Free Lethal Dose by Jeff Buick Page A

that may seem a little out of the box,” she responded. “Would it bother you if my team were to investigate a new approach to the beta amyloid buildup?”
    Andrews didn’t give anything away with his body language. “Not if the approach was well grounded. That’s how new drugs are discovered, Jennifer. By researchers thinking outside the box.”
    She was thoughtful for a moment. “Should I assume that you’re offering me a position, Bruce?”
    He nodded. “Yes. The salary I mentioned and six weeks holidays. Plus you’ll need to relocate to Richmond. We’ll cover all costs of your move, including the sale of your house.”
    â€œAll right,” she said. “I’ll give your offer serious consideration. I’d like to take about a week to make my decision. By, say, May twentieth. Does that work for you?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” Andrews said, rising from behind his desk and extending his hand. They shook, and he gave her a business card. “My direct line is on the card if you need to speak further.”
    â€œThanks,” she said.
    Jennifer left BioTech Five feeling upbeat. She liked the building, the company, and she liked Bruce Andrews. And what he was offering was exactly what she was looking for: her own team, autonomy to move her research the direction she wanted, and excellent money. She knew Richmond a bit, having visited a few times, and she liked the city. It was vibrant and progressive, with a thriving theater scene. She would be leaving New Jersey and a lot of very good friends, but with six weeks holidays, she could visit home whenever she felt the urge. And with three-sixty plus bonuses, money wouldn’t be an issue.
    She reached her rental car at the same time she reached a decision.
    She was moving to Richmond.

12
    BioTech Five was in its nightly hibernation, the tardiest lab techs gone for the weekend for over an hour. Hallways were dimly lit with emergency lighting and faint night-lights cast eerie shadows through the laboratories. Armed security guards sat chatting at the front doors, making their rounds on the top of each hour. A lone light burned in Bruce Andrews’s corner office.
    Andrews’s exterior door opened quietly, then closed. A solitary figure, dressed entirely in black, crossed the carpet with stealth. The CEO felt another presence and turned away from his laptop. His visitor sat on the edge of the desk, a silenced pistol in hand.
    â€œWhat the hell?” Andrews said, leaping from his chair.
    â€œSit down,” the man said, leaning forward into the glow from the computer monitor.
    â€œEvan Ziegler,” Andrews said, an audible sigh escaping as he recognized his hired killer.“What’s with the theatrics? And what the hell are you doing here?”
    â€œI’ve got a couple of questions, Bruce,” Evan said, the gun horizontal and unwavering.
    â€œEvan, it’s incredibly dangerous for you to come here.”
    â€œDangerous for whom?” Evan asked. “I don’t see how coming here could be dangerous for me. Maybe for breaking and entering, but who’s going to press charges?”
    Andrews sat and folded his arms on his chest. “What do you want, Evan?”
    â€œI want some answers, Bruce. Like why do you have me killing people in your statin department? Perhaps you can explain to me how cholesterol drugs are tied in with brain chips.”
    â€œYou’re talking about Albert Rousseau,” Andrews said, his mind racing through his options. Trying to take Evan Ziegler by force was totally out of the question. The man was a killing machine, with or without the gun. Lying to him would only infuriate the man, and he already looked extremely pissed off. But telling him the truth wasn’t a good idea either. “Rousseau was getting ready to release information to the press unless we paid him off.”
    â€œWhat sort of information?”
    â€œHighly