Fair Warning (Jack McEvoy #3)(53)

“Hello,” she replied.

Starting the meeting with a discussion about my source had eclipsed the fact that we had spent the night together—and would again this night if intentions didn’t change. I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She accepted the kiss and gave no indication of any tremor in the Force.

“So, were you up here again or did you have to trek over the mountain?” I asked.

“I was here, just closing the deal from yesterday. I timed it to meet you.”

“Congratulations! Or not?”

“I know I was whining yesterday. I was getting drunk. And it wasn’t the only thing I said that was wrong.”

There was a tremor.

“Really?” I said. “Like what else?”

Rachel was saved from answering immediately by the approach of Elle, the faux-French bartender.

“Bonsoir,” she said. “Would you like a drink?”

“Ketel One martini straight up,” she said. “S’il vous pla?t.”

“Bien s?r. Coming up.”

Elle moved down the bar to make the cocktail.

“That accent is terrible,” Rachel said.

“You said that yesterday,” I said. “Going with the hair of the dog, huh?”

“Why not? I signed a new client today. I can celebrate.”

“So, what else did you say wrong yesterday?”

“Oh, nothing. Never mind.”

“No, I want to know.”

“I didn’t mean to say that. Don’t read anything into it.”

The night before, this woman had whispered four words to me in the dark of the bedroom that rocked my world. I still love you. And I had returned them without hesitation. Now I had to wonder if she was trying to walk them back.

Elle approached and put Rachel’s drink down on a napkin. The martini glass was filled to the brim and she had placed it too far from Rachel on the bar top for her to lean in and sip the level down before trying to lift it. Anything but a rock-steady hand would spill it when it was moved. I knew then that Elle had heard what Rachel had said about her accent and this was bartender payback. Elle retreated, throwing a wink at me that Rachel didn’t see. A man took a stool in the middle of the bar and Elle approached him with her bad accent.

My cell’s screen lit as a call came in. I saw it was Emily Atwater.

“I’d better take this,” I said.

“Sure,” Rachel said. “Your girlfriend?”

“My colleague.”

“Take it.”

In one steady motion Rachel lifted her glass, brought it across the bar top to her lips, and sipped. I never saw a drop spill.

“I’m going outside so I can hear.”

“I’ll be here.”

I grabbed the phone off the bar and connected.

“Emily, hold on.”

I took a notebook out of my backpack, then walked through the bar and out the front door, where the music wouldn’t intrude on the call.

“Okay,” I said. “You get something?”

“Maybe,” she said.

“Tell me.”

“So, first, you remember that what the FTC has is all over two years old. From before the FDA takeover?”

“Right.”

“So, prior to the switch to the FDA, there is a record of Orange Nano selling DNA code and biological samples to five other labs. Three look like one-time transactions and the other two were repeat customers, so I think we can assume that business continues.”

“Okay. Who were the two repeat customers?”

“First, I think we should keep clear lines. Orange Nano conducted these transactions, not Orton in particular. Yes, it’s his lab, but he has employees and they made these transactions. His name is not on a single document I looked at.”

“Okay. So did you see anything suspicious?”

“Suspicious? Not really. More like curious. The two repeat customers are nearby—Los Angeles and Ventura. The others were a little farther-flung.”

“Which one are you curious about?”

“The L.A. lab.”

I heard papers rustling.

“There were three things that popped for me on this one,” Emily said. “First of all, I google-mapped it and it’s not a commercial address. It’s a residence. In Glendale, actually. I think this guy has a lab in his garage or something.”

“Okay, that’s a little weird,” I said. “What else?”

“The business is registered with the FTC as Dodger DNA Services and I think the owner is a DNA tech with the LAPD’s forensics lab. I googled him and his name came up in an L.A. Times story from last year about a murder trial where he testified about matching DNA taken from a gun to the defendant.”

“So what’s his side business?”

“The mission statement with the FTC says …”

More paper rustling. I waited.

“Here it is,” Emily said. “‘Testing applications of DNA in criminal forensics.’ That’s it.”

“Okay, that’s not that suspicious,” I said. “It’s his lifework. He’s probably trying to invent an instrument or something that will make his job easier and make him a million dollars.”

“Maybe. Until you get to my third point of curiosity.”