Girl Missing by Tess Gerritsen

Zestron-L.”
    “You’ll have to talk directly to the outside lab. They’re handling it now.”
    “Okay, I’ll call them. Where did you send it to?”
    “Cygnus Laboratories, in Albion. Do you want the number?”
    Kat didn’t answer. She kept staring at that note from Dietz, at the name: Cygnus . Pharmaceuticals. Diagnostic labs. How many tentacles did the corporation have?
    “Dr. Novak?” asked the tech again. “Do you want the Cygnus phone number?”
    “No,” said Kat softly, and hung up.
    It took her a few minutes to dredge up the courage to make the next phone call. It had to be done; Adam Quantrell had to be confronted.
    The phone rang once, twice. A male voice answered: “Quantrell residence. Thomas speaking.”
    “This is Dr. Novak.”
    “Ah, yes, Dr. Novak. I hope the new automobile is working out.”
    “It’s fine. Is Mr. Quantrell in?”
    “I’m afraid he just left for the evening. The mayor’s benefit, you know. Shall I give him a message?”
    And what message could she leave? Shethought. That I know the truth? It’s your company, your drug, that’s killing people?
    “Dr. Novak?” asked Thomas when she said nothing.
    She folded Dietz’s note and stuffed it in her purse. “No message, Thomas. Thanks,” she said. “I’ll catch him at the benefit.”
    Then she hung up and walked out of the office.

I T TOOK K AT AN HOUR AND A HALF TO DRIVE home, change her clothes, and fight her way back through midtown traffic. By that time a major jam had built up along Dorchester Avenue, leading to the Four Seasons Hotel. All the red lights gave her time to shake her hair loose, dab on lipstick, brush on mascara while looking in the visor mirror. Even with a ton of face powder the bruises were still obvious, but at least she’d found a silk scarf to wrap around her neck and conceal the stitches. It actually looked rather dashing, that slash of red and purple silk trailing across the black dress. Too bad the whole effect required high heels; before the night was over, her feet would be killing her.
    The ballroom of the Four Seasons was packed.There were probably enough furs and jewels in the room to fund the city budget for a year. A buffet table held platters of shrimp and smoked salmon, pastries and caviar, all of it served on real china, of course. A balalaika troupe was playing Russian music—a tribute to Albion’s equally depressed sister city on the Volga. Kat handed her invitation to the official at the door and headed into the thick of things.
    She was reminded at once of why she hated going to affairs like this, especially on her own. Bring an escort and you were an instant social circle; go alone and you’re invisible. Sipping at the requisite glass of white wine, she wandered through the crowd and searched for a familiar face—any familiar face. Mostly she saw a lot of tuxedoes, a lot of mink, a lot of orthodontically perfect teeth bared in perfect smiles.
    She heard her name called. Turning, she saw her ex-husband. “And I thought you weren’t going to vote for us,” he said as he approached.
    “I didn’t say I would. I just can’t pass up a free invite.”
    “Hey, I want to get a photo taken. You and the mayor together.” He glanced around and spotted Sampson off in a corner, surrounded by admirers. “There he is. Come on.”
    “I don’t do photo ops.”
    “Just this time.”
    “I told you, I’m not here to endorse him. I’m here to partake of a few free drinks and—” She stopped, her gaze suddenly focusing across the room, on a man’s fair hair. Adam Quantrell didn’t see her; he was facing sideways, engaged in conversation with another man. Next to Adam stood Isabel, her equally blond hair done up in an elaborate weave of faux pearls. The perfect couple , she thought. A stunning pair in tuxedo and evening dress. The sort of couple you saw epitomized in Cosmo ads.
    Adam must have sensed he was being watched. He glanced her way and froze when he saw her. To Kat’s