Emery Livingston turned back to the lab table and pretended to arrange the glassware he’d washed earlier.
The main point of the exercise was to keep himself from throwing glassware across the lab, such as it was. He’d been promised a state-of-the-art facility. This place was a joke.
Still, although it wasn’t an ideal work environment by any means, it was better than the kitchen of his apartment in DC.
The facility was in a converted stable, provided by a guy Emery had met in a bar in Georgetown. He’d been drinking there, trying to decompress after a long day working for FedEx. Driving a truck and running to people’s houses with packages was hard work, but it had only been a temporary gig while he’d been saving up to get more supplies for the drug he was developing. Too bad he’d started blabbing about his plans to someone he’d barely known.
His new acquaintance had listened with interest, then begun making suggestions. He was a smooth talker. He’d persuaded Emery that he could give him a place to live and work while he finished the development phase. No more driving a truck during the day. The downside was splitting the profits, but Emery figured there would be plenty of dough to go around once he had sufficient product.
It was a mild hallucinogen which also increased sexual desire—a nice combination as far as Emery was concerned. If he could just get it to a reliable stability, it would be worth millions. There was nothing like it on the street, and he was sure the young and hip would appreciate the high—although he hadn’t quite figured out how to insure the results. Too bad the problems didn’t keep the men here from pilfering some of the product for their recreational use.
Mr. Big kept pushing for him to say he was ready for prime time. And he kept explaining that he needed better quality assurance.
But the pressure to distribute was only part of the problem. The hired help out here was so off the wall that he never knew what was going to happen.
Like yesterday afternoon when he’d come back with a bunch of supplies he’d needed—Ephedra sinica leaves from Asia and Mongolia, which he could get legally from Chinese herbal medicine shops. It was his processing and additions that made the difference.
While he’d been gone, some guy had wandered into the compound and . . .
Emery wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. The men had all been high when he’d gotten back, and he was praying the incident wasn’t as bad as it sounded.
He clenched his teeth and went back to work, taking the leaves out of the blender, then transferring them to a glass flask with water. He was in a hurry to finish now—and get the hell back to civilization.
“More of your magic potion?” a voice said in back of him, making him jump. It was the guy named Lane, who had poked his head into the lab unannounced.
He nodded, pretending to be deep in concentration as he kept his eyes on the flask. He hated having these lowlifes wander in and out of his lab. And he’d been nervous about leaving them on their own while he went into the city. But he hadn’t been confident that any of them could return with the needed ingredient—even with the name written down.
The boss was at least literate. But the rest of them seemed like a half-assed crew of local recruits. He shuddered, finally unable to stop himself from focusing on what they’d done while he was away.
He’d come back to find them all jabbering about a little experiment with the interloper. They’d had the bright idea of testing the vaporized version of the drug on the man. Or was the fellow Kyle had brought in a man?
Emery shuddered.
According to the eyewitnesses, when they opened the door to the shed, the guy turned into a wolf and hightailed it into the woods.
Someone had shot at him, but he’d kept running. So maybe Emery wasn’t involved in a murder.
He was tempted to say he’d forgotten another major ingredient and needed to go on a second buying trip—from which he would never return.
On the other hand, if he bailed, he’d be out some of his own money, plus the time he’d spent up here in the damn isolated location working on the drug. And he was sure the product was going to make a boatload of money—if he just had a little more time for development to stabilize his secret ingredient.
###
Maggie took in the disgusted expression on Knox’s face.
“I went off again, didn’t I?” he asked, sounding like he was accusing himself of murder.
“It’s okay.”
When he turned his head away, she took the opportunity to hook her bra and pull down her sweatshirt.
“Sorry,” he said in a gritty voice. “Did I just make up some crap about sex magic?”
“It’s all right.”
“I told you I was dangerous.”
She put a hand on his arm. “Dangerous would have been trying to hurt me.”