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J.D. Robb · Combined Print & E-Book Fiction
The phone rang sharp and insistent, jerking Eve Dallas from the thin edge of sleep where she’d been hovering since midnight. She hit the speaker without opening her eyes, voice raw from disuse. “Dallas.”
“Lieutenant? It’s Whitney. We’ve got a 10-99 at the biotech campus. East Wing, Level Three. Victim’s Dr. Nathaniel Barrett. Found by night security. Multiple blunt force trauma. Scene’s… messy.”
Eve was already swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her mind snapping into gear Barrett Barrett Biologics One of the top five in regenerative medicine
Stock had jumped twelve percent last quarter on a neural repair breakthrough Wealthy Influential And now, dead in his own lab.
“On my way,” she said, already reaching for her pants. “Send the ME and the techs. I want the scene pristine.”
“Already en route. And Eve? Barrett had enemies. Lots of them. But this… this feels personal.”
She didn’t answer. The line went dead. She pulled on her boots, checked her piece, and stepped into the cold hallway of her apartment. Roarke was already awake, standing in the doorway in silk pajamas, his dark eyes assessing her with quiet concern.
“Bad one?”
“Looks like it.” She kissed his cheek, fast and hard. “Try to get some sleep.”
He didn’t argue. He knew better.
The biotech campus was a monument to sterile ambition — glass and steel, humming with quiet power But Level Three East Wing was a violation
Crime scene tape fluttered like wounded wings across the corridors Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic and something older — iron, sweat, fear.
Nathaniel Barrett lay sprawled across the polished floor beside his workstation, his lab coat torn open, one arm twisted at an unnatural angle
His skull had been caved in — not by a bullet, not by a knife, but by something heavy and blunt A fire extinguisher, maybe
Or the base of a microscope stand The blow had been delivered with rage, not precision Overkill.
Dr. Mira Somers, the ME, knelt beside the body, her expression grim “Blunt force trauma to the temporal and parietal regions At least three impacts
Time of death… between 10 p.m. and midnight Defensive wounds on the forearms — he tried to block it
But whoever did this was stronger, or angrier, or both.”
Eve crouched, studying the scene Nothing appeared taken No signs of forced entry Barrett’s access log showed he’d been alone after 9 p.m
His personal comm was shattered on the floor near his hand — smashed, not dropped Someone hadn’t just wanted him dead They’d wanted him silenced.
“Who had late-night access?” she asked the security lead.
“Only senior staff. Barrett himself. His lead researcher, Dr. Elise Moran. And the night janitorial crew — contracted, but vetted.”
Eve’s gaze flicked to the whiteboard near the desk. Equations, half-erased. A circled phrase in red marker: Phase Three trials compromised. Someone had been worried. Or warning.
The next morning, Eve found herself in a penthouse overlooking the Hudson, sitting across from Dr. Lorraine Barrett — Nathaniel’s widow. She was impeccably dressed in black silk, her grief contained behind precise movements and a voice that didn’t tremble.
“We were estranged,” she said, pouring tea with steady hands. “Not legally. Just… in practice. Nathaniel threw himself into his work after the miscarriage. Three years ago. He stopped coming home. Stopped speaking to me. I thought… I thought he needed space.”
Eve watched her hands. No wedding ring. “Did he have enemies?”
“So many. His work threatened entire industries. Stem cell ethics, gene splicing — he pissed off religious groups, pharmaceutical lobbies, even some of his own board. But Nathaniel wasn’t afraid. He believed in what he was doing. He thought he could heal the world.”
“Did he ever mention feeling threatened?”
Lorraine paused. “Once. Six months ago. He said someone had accessed his private research logs. Not the corporate ones — his personal notes. He changed his passwords. Seemed… unsettled. But he wouldn’t tell me who he suspected.”
Eve leaned forward. “Did he ever name Elise Moran?”
Lorraine’s eyes flickered. “Elise? She was his protégé. Brilliant. Loyal. They worked like… like two halves of a mind. I don’t think she had a motive. Unless…” She hesitated. “Unless she wanted more than his research.”
Eve didn’t miss the implication. But she also didn’t believe it. Not yet.
Elise Moran was waiting in the interrogation room when Eve arrived — young, sharp-eyed, her dark hair pulled into a tight braid. She didn’t flinch when Eve sat down. Didn’t beg for a lawyer.
“I didn’t kill him,” she said, voice low but clear. “I loved him. Not like that. Not romantically. But… I admired him. He gave me purpose. He trusted me.”
“Then why was his personal comm smashed? Why was he working late alone? Why did he change his passwords six months ago?”
Elise’s gaze dropped “Because he found out someone was stealing from him Not money Data
His preliminary trials on neural regeneration — the ones he wasn’t supposed to share yet He caught anomalies in the logs Unauthorized access
He confronted the head of bioinformatics — a man named Silas Grady Told him to stop Or he’d go to the board.”
Eve felt the shift. “Grady?”
Elise nodded “Silas has been angling for Barrett’s position for years He’s ambitious Ruthless And he knew if Barrett’s work went public, it would make him obsolete
Or worse — expose his own cuts to the trial protocols Silas had been skipping safety steps to speed things up Barrett was going to shut him down.”
“Did you see him that night?”
“I left at 8:30. He was still in his office. Silas… I saw him heading toward the East Wing around 9:15. Said he was dropping off a report. But he didn’t have a tablet. Just his hands in his pockets.”
Eve’s jaw tightened. “You’re protecting yourself, Elise. But you’re not lying about Silas.”
“I’m not protecting myself. I’m protecting Nathaniel’s legacy. If this gets out — if people think his work was compromised — it could set the field back a decade.”
Eve stood. “We’ll see what the logs say.”
The digital forensics team worked through the night. What they found was worse than theft.
Silas Grady hadn’t just accessed Barrett’s private logs
He’d been altering them — inserting false data, deleting safety flags, manipulating the trial outcomes to make the neural regeneration appear more effective than it was
Barrett had discovered the fraud three weeks ago He’d copied the original files to an encrypted drive Planned to expose Grady at the board meeting scheduled for Friday.
But Grady found out.
The security footage, grainy but clear, showed him entering the East Wing at 9:47 p.m., wearing a lab coat over his clothes, carrying a weighted flashlight — the kind used for equipment inspections
He left twenty-two minutes later, coat flung over one shoulder, shoulders hunched, moving fast.
And in his hand? Not a flashlight.
The base of a spectrometer. Heavy. Brass. Perfect for swinging.
Eve didn’t need a confession. She had motive, opportunity, and the weapon — Grady’s prints were all over it, mixed with Barrett’s blood.
She found him the next morning at his desk, trying to reformat his personal drive.
“You’re under arrest, Silas Grady,” she said, cuffing him before he could react. “For the murder of Dr. Nathaniel Barrett. And for fraud that could’ve gotten people killed.”
He didn’t resist. Just stared at his hands, as if seeing them for the first time.
The funeral was small. Just Lorraine, Elise, a few close colleagues. No board members. No politicians. Just people who had believed in what Barrett was trying to do.
Eve stood at the back, her coat collar turned up against the chill. Roarke was beside her, silent, his presence a anchor.
Lorraine approached, her eyes red but clear. “Thank you,” she said. “For seeing him. Not just the scientist. The man.”
Eve nodded. “He deserved that.”
As they walked away, Elise fell into step beside them. “He left me his notes,” she said quietly. “The real ones. The unaltered ones. I’m going to finish what he started. The right way.”
Eve looked at her. “Then don’t let his death be in vain.”
Elise smiled, faint but true. “I won’t.”
The wind lifted a strand of Lorraine’s hair. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed — not for death, but for life moving on.
Eve tightened her grip on Roarke’s arm and walked forward.
The phone rang sharp and insistent, jerking Eve Dallas from the thin edge of sleep where she’d been hovering since midnight. She hit the speaker without opening her eyes, voice raw from disuse. “Dallas.”
“Lieutenant? It’s Whitney. We’ve got a 10-99 at the biotech campus. East Wing, Level Three. Victim’s Dr. Nathaniel Barrett. Found by night security. Multiple blunt force trauma. Scene’s… messy.”
Eve was already swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her mind snapping into gear Barrett Barrett Biologics One of the top five in regenerative medicine
Stock had jumped twelve percent last quarter on a neural repair breakthrough Wealthy Influential And now, dead in his own lab.
“On my way,” she said, already reaching for her pants. “Send the ME and the techs. I want the scene pristine.”