it.
If Alex couldn’t find it, it’s because it didn’t exist.
What it also meant was that his trip to Whisperwood was over far earlier than Donovan had planned.
And disappearing back out of town—especially after greeting the local chief of police at the crime scene—wasn’t going to go down very well. If his mother knew he’d come through and hadn’t stopped by, no amount of excuses could save him.
“You’re just too damn good, Alex.”
The dog’s tongue lolled happily to the side while he maintained a steady view of the passing scenery outside the car. The use of his name had Alex’s ears perking but even the warm tone couldn’t distract the dog from the holiday wreaths hanging neatly from each lamppost in town.
Donovan took in the view, his memories of his hometown not too far off the mark of the real thing. The wreaths came out like clockwork the Monday before Thanksgiving, hanging until precisely the third day after the new year. A town committee changed out the ribbons on each wreath every week so they remained perfectly tied throughout the holiday. Red, green and gold, they alternated in a steady pattern, accompanied by bright, vibrant banners that wished people the happiness of the season.
His gaze drifted toward the corner store, an old memory pushing against his thoughts. A night, several Christmases past, when he’d had a sick little puppy and had flirted with a woman.
She’d been kind, he remembered, and pretty in a way that wasn’t flashy, but that intrigued all the same. There was something solid there. Lasting, even. Which was silly, since he hadn’t spent more than a half hour in her company before heading out on a call.
He’d thought to go in and ask about her a few times since, but training Alex had provided Donovan with a good excuse to stay out of his hometown; by the time he came back a year and a half later it had seemed lame—and far too late—to stop back in and ask about her.
But he did think of her every now and again. The slender form that filled out a pair of jeans with curves that had made his fingers itch and just enough skin showing at the top of her blouse to shift his thoughts in interesting, heated directions.
Dismissing the vague memory of pretty gray eyes and long, dark hair, he refocused on the pristine streets before him and the large ranch housed at the edge of town.
He needed to go see his mother. If he was lucky, his father would be out for the afternoon and he could avoid the lecture about coming to visit more often. He found it odd—funny, even—that it was his father who was more determined to deliver that particular guilt trip than his mother.
At the edge of the town square, Donovan looked at the large gazebo that dominated the space before putting on his blinker to head toward the Colton ranch. “Pretty as a picture.”
At his comment, Alex’s ears perked again and he turned from the view out the passenger window, his head tilted slightly toward Donovan.
“You don’t miss a trick, do you?”
Donovan took his role as alpha in their relationship seriously, and that meant avoiding tension, anger or panic when speaking and working with Alex. Donovan had always innately understood an animal’s poor acceptance of those emotions, but his K-9 training had reinforced it. He needed to stay calm and firm in the face of his furry partner, never allowing random, spiking emotions a place in their partnership.
Which meant the emotions that had the deepest of roots—established in the very foundation of his childhood—needed to be avoided at all costs. Especially if the prospect of visiting the Colton ranch was transmitted by his tone.
Extending a hand, he ruffled Alex’s head and ears, scratching the spot he knew was particularly sensitive. A low, happy groan echoed from his partner when Donovan kneaded the small area behind Alex’s ears, effectively erasing whatever tension he’d pushed into his police-issued SUV.
And on a resigned sigh, he made the turn that would carry him to the large ranch that sprawled for over a thousand acres deep in the heart of Texas Hill Country.
Home.
* * *
BELLAMY FOUGHT THE steady swirl of nerves that coated her stomach, bumping and diving like waves roiling on a winter’s day as she walked the long corridor toward the human resources department. Lone Star Pharmaceutical had a sprawling campus and HR was three buildings away from her own, connected through a series of parking lots as well as overhead walkways for when the weather was poor or just too darn hot during a Texas summer.
She’d thought to call ahead and share her concerns but for reasons she couldn’t quite explain to herself, ultimately decided on a surprise approach.
Was she even supposed to have the email?
The sender was veiled, but so was the distribution list. She didn’t even know why she’d been targeted for such information.
Snatches of the email floated through her mind’s eye, each destructive word adding another pitch and roll to those waves.
Limited quantities...throttled to highest bidder...quantity scarcity...
No acceptance of annual contract prices.
Was this the reason for the exceptionally strong year at LSP? Were they all celebrating extra time off and assured holiday bonuses at the expense of human lives?
She’d worked in finance her entire life and monitoring the ebbs and flows of the business was a part of her day to day. She understood balance sheets and marketplace pricing. She understood profit and loss statements. And she understood what it took to run an ethical business that still remained profitable.
And creating a scarcity in the market—deliberately—was not legal.
But it could be very, very profitable.
All the drugs LSP produced were essential for the individuals who needed them. They led the market on several fronts, with specialties in diabetes, heart disease and cholesterol reducing medicines. LSP had also done wonders with drugs designed to improve motor skills, several of which had been essential to her father’s well-being.
But the flu vaccine was a whole different issue.
For anyone suffering from an illness, access to proper care and medicine was essential, but the flu affected everyone. A bad season could kill a large number of people, especially those at highest risk.
Just like her parents.
Had her father forgone a flu vaccine for the last several years of his life, he’d surely have been at higher risk of dying from the virus. And the fewer people vaccinated, the higher the risk.
Was it really possible LSP was attempting to profit from that?
Technically, they were late in the season to get the vaccine, but even as late as the prior week she’d run the numbers and realized that immunizations were down versus the prior year.
Was that because too many people felt they didn’t need protection?
Or because there wasn’t any protection in the market?
She tamped down on another wave of bile
