Wrong Place, Wrong Time (Pete 'Monty' Montgomery 1)

Monty examined the rest of the area. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why the trailer was so weighted down. Two heavy-duty freezers stood in the back corner. Beside them was a whopping uninterruptible power supply and a hefty generator thrumming rhythmically to keep the freezers running. And on the opposite wall was a thick steel file cabinet.

First, Monty went to the freezers, opening the doors and checking out what was inside. Small glass dishes, all neatly labeled and containing samples the size of pencil erasers. Puzzled, he crossed over to the file cabinet, sliding open the drawers and rifling through the manila folders, one by one.

It didn’t take him long to see the pattern.

CHAPTER 26

Devon was sitting up, staring out the window and watching the first few rays of sun, when the phone rang. She snatched it on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Mission accomplished,” Monty said.

“Are you okay?” Gratefully, she took the mug of coffee Blake pressed into her hand, scooting over so he could sit down beside her.

“Did you doubt it?”

“No. But I worried anyway. What did you find?”

“Frankenstein’s laboratory. I didn’t know what half the stuff was. But it looked as serious as a heart attack.”

“Describe it to me.”

Monty plunged into a description of the freezers, the generator, and the UPS. “He’s powering a lot more than the average vet needs.”

“And a lot more than a consultant who’s sending out his tissue samples. Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it there.” Devon tucked her hair behind her ear. “Did you check out the contents of the freezers?”

“Yeah. There were a bunch of those petri dishes, filled with what I’m guessing were tissue samples. Thumbnail size, flesh-colored.”

“Yup. Biopsies,” Devon supplied. “Go on.”

“Well, get this. The dishes were labeled. Names, dates.”

“Horses’ names?”

“Uh-uh. People’s names. Or, to be more specific, illegals. Vista’s got a file cabinet full of manila folders, each one labeled with a subject’s name and containing his personal data and medical history. All the subjects are Mexican. All their social security numbers are ‘not applicable.’ And all their histories are vague. Now, here’s the kicker—all their names match the names on the dishes.”

Devon swallowed hard. “He’s doing genetic testing on human beings?”

“Sure looks that way. He’s paying them enough cash to stay in this country. In return, he’s using them for his research.”

“That’s sickening. But I don’t get the connection.” Devon raked a hand through her hair. “How will that benefit Edward’s horses?”

“I’m not sure—yet. But give me time.” Monty paused, and Devon could hear the road noise in the background.

“You’re driving home?”

“On my way as we speak,” he assured her. “By the way, was Louise Chambers up at the farm last night?”

“Yes. She spent the night. Why?”

“I need to talk to her. When’s she due back in the city?”

Devon repeated the question to Blake.

“This morning,” he replied. “She and I are both involved in a ten thirty meeting. Which means she’ll be in the office before ten.”