Page 85 of Savage Beauty

“Sloane would never agree to someone going after her sister. She loves her sister more than anything…anyone in the world.”

“You’re positive about that?”

“No question. And, Knox, she rides a bike to work. A rusted beach cruiser. Her apartment’s fine but nothing to write home about. No ocean view. For that matter, the view is of a parking lot. Money is not her motivator.”

“Why did she choose to stay?”

“Her job.”

“They offered it back to her?”

“If she could prove her story was accurate. Where all did you say posts are showing up about her?”

“Random blog posts. Industry, and when I say industry, I mean her industry, science-related groups. People she went to school with on Facebook. Some deeper commentary on LinkedIn, which is the only social media account she has.”

“Would it be enough, do you think, to prevent her from being rehired?”

A beep sounds alerting me to an incoming call. It’s Erik.

“I gotta go.” I click and answer, “Erik.”

“Did you look over everything?”

“Knox and I were just going over it.”

“What’re your thoughts on this?”

“Something’s off.” Sloane might be many things, but she’s not conniving. “What do you think?”

“I think if any of this is correct, I’ve got to fire several on my team. But we hire good people, so that makes me suspicious.”

“You know some of those photos are AI, right?”

“I didn’t study them.” There’s clicking. “’K. Someone’s checking them out. You’d think Interpol would do that, right?” He’s gruff. Annoyed. Aren’t we all? “Out of all of this, the bank accounts are the most damning piece of evidence. The rest is innuendo.”

“Can they fake bank accounts?”

“Let me get back to you.” The call ends.

CHAPTER28

Sloane

The pit in my stomach aches. Something is wrong with me. Unbidden tears well up, and I have to inhale deeply to hold them at bay.

In North Carolina, it’s later in the day. Sage won’t be with her students. My finger hovers over her name. But what would I tell her? She’d ask questions, seeking to help me diagnose the issue. She’d ask me when the pain started.

And I’d tell her the symptoms intensified when the door clicked closed. When Max left.

“Sloane, sometimes you have to be willing to bend. Flexibility is a good thing, honey.”

Mom said that to me. She repeated herself often.

The urge to vomit rises. I need fresh air. I just need to get to the lab and put all this behind me and re-focus. I need my routine. When I follow a routine, life is easier. I don’t get so worked up when I know exactly what to expect.

I grab the old laptop with the draft letter that Max asked me to hold onto and my messenger bag, and I head out the door to the bike rack. One bike has a basket on the front, and I place the laptop in it. It looks lonely in the basket, but I need nothing else. If I bring my phone, I might call Sage, and I don’t want to answer her questions. I need to get to work.

By the time I reach the Origins office, the wind has dried the tears I couldn’t contain. The fresh air eradicated the nausea, but the crater-sized hole in my stomach weighs me down, and my chest aches with the pain of someone cracking open my breastplate. I could ask Sage exactly what that feels like, but it’s a metaphorical comparison. And if I hear my sister’s voice, the tears will return.

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