Page 73 of Operation: Sharp Angel

Standish’s lips tipped into a grin that told her she’d overplayed it. She had just said something that told him she didn’t know it all, certainly didn’t know enough. “Get out,” he said.

“If I leave, your one chance to stop me from going public and ruining you and Well-Life walks out the door with me,” she bluffed. “Oh, and right now, the proof is with a friend that will release it if anything happens to me.”

She returned James Standish’s determined stare.

“This isn’t who you are, Becca. You’re not going to try to ruin Well-Life. Your mother gave her soul to this company.”

“My mother died because of this company, and it’s being hijacked and perverted into something she’d never support. Caustic, dangerous chemicals had no place in her company.” She watched his face as she said it. Yes, he knew how dangerous the chemicals were. “And when someone got sick because of it, she would have blown her own company up by going public with what happened rather than covering it up.”

“Nick knew the stakes,” Standish said. “He made his own choices, and his skill wasn’t up to the task. What happened is on him. And then he snapped, and he killed his family and then himself. That’s what the police ruled, and they were right.”

“No, they weren’t. They’ve already reversed that ruling and are looking for the real killers who staged the scene to look like a murder-suicide. They were sloppy and didn’t do the job right. Even I saw the inconsistencies to know Nick didn’t do it. This is closing in on you and Well-Life, James. I can help you or I can bury you. Which is it going to be?”

“You don’t know shit,” he said. “Get out.”

She ignored him. “It crossed the blood-brain barrier, didn’t it? That’s what Nick was trying to do, but what crossed was not what he intended. Was it fatal? Is that why they were killed? Or were they going to go public? I’ll admit I don’t know that part, the why, and that’s what keeps me awake at night.”

“You better get used to sleepless nights, sweetheart, because I have no answers for you. I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, ravings of a mad woman. Go get some mental health help. You need it.”

“Fuck you, James! We both know what was going on in that lab, the dangerous chemicals and compounds that should never have been combined. Has the research at least been halted?” By the look in his eyes, she knew it was still ongoing. “Shit, it hasn’t, has it? You still have someone working on it. You’re still trying to bring it to market. Sonofabitch! That’s it, isn’t it?”

“This meeting is over. You take whatever it is you think you have and go to anyone you want with it. You don’t have shit,” he said. He charged across the room and flung open his door. “Good day, Miss Elliot.”

“Go, Becca. You’re done there for now,” Winston’s voice came into her ear.

The last thing she wanted was to leave. She felt close to getting James to say something, anything, that would make it all make sense. As she walked past him, she whispered, “this is not over.”

Her heart pounded in her chest as she trotted down the stairs. Her mind was reeling. They were still working on it. Someone else was conducting the research that had poisoned Nick and the whole family. And something else was going on, she was sure of it. Something that made those men go back to Nick and Nicole’s home while she was there, something they were willing to kill for and die for. Something time sensitive. But what?

Whiskey

Becca’s hands were still shaking when she reached her car. She fumbled with her fob to hit unlock, forgetting that she didn’t need to. Just hitting the button on the exterior door handle would unlock it. She hadn’t driven in several days and her brain was in overdrive, thinking about all that had been said in James’ office and the ramifications of it all.

And as soon as she’d left his office, Winston broadcast to everyone, including her, that James Standish placed a phone call on his cell phone. Brielle was running it down to find out to whom the call had been placed. He didn’t broadcast to her what was said, though. She suspected he told Carter and Jackson.

“Are you okay?” Eddie Winston’s voice again came into her ear. She glanced at the van, parked beside her car, where she knew Winston sat in the back with the equipment.

Knowing there were surveillance cameras in the parking lot, Carter had driven her in her car from the office, stopping at a convenience store a half mile from Well-Life. Jackson followed, and Eddie Winston followed them. Flores and Robinson werealready at Well-Life, their meeting with Marvin Ackman starting fifteen minutes before hers with James Standish. Then Carter joined Jackson in the other vehicle, and she drove her own. The three vehicles continued to the Well-Life parking lot, where they all parked beside each other.

“I’m fine, thank you, Eddie,” she insisted, knowing she wasn’t. Her heart still beat wildly against her ribcage, in addition to her shaking hands. “What did he say on the phone call?”

“We’ll go over that during our briefing when everyone is clear. Just follow the plan,” Winston said. “We meet back at that convenience store.” Flores and Robinson had just left the building as well. It would be another fifteen minutes until Tessman and Jackson were due to leave.

“Sure,” she said.

Then she opened the driver’s side door of her car and slid in. Before she closed the door, two men suddenly appeared, one beside her, one in the center of her windshield. Her adrenaline spiked higher. She knew their presence put her in danger. With no fumbling this time, she grabbed the handle and tried to pull the door shut. He crowded into the space, preventing her.

“Let go of my door! Help! Eddie!” she yelled.

The side door of the van slid open, right beside her car, purposefully parked next to the driver’s side door for her protection. Eddie Winston emerged and was quickly on the man. He pushed the door hard, repeatedly, forcefully, into the man. The man in the windshield drew a gun from under his open light blue button-down dress shirt worn over a dark blue T-shirt.

“Gun!” Becca yelled.

“Drop it,” Winston warned the second assailant. He held the man beside the car by the hair, his own pistol at the man’s neck.

Becca watched what looked like a moment of indecision wash over the man’s face, who stood in front of her car, before he bolted to his right. He didn’t even get three steps before anotherman tackled him, bringing him to the ground. It was Flores who tackled him. Within seconds, Robinson ran in and helped to subdue him.

The man standing beside her door with Winston said, “Lawyer. I want a lawyer.” His cocky grin was focused on Becca. She read that to mean this man knew who she was.

---