Intrusion Read online

I leapt up, feeling shaken and ashamed. You’re pathetic, Lizzie Mae, fantasizing about a stranger. Kai would have teased me mercilessly; Tommy would have crowed like a rooster.

  Not an auspicious start to my first official day at CYBER-MED. Fortunately, wardrobe was no problem. Candy had already sent me an e-mail mapping out each detail from lingerie to pumps. I deleted her message. This was a business venture, not a fashion show. I’d adapt to CYBER-MED’s corporate culture by wearing something dull and unremarkable, a navy suit and Ferragamos that spelled serious and sensible. My goal was to blend in, not stand out like a parrot in a henhouse.

  After feeding Della, I wound my hair into a knot, donned a pair of heavy, black-framed glasses and strolled out the door. For the first time in ages there was a spring in my step, a feeling of anticipation. Those months of passivity were an ill-fitting garment sloughed off and replaced with a growing sense of purpose. Maybe my quest was futile, even dangerous. No matter. The old Elisabeth Buckley, lively and intellectually tough, was slowly reasserting herself.

  A badge and access card awaited me at the front desk of CYBER-MED. High marks to someone for efficiency, probably Rand Lindsay. I couldn’t imagine Dr. Cahill doing such mundane chores. The divine Arun Rao was another matter. According to Candy’s most recent report, his talents were limitless.

  I settled into Tommy’s old office, comforted by his lingering presence. Inside the top desk drawer I found his usual assortment of topless pens and markers. That man could not remember tops or caps to save his otherwise tidy life. The side drawer yielded something more personal: his iPod, loaded with many of the tunes we had all adored. Some of them were real oldies: “Light My Fire,” “My Girl,” and his special favorite, “The Gambler.” I closed my eyes, revisiting the nights we’d danced, smoked a bit and sung those songs. Others might call it morose, but those happy memories strengthened me. Just as Tommy was with me now, Kai’s spirit had never left me. It never would.

  “Getting settled, Mrs. Buckley?” Meg Cahill’s sprightly voice bolted me out of the chair. “Oh, excuse me. Did I startle you?”

  Gritting my teeth might come in handy at CYBER-MED. It’s a gift.

  I waved her into the corner chair. “No problem. I was just thinking of Tommy. He was part of my life for a long time, longer even than my husband.”

  Physicians are used to maudlin ramblings. Dr. Cahill gave me a neutral, professional smile that never quite reached her eyes. “Of course. We can find you other space if this is too painful for you.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’m very comfortable here.” The next move was hers, so I stayed silent.

  Meg crossed her legs, giving me a peek of a surprisingly sexy chemise. “I have to ask you this. Have the police shared any theories with you? Have they speculated why Thomas … why he died?”

  I responded like a lawyer by saying very little. “What did Sergeant Andrews tell you about Tommy’s murder?”

  She flinched at the word murder. That’s why I’d used it. People longed to sanitize things, to pretend my friend’s death was routine. A crime like murder didn’t intrude into the tidy, prosperous world of Meg Cahill and Arun Rao. It ravaged lesser beings.

  “He said it was deliberate.” Meg flexed her hands. “I find that hard to believe.”

  To my surprise, the perfect manicure of yesterday was gone. Polish on her right thumb and forefinger had chipped off leaving a crazy quilt pattern of mauve. I’d done things like that myself when I was worried or angry. What was Meg Cahill’s story?

  “Tommy was incredibly fit,” I said, “a natural athlete. He could have escaped almost anything.” I gulped. “A car isn’t your normal adversary.”

  “You believe that policeman?” Meg asked. There was a trace of asperity in her voice now.

  Before I could digest that, Arun Rao rapped lightly on the glass and stuck his head in. “Hey, Elisabeth. Welcome. I’ll send in Tommy’s assistant to get you settled.” His arms were filled with file boxes. “Naturally, everything we have is on disk. We’re a virtually paperless office.” He bared those perfect teeth. “Still, you know how it is.”

  “Were there any sensitive cases that involved Tommy? You know, pending or threatened litigation, anything that might impact on CYBER-MED?” I had nothing to lose by taking a risk.

  “I don’t understand,” Meg said. “Aren’t you interested in our fiscal picture?”

  “Of course.” I reached for my Mont Blanc. “Risk assessment is all part of it, as I’m sure you know. Tommy and I both specialized in strategic finance. Damage to CYBER-MED’s reputation would cause waves and lower share value.”

  Arun played for time by shifting the boxes in his arms. “I can’t think of anything. Rivalries exist, of course. That’s pretty routine in any business.” He flashed his grin. “Even cosmetics, I’ll bet.”

  “No one ever died from using lip gloss,” I said with my sweetest smile. “What can you tell me about Ian Cotter? Tommy had a file on him at home.”

  Meg Cahill leapt to the edge of her seat. “Oh, my God! He kept files at home?”

  She clasped her hands into a knot. “That’s a serious violation of CYBER-MED policy. There are privacy implications. You’re a lawyer. You should know that.”

  Rao read the signals. He sped over to Meg’s chair and put his arm on her shoulder.

  “Steady, Meg. After all, Mrs. Buckley is part of CYBER-MED now. I’m sure she appreciates the confidentiality clause in our contracts.”

  Their eyes met in a gesture of shared intimacy.

  Lucian was right. Those two were closer than mere colleagues should be. I’d bet Arun was responsible for the sparkle in Meg’s eyes. Poor Candy.

  I flashed the bland corporate smile that covered a million sins. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes, Ian Cotter.”

  Meg’s angst vanished, replaced by the media savvy Dr. Cahill who never cracked. “Ian Cotter was one of our clients. He’d had a defibrillator implanted by one of Boston’s top surgeons. The whole procedure went fine. No incidents.”

  I watched as she slowly peeled off more of that mauve polish. “CYBER-MED monitored the pump. All indicators were normal; every fail-safe was in place.” She motioned to Rao.

  His handsome face set in grim lines as he recounted the story. “Ian was a good guy, lots of fun. I trained with him myself. Anyhow, we followed his surgeon’s instructions and set up a 24-7 continuous monitor on that pump.”

  It wasn’t easy keeping myself in the neutral zone. I longed to shake Candy’s dreamboat like a terrier with a rat. The man was unbearably tedious. Get on with it.

  “The theory was simple: if his heartbeat got erratic, the defib would stabilize him, alert our center, and we’d communicate directly with his doctor. Those things work like a charm.”

  “Except when they don’t.” I scoured any trace of blame from my voice.

  Meg Cahill nodded. “Ian was a ladies’ man, a Don Juan, actually. But charming, very charming. You must have read about it. They found him in the bed of a married woman. She said he hadn’t complained about anything, except being … aroused.”

  Arun Rao picked up where she left off. “Something happened. The device activated and shocked him into eternity.” His mouth was set in a thin, hard line. “CYBER-MED had no liability whatsoever. The maker of the device settled up with his family.”

  “Really? Ian was married?”

  Meg’s reply was an arctic blast. “Yes, although I don’t see what that has to do with anything. His wife was devoted to him. She understood that Ian was … hypersexual, I guess you’d call it. He loved her, and she knew it.”

  “Surely you were monitoring his condition,” I said. “What went wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just told you that.” Rao quickly lowered his voice. “Forgive me, Mrs. Buckley. It’s just so frustrating. Our technician saw the screen and immediately called his physician and paramedics, but it was too late. Tony Torres is our finest operative. He would have noticed if anything went wrong.”

&nbs
p; Meg Cahill gave a hard, dry laugh. “Our procedures were perfect, but the patient died. Apparently, the device believed that Ian was flatlining and took action.” She shivered even though the temperature was anything but cold. “It’s so bizarre, like something from a science fiction movie. It killed a perfectly healthy man, my patient.” She saw the look of shock on my face. “Oh, not recently. When I was in practice, Ian Cotter was my favorite patient. He was my trainer, too.”

  “I’m sorry, Meg. Isn’t there some kind of fail-safe, you know, where CYBER-MED makes sure things are OK?”

  “Impossible. The chances of a defibrillator running rogue are a million to one. This isn’t the Twilight Zone, Mrs. Buckley. There are thousands of lines of code involved.”

  I kept my smile in place. “Call me Elisabeth, please. It’s a lot friendlier.”

  “OK, Elisabeth. Jesus, you sound just like Tommy. He was obsessed with this Ian Cotter thing. Wouldn’t let it go.”

  Opportunity knocked, and I put out the welcome mat.

  “Any other skeletons in the corporate closet?” I flushed. “I’m sorry. That’s a terrible metaphor. I know you have many prominent clients. Judges, politicians.”

  Meg slowly rose to her feet. “We’ve gained the trust of the medical community. Forgive me for overreacting, but in this business, reputation is everything. One casual slur or loose comment, and CYBER-MED is finished.”

  “I met Dr. Lucian Sand yesterday. Want to tell me about him?”

  Rao lit up like a traffic light. “Him! That bastard used us, gained our trust and tried to ruin CYBER-MED. When I think that I was the one who endorsed him …”

  This time Dr Cahill played peacemaker. “I don’t understand, Elisabeth. What’s your connection with Lucian Sand?” Her lips twisted in a faint smirk. “Oh, he’s handsome enough, I’ll grant him that. But I must warn you, stay away from him. Sand is nothing less than an extortionist. Thomas knew all about him.”

  Tommy again. He was in the room as surely as if he’d called the meeting. Whatever caused his murder was here at CYBER-MED, too. I was sure of it.

  “Dr. Sand says you take dangerous shortcuts to conserve costs. True or false?”

  Meg straightened her charcoal suit skirt, brushing off imaginary lint. “Look. Lucian is very talented, but like many scientists, he’s a zealot with no head for business. If we employed every safeguard he proposed, we’d be bankrupt in six months.” She beckoned to Rao and headed out the door. “You check the financials. Our profit margin is razor thin right now. We’re doing a hell of a job balancing patient care with fiscal prudence. That’s a tribute to your friend Thomas. The man was amazing.”

  When I glanced up, the office was empty except for me and the spirit of the man who inhabited it. Meg was right. Tommy was amazing. A wave of grief washed over me like a tsunami. How would I ever survive without Tommy and Kai? Did I want to survive without them? Lucian’s words echoed in my brain. How come the man felt so familiar to me? I resolved to avoid him until this business with CYBER-MED was over. If only Kai were here, we would analyze the situation point by point and come to a conclusion. Feeling alone and hopelessly inadequate, I sat down at Tommy’s desk. For some weird reason, Andrews and company hadn’t taken his computer. Cahill and Rao had probably threatened him with a slew of injunctions. I tapped the Enter key, knowing that the password protection would defeat me. The computer was denuded of all traces of CYBER-MED. That information was probably contained in the disks Rao left for me.

  I spent ten minutes idly trying a variety of passwords. Della, nope. Sweet Nothings, no luck. Then I recalled a conversation about childhood nicknames. He had whooped about mine, realizing that he’d hit a sensitive spot. Giraffe was something I’d rather forget. Candy’s had been Sugar Plum. Leave it to her to have a sweet, sexy moniker. Kai’s was another great one: Pan, the same mountain god who took him away. Tears stung me as I thought about that one. Then I recalled Tommy’s childhood nickname, Topper. It was an allusion to a character in an old television series and his annoying habit of losing tops and lids. I input the word and waited. Suddenly, I was in. Tommy’s directory lit up, giving me access to his private world.

  Ten

  His personal things were stored in files with vanilla, non-threatening names. I opened one entitled Black Book and quickly scanned the list. My God, Tommy was a veritable satyr. Next to each woman’s name and address was a list of preferences, sexual and material, as well as any editorial comments he cared to add. None registered with me until I hit the letter C. Dear Lord, Candy was right. He’d done his perky partner Meg in ways I didn’t even want to consider. According to this, Dr. Cahill was a woman with lusty, unconventional tastes in apparel and sexual positions. Ugh.

  A knock at the door spared me. I quickly saved the file and exited from the computer before Rand Lindsay came wandering in.

  “Hey, Ms. Buckley,” he said in his soft Alabama drawl. “Here I am, ready to help again.” He pointed to the sofa. “May I? I’ve been chasing around half the night. Midterms, you know.” He lowered his bulk into the soft, yielding furniture and exhaled. “Well. I see you’ve survived the first day of the inquisition. Whatever you told them, it must have been a doozy. Rao was spitting nails, and Dr. M. had that fire-breathing dragon stare on her face.” He rubbed his palms together. “Not so bad for day one.”

  I liked this guy. If only I knew enough about him to trust him with my concerns. Caution won over neediness. I summoned my inner waif and shrugged.

  “I hope I wasn’t too blunt. After all, it wasn’t a client meeting. They’re my partners.”

  Rand waved his meaty arm. “Ah, don’t sweat it. They’ll get over it. Just for fun, tell me what you asked.”

  His baby blues weren’t quite so guileless anymore. Rand was an old soul, full of wisdom and a healthy dose of mischief.

  “OK,” I said. “I asked about Ian Cotter.”

  He spilled a slug of Coke on his shirt, coughing. “Holy Cow! Dr. Cahill never talks about Ian. I mean never. I’m surprised you even know about him, his connection with us, I mean.”

  “I saw a picture of him with Dr. Cahill on the Internet. Funny that the Globe never made the connection.”

  Rand wagged his finger at me. “Not so surprising when you figure that Carter Cahill is one of its major advertisers. He put big-time pressure on them not to mention us.”

  That made sense. Why have a bulging bank account if you never flex the wealth muscle? I wondered what other things Carter Cahill had swept under his Sarouk.

  “Meg said he had a family. Ian, I mean. His poor wife. Bad enough to lose your husband, but finding him in some other woman’s bed would be devastating.”

  Rand lurched up and closed the door. He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “You know what was really bad? Guess whose bed he died in?”

  I shrugged. Candy knew everything in the society pages, but I was clueless. Fortunately, Rand was dying to spill the beans. His genial face split into a jack-o-lantern grin.

  “Tatania Lake. You know, the fashion designer.” He edged closer. “Ah, come on, Mrs. B. She’s married to the most famous athlete in Boston, Todd Brantley.”

  “How come I never heard that either? I must be hopelessly out of the loop.”

  His meaty paw patted my shoulder. “You focus on important stuff, not tabloid fodder. But I can tell you it was a big damn deal with cops buzzing around, the sports media digging up dirt.” Rand lowered his voice to a whisper. “Supposedly, Todd Brantley is connected.” He touched the tip of his nose. “Everyone swore it was a hit. Either one of the aggrieved spouses had motive.”

  “Really?” Ian Cotter had died within days of Kai’s accident. I’d been too absorbed in my own loss to process other people’s tragedies. Didn’t touch a newspaper for weeks.

  “Yeah,” Rand grinned. “You know how it is when all the conspiracy nuts get going. Nonsense, of course. Somehow that device went rogue, and Ian Cotter paid the price.” He paused. “I’m taking a risk even t
alking about it. Dr. Meg would have my hide.”

  I remembered what Lucian Sand had told me. “You don’t mind risk taking, do you Rand? Dr. Sand told me about that experiment you helped him with.”

  Rand slapped his forehead in mock horror. “Good Lord. You know Lucian Sand? You do get around, Mrs. B.” His eyes twinkled. “Luc is a hell of a guy. Kind of prickly, but fearless.”

  “Cahill and Rao went ballistic when I mentioned his name. It sounded more personal than professional.”

  “God, I hope this room isn’t bugged.” Rand pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed the corners of his mouth. “You see, Dr. Cahill wanted things with Luc to be personal.” He raised his brows suggestively. “Luc wasn’t buying whatever she was selling. His only interest was business.”

  Gossiping with employees is a poor business practice that erodes a manager’s moral authority. So what? I’d gladly barter that for the lowdown on Lucian Sand. I continued our tête-à-tête. “I suppose Lucian’s wife was upset, too.”

  Rand cocked his head to one side. “Wife? Luc doesn’t have a wife.”

  “He’s gay?” I asked. That stab of disappointment probably meant nothing. Lots of phenomenal guys were either bi or gay. It was none of my concern.

  Rand’s hearty laugh startled me. “Gay? Luc? Don’t I wish. No, my dear Mrs. B., Dr. Lucian Sand is disgustingly heterosexual. He was focused on a mission. No time for dallying with an office siren.”

  The information dump overwhelmed me. “Meg Cahill, a siren?” It didn’t compute until I recalled Tommy’s black book. Rand was the purveyor of more gossip than I dared hope. Might as well prime the pump.

  For a moment Rand hesitated. He seemed torn between his loyalty to Lucian Sand and a natural propensity to dish. I placed a mental bet on the latter.

  “He’s very motivated.”

  I flipped to the interrogation page in my memory and said nothing.

  Rand crumbled faster than a day old roll. “Don’t ever tell him I told you about this. Luc is intensely private. His brother, his identical twin, actually, died tragically after some dufus screwed up his pacemaker. Marcus, that was his name. The brother, not the dufus. Anyhow, he had rheumatic fever as a kid and got a weak heart. Something about an untreated strep infection.”