions for morphine and Vicodin.” I sigh. “Wouldn’t have been difficult for Lancaster to convince this guy to pose as his company doctor.”

“Lancaster needed someone with enough medical experience to convince his employees they were being cared for,” Nate mutters. “Someone who could play the part.”

“Someone who wouldn’t have any qualms about telling people they were healthy when, in fact, the opposite is true.” Luca’s voice is dark. “I paid a visit to a few former Lancaster Consolidated employees. Of the six houses I stopped at this afternoon, two of them have family members with lung cancer. Another was just diagnosed with an auto-immune disorder — she’s spending her holiday at the hospital, in the ICU.”

“So, what’s next?” I ask, spinning my chair to look up at Nate. “We find the doctor, lean on him a little, get him to confess?”

Nate’s mouth twitches. “This isn’t a Jason Bourne movie.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to put an end to this.” I rise to my feet and cross my arms over my chest. “What’s your grand plan?”

“I make a call.” Nate reaches into his pocket, pulls out his cellphone, and walks away without any further explanation.

I glance at Parker. “Is he always like that?”

“Since he was eight.” He grins. “Believe it or not, Phoebe’s had a calming effect on him. If anything, this is him being chill.”

“That’s somewhat terrifying.” I glance at Luca, Owen, and Theo. “Any idea who he’s calling?”

The three of them shake their heads in unison.

I sigh and turn back to the computer. My angst is short-lived — a few minutes after Nate makes his mysterious call, the front door to the offices swings wide and a man in an ill-fitting suit steps inside, his black hair disheveled and in desperate need of a cut, falling over piercing blue eyes that sweep the room, taking everything in. He’s got a coffee stain on his tie, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and a pissed off attitude to rival Nate’s. There’s something in the way he carries himself that screams law enforcement.

“This is Conor Gallagher,” Nate announces, gesturing to the man. “He’s with the Boston Bureau.”

Fuck. Nate called the Feds.

The same Feds who would like nothing more than to arrest “Clover,” the hacker who’s infiltrated their networks on more than one occasion during the past two years and who they – rightly – suspect is responsible for taking down at least four corrupt companies in the Boston area by emptying out the CEOs’ private accounts in the Cayman Islands.