The Murder That Never Was (Forensic Instincts 5)

Burlington, Vermont

Max was still feeling the surges of exhilaration from the outcome of the St. Thomas meeting. He now had a new crop of students who would study under his tutelage and who, one day, would represent the results of his scientific genius to the world.

Striding through the cerebral testing center of his manor, Dmitry by his side, he paused outside one door, easing it open so the two of them could look inside.

This evening, two of Max’s staff psychologists were administering tightly timed, high-level verbal, nonverbal, and cognitive abilities tests to Carolyn Rynebrook, a truly exceptional addition to Max’s program. She’d come to Max from Ithaca, New York, where she’d been attending Cornell as a premed student with sky-high grades. She was also an expert fencer and tennis player, with untapped levels of visual perception and precision. Max’s program and supplements would ensure that she’d combine those gifts and fulfill her potential—perhaps someday becoming the world-class surgeon she’d always dreamed of being.

Max stood in the doorway and observed her for a while. Totally focused on her work. Cool under pressure. No hesitation in her answers. Excellent.

He met the administering psychologist’s eye and nodded. Then, he left as quietly as he had arrived.

“She’s nearly there,” Max told Dmitry with a self-satisfied nod.

“Yes, you’re right,” his assistant concurred, awed, as always, by Max’s keen insight at choosing just the right candidates for just the right futures. “Your abilities are uncanny.”

Max gave Dmitry one of his rare, if stiff, smiles. “I appreciate your awareness of what I’m accomplishing.”

That rare smile vanished the minute his cell phone rang and he glanced down at the number. Slava. Max frowned. If the man who was his eyes and his cleaner was calling, it wasn’t for anything good.

“A problem?” he asked in Russian.

“Yes.” Slava also reverted to his native language. His English was merely passable. He could get by on it, but not comfortably. “We’ve got those two cops back in the mix now. They were looking for the Barker girl. They talked to her parents.”

“So they know she took off for New Jersey—and to Julie Forman.”

“Yeah. And they followed her out there.”

Max’s head shot up. “When? And by plane or by car?”

Slava barked out a laugh. “The PD doesn’t pay for airline travel. They drove. A dark blue Toyota RAV4. They left a few hours ago. But not before they interviewed the entire staff at Apex—for the second time. Then, they poked around Robbins’ apartment. And they weren’t the only ones. I saw another guy go in there, maybe for ten minutes. He looked more like a Fed than a cop.”

“A Fed?” Max’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know? Did you see his ID?”

“No, I wasn’t that close. But I’ve seen enough Feds in my time. The way he moved, the way he carried himself—I can’t swear to it. But there’s too much activity going on in general. It’s time for me to do something.”

“I agree.” Max’s wheels were turning. “Fly Alexei and Vitaliy out to New Jersey and send them straight to Upper Montclair. Have them keep an eye on the Forman woman’s apartment and her gym. After the detectives show up and question the Barker girl, it’s time to act. Have them grab the kid. Instruct them not to kill her—yet. Have them take her to a warehouse, tied up and blindfolded. We need to know what she told the cops and how much she told Julie Forman. Once we know what we’re dealing with, we’ll know who you need to eliminate.”

He turned to see Dmitry staring at him, visibly upset.

“Something wrong, Dmitry?”

“Is all that necessary?” Dmitry was probably the only person allowed to question Max’s actions, much less to speak up to him. “The Barker girl’s just a kid.”

“She’s a kid with the potential to destroy everything. I won’t let that happen.” Max stared directly at Dmitry, his gaze brittle. “You saw me kill a man who used my supplements for his own selfish reasons. He destroyed a young girl’s career, her entire life, in the process.”

“And now you’re threatening to take that life,” Dmitry said.

“Kidnapping is not murder. And neither of them would be my ideal choice. However, I will protect what I’m doing at all costs. Ultimately, it will benefit the world. A few casualties are a small price to pay.” A long pause. “I assume you can live with that?”

Dmitry couldn’t help but nod. It might be ugly, but somehow it all made sense. “I can and I will.”

“Good. Then we’re on the same page. Let’s go check on my stallion.”

Hours later, on the bed in his room, Dmitry flung an arm across his eyes, as if that motion alone could block out the darkness of what might be. He admitted to himself what he was agreeing to, what he’d already tacitly agreed to—and witnessed firsthand as Jim Robbins lay writhing on the floor,

dying before his eyes.

It was called aiding and abetting. Dmitry could go to jail. But his loyalty to Max ran deeper than his fear. He knew this man, knew that he was driven by the promise of his work. Given the enormity of what he was going to accomplish, did that justify his actions?