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Authors: Beyond Control
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Dr. Lucas's untimely demise could simply be a coincidence. The phone ringing ten seconds after he'd put it down could be a coincidence, too. But Jordan was willing to bet his next royalty check that neither of those assumptions was true. Someone had decided that Lucas's information on Todd Hamilton's death wasn't going any further.
And whoever had taken out the doctor was having the dead man's incoming calls traced so they could find if he'd talked to anyone.
Paranoid conclusions? He didn't think so.
Jordan slapped his palm against the steering wheel. Probably the smart thing to do was drop the investigation right now. Yet he sensed he was on to something big. Todd Hamilton had been killed by a drug used in an Army weapons-testing program called Granite Wall that was supposed to have terminated years ago. And it looked like the doctor responsible for the Hamilton pathology report had been murdered to protect the secret that someone was still working with the poison.
Jordan wanted to know why. And how. And who. And he was damn well going to finish what Leonard Hamilton had started.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JUST BEFORE THE phone rang, Lindsay felt a tingling anticipation.
"Hello?"
"This is Jordan Walker. We met at Sam Conroy's party."
"I remember." There was no way to forget, not after she'd conjured up an erotic dream about the man.
Now her heart had started thumping inside her chest at the sound of his voice.
"How are you?"
"You didn't call to ask the state of my health," she answered, trying to make her voice brisk.
He sighed and continued with slow deliberation. "I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm trying to observe the niceties, if you'll let me."
She'd hardened her features. Now they softened. "Okay."
"I have some business to discuss."
She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. "What?"
He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "I'd rather not say over the phone."
"If you're digging into my boss's background for a stinging expose, you're not going to get any help from me," she answered instantly.
"It's not about Bridgewater."
"Then who?"
Ignoring the question, he said, "Will you meet me for dinner after work?"
She should refuse. She hardly knew Jordan Walker. She told herself she didn't want to know him, even when she realized that was a lie. But the tone of his voice told her he had something important on his mind.
"Lindsay, don't turn me down."
Now he sounded like a man asking for a date. Whether or not the business discussion was a ploy to see her again, she found herself saying, "Yes."
When she heard him expel the breath he'd apparently been holding, she felt a little thrill of elation.
"I made a reservation at I Ricchi."
"That was brash of you."
"Yeah, well, I figured I could always eat a solitary bowl of pasta puttanesca if you said no."
"You may still end up doing that," she answered, realizing that she was enjoying the sparring, then added, "Don't pick me up."
"How did you know I was going to offer?"
"You're observing the niceties," she answered quickly, telling herself that was how she'd anticipated the offer.
"Okay. You know where it is?"
"Yes."
"Six o'clock."
"If I'm not there by six-fifteen ..."
"I'll figure you got stuck in traffic," he said.
Before they could continue the conversation, the light on her second line blinked. Welcoming the interruption, she said, "Got to go."
* * *
KURT MacArthur studied the notation on his computer screen, then dialed Jim Swift's cell phone, hoping they'd gotten lucky this time.
"I see there was a call to the doctor's office—from Washington."
"Yes," Swift answered. "From a public phone booth, as I noted."
"Where?"
"A drugstore on upper Wisconsin Avenue."
"Can the staff at the drugstore tell you who made the call?"
"Negative. All they can say is they think it was a man. That eliminates slightly less than half of the D.C.
population."
"I want to know who it was and why."
"As soon as I have anything, I'll get back to
And whoever had taken out the doctor was having the dead man's incoming calls traced so they could find if he'd talked to anyone.
Paranoid conclusions? He didn't think so.
Jordan slapped his palm against the steering wheel. Probably the smart thing to do was drop the investigation right now. Yet he sensed he was on to something big. Todd Hamilton had been killed by a drug used in an Army weapons-testing program called Granite Wall that was supposed to have terminated years ago. And it looked like the doctor responsible for the Hamilton pathology report had been murdered to protect the secret that someone was still working with the poison.
Jordan wanted to know why. And how. And who. And he was damn well going to finish what Leonard Hamilton had started.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JUST BEFORE THE phone rang, Lindsay felt a tingling anticipation.
"Hello?"
"This is Jordan Walker. We met at Sam Conroy's party."
"I remember." There was no way to forget, not after she'd conjured up an erotic dream about the man.
Now her heart had started thumping inside her chest at the sound of his voice.
"How are you?"
"You didn't call to ask the state of my health," she answered, trying to make her voice brisk.
He sighed and continued with slow deliberation. "I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm trying to observe the niceties, if you'll let me."
She'd hardened her features. Now they softened. "Okay."
"I have some business to discuss."
She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. "What?"
He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "I'd rather not say over the phone."
"If you're digging into my boss's background for a stinging expose, you're not going to get any help from me," she answered instantly.
"It's not about Bridgewater."
"Then who?"
Ignoring the question, he said, "Will you meet me for dinner after work?"
She should refuse. She hardly knew Jordan Walker. She told herself she didn't want to know him, even when she realized that was a lie. But the tone of his voice told her he had something important on his mind.
"Lindsay, don't turn me down."
Now he sounded like a man asking for a date. Whether or not the business discussion was a ploy to see her again, she found herself saying, "Yes."
When she heard him expel the breath he'd apparently been holding, she felt a little thrill of elation.
"I made a reservation at I Ricchi."
"That was brash of you."
"Yeah, well, I figured I could always eat a solitary bowl of pasta puttanesca if you said no."
"You may still end up doing that," she answered, realizing that she was enjoying the sparring, then added, "Don't pick me up."
"How did you know I was going to offer?"
"You're observing the niceties," she answered quickly, telling herself that was how she'd anticipated the offer.
"Okay. You know where it is?"
"Yes."
"Six o'clock."
"If I'm not there by six-fifteen ..."
"I'll figure you got stuck in traffic," he said.
Before they could continue the conversation, the light on her second line blinked. Welcoming the interruption, she said, "Got to go."
* * *
KURT MacArthur studied the notation on his computer screen, then dialed Jim Swift's cell phone, hoping they'd gotten lucky this time.
"I see there was a call to the doctor's office—from Washington."
"Yes," Swift answered. "From a public phone booth, as I noted."
"Where?"
"A drugstore on upper Wisconsin Avenue."
"Can the staff at the drugstore tell you who made the call?"
"Negative. All they can say is they think it was a man. That eliminates slightly less than half of the D.C.
population."
"I want to know who it was and why."
"As soon as I have anything, I'll get back to
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