1
Jack stood behind Gia in the first-floor study and stared over her shoulder at the computer screen.
He'd tried every search engine he knew but hadn't come up with a single hit for "oDNA." They'd all produced hits for "odna" but none of those had anything to do with genetics. No problem finding rDNA and mDNA, but that wasn't what he was looking for. So he'd asked Gia to try. She hadn't fared any better, but he'd been buoyed by the way her fingers flew across the keys. Those physical therapy sessions seemed to be paying off.
He noticed specks of dark pigment on her fingers. He touched one.
"You've been painting?"
She shrugged. "If you can call it that."
"That's great. Can I see?"
She shook her head. "These aren't for showing."
"Not a show—just me."
"I'd rather not."
"Why not?"
"Because… because they're not mine."
"I don't get it."
"Neither do I. They're too… off if that makes any sense. Not ending up the way I'd intended when I started them."
"But at least you're painting."
She sighed. "If you can call it that." She nodded toward the screen. "I'm not having any better luck than you did."
"I thought it was just me."
"No, there's no oDNA on the Internet, which means it's probably safe to assume that it doesn't exist."
"I disagree. Just beeause it's not on the Internet doesn't mean there's no such thing."
She swiveled in her chair to face him. "The net is chock full of fantasies, delusions, wishful thinking, and outright lies—all sorts of things that don't exist. Doesn't it follow that there'd be at least one mention if something did exist?"
He looked at the crumpled sheet from Gerhard's pad: oDNA? What did the question mark indicate? That Gerhard hadn't been sure about it either?
But Levy's reaction was a clear indicator that he was on to something. So why didn't it show up? And why didn't Levy want to admit that it existed?
Jack had a feeling that oDNA held the key to Jeremy Bolton's value to the Creighton Institute and whoever was funding them. Might even be the key to getting him off the street and out of Dawn Pickering's life—without screwing up Jack's.
But who else besides Levy and others at Creighton would know anything about it?
He'd have to keep hammering Levy.
"What if some super agency cleaned up all mention of it?"
Gia shook her head. "I don't see how that's possible."
Neither did Jack. Unless…
"What if they started early—at the first mention of it?"
She looked up at him. "You really think there's some secret government agency doing that?"
Levy had mentioned one, and he believed him. But Jack had given Gia only the sketchiest outline of what he'd uncovered.
She reached out and squeezed his hand.
"Are you sure you want to be involved in this? It started off as helping this woman find her private detective, then it moved into helping her get her daughter out of the clutches of an older man, and now… what's it now? This seems to be escalating every day."
No argument there. He hadn't told her about Gerhard's murder or the abduction—she'd only worry.
"I said I'd help her and I can't very well back out now. Her daughter's involved with a bad apple"—though maybe not so bad if the therapy was working—"and I wouldn't feel right leaving her in the lurch. Don't worry, I'm being careful."
All that was certainly true.
"But government agencies and some sort of DNA… what's that got to do with her daughter?"
"Not so much the daughter as the guy she's seeing. This oDNA could be something the mother can use to split them up."
She squeezed harder.
"Be careful, Jack."
"You know me." He offered his most reassuring smile. "Careful is my middle name."
Gia rolled her eyes. "If it were, you wouldn't do what you do."
"But I do take every possible precaution."
"And things still go wrong, don't they."
No argument there, either.
The risks involved in this fix-it had quickly escalated. And he was about to take them to a higher level.
But first he had to have a sit-down with another writer. Abe had left a message that he'd made contact with Winslow directly via e-mail through his Web site, pfrankwinslow.com. Winslow had e-mailed him back with a phone number, saying he lived on the Lower East Side and to call anytime.
Sounded like a man looking for all the publicity he could get.