Wildcat, Harper, she reminded herself, taking a small step back.

Time slowed and with effort, she moved her gaze from his, her eyes going to the locket that was engraved with three linked hearts.

Always together, never apart.

She let out a small sob as she reached up with her other hand, using her thumbnail to open the small disk, her hands shaking so badly, it almost slipped from her grasp. But it didn’t. It fell open to reveal a miniature photo of three people, their arms encircling each other, the joy in their smiling faces clear.

She remembered that joy, felt it cascade over her like a ray of warm summer sun.

The photo was of her father.

Her mother.

And herself.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Agent Gallagher?” The tall, sixty-ish man in the khakis and button-down blue shirt extended his hand, giving Mark an easy smile as they shook. “I’m Dr. Swift. What is it I can do for you?”

They were standing in an open reception area, hallways on two sides where a small group stood chatting. “I have some questions about someone who used to work here. Isaac Driscoll? Is there somewhere more private we can speak?” Mark was eager to talk to this man, and to sit down in a place where he could make better note of his reactions—the man who had once worked closely with Isaac Driscoll.

“Isaac? Uh . . . I haven’t heard his name mentioned in years.” Dr. Swift appeared flustered for a brief moment. “But yes, of course. Please follow me.”

Dr. Swift led him to a room down the hall with a whiteboard on one wall and across from that, a long one-way mirror. It appeared that this was some sort of interview room and when he asked, Dr. Swift said, “Yes. Project researchers use this room to observe subjects answering questions or relating to each other, reacting to things, etcetera, depending on the study.”

“Ah,” Mark said. He’d taken classes in social science when he was in school—which was a long time ago now—but was interested to hear exactly what was involved in the study aspect.

There was a large table in the center of the room with a pile of small white notebooks off to the side. “Is this okay?” Dr. Swift asked, pulling a chair out from the table and indicating one across from it.

“This is great, thanks,” Mark answered, taking the seat across from the doctor.

Dr. Swift looked at him expectantly, lacing his fingers together on the table. He was a large man and his shirt stretched tight over his wide shoulders, a button sitting on his stomach looking dangerously close to popping. “Isaac Driscoll retired . . . let’s see”—he looked upward, obviously doing the math—“in two thousand two or three?”

Mark nodded. “Yes, I know it’s been a while.”

“What is this about, Agent? Is Isaac in some kind of trouble?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but Isaac Driscoll was found dead two days ago.”

Dr. Swift stared at him for a few moments, seemingly frozen with surprise. Finally, he blew out a long breath. “Found dead . . . How?”

“Murdered.”

Dr. Swift’s eyes widened. “Murdered? Isaac? How? Why?”

“We’re still investigating the crime. I don’t have many answers yet. I’m hoping you can shed some light on a few things.”

Dr. Swift blew out another breath, running his hand through his black and gray speckled hair, dramatic streaks of silver at his temples. “I can try. It’s been a long time since I even talked to the man.”

“What exactly did he do here at Rayform? His job title is listed as social researcher.”

Dr. Swift nodded. “His job entailed collecting, analyzing, and interpreting data. The government was, and is, particularly interested in findings that might help change social policies or affect current ones. The applications are dependent on the purpose of the study.”

“And are most of the studies conducted here funded by the government?”

“Most, yes, though some of the studies are funded by research grants or fellowships.”

“Can you give me an example of a specific study Isaac worked on? I’m trying to get a better picture of who he was and why someone would want to harm him.”

Tags: Mia Sheridan
Source: readsnovelonline.net