Free Exposure by Kathy Reichs

casually plucked a fallen leaf from his sleeve. “Not all that surprising, since I do own most of the company.”
    I stiffened. Candela triggered bad memories.
    “They put you in charge?” Hi snorted. “Remind me to sell my stock.”
    “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Hiram.”
    “How can an eighteen-year-old run a major corporation?” Shelton said. “You were still in high school, like, five minutes ago.”
    “It’s not a one-man show,” Chance said dryly. “I’ve been tasked with running a small division focusing on special projects. The rest of Candela’s leadership stays the same.”
    “Special projects,” I repeated. Felt a chill.
    “Research and development, mainly.” Chance stepped onto the tree-lined sidewalk. “I’ll get to play around a little. Crack a few eggs, so to speak.”
    My voice raised an octave. “What does that mean?”
    Chance’s face was unreadable. “It means, I’ll be able to work on whatever I want. Get some answers I’ve been seeking.”
    “How dramatic.” Hi tapped his head. “You wanna make a difference? Create a deodorant that doesn’t suck. The brand I use leaves pit stains on all my undershirts.”
    “I’ll pass.” Chance’s hair dancing rakishly in the light ocean breeze. “My interests are a touch more exotic.”
    His eyes found mine. I looked away.
    Chance’s past accusations flashed through my mind.
    “I have to go,” he said abruptly. “Maybe I’ll see you soon.”
    He walked past without another word.
    I watched his form recede down the block. Chance never glanced back.
    “That guy ain’t right,” Shelton whispered. “But at least he’s out of our hair now.”
    “Yeah.”
    But I had a sinking feeling.
    Special projects.
    Cracking eggs.
    Answers.
    For some reason, I felt like Chance had threatened me.
     

C hance dropped the battered file on his desk.
    He’d studied its contents a hundred times. The hundred-and-first reading had revealed nothing new.
    Bong. Bong.
    A grandfather clock chimed 2:00 p.m. Chance could barely make out the stately timepiece, tucked as it was in the far corner of his father’s private study.
    My study, rather.
    He still hadn’t gotten use to that.
    Long shadows crisscrossed the wood-paneled walls and expensive Persian rugs. He meant to install more lights, but never got around to it.
    Chance spun his chair to face giant floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate’s inner yard. Below, a landscaper was carefully sculpting a wall of the hedge maze. Chance didn’t know the man’s name. Claybourne Manor had dozens of gardeners.
    Once more, Tory Brennan crashed his thoughts.
    Maddening.
    He was no closer now than on the day he’d first discovered the information.
    No closer, but out of ideas.
    And time, perhaps.
    Frustrated, Chance swiveled back to his desk. Lifted the folder once more. Eyed the red block lettering stamped on its face:
     
    CANDELA PHARMACEUTICALS
    DR. MARCUS KARSTEN—RESEARCH NOTES
    TOP SECRET. PROPRIETARY R&D
     
    He’d found five more folders identical to this one. A hidden cache, locked away in his father’s private cabinet. Another secret among the many Hollis Claybourne had kept.
    His father never mentioned this project. Not once.
    Chance grinned sourly.
    The Old Man hadn’t shared much before getting hauled off to prison.
    Chance opened a desk drawer. Placed the file inside with the others.
    He was obsessed. And knew it. But recognition made no difference. He could more easily hold back the tides than abandon this endeavor.
    Tory Brennan.
    So many emotions, derived from a single name.
    The girl was nothing. A transplant science geek from the barrier-island sticks. Still a sophomore in high school. She didn’t come from wealth, or have an influential family name. It was borderline miraculous that he was aware of her existence at all.
    But he was. In fact, he noticed everything about her.
    Chance leaned back and closed his eyes.
    Inevitably, his mind began picking at the memories