FATAL BOND
A JESS KIMBALL THRILLER
DIANE CAPRI
and
NIGEL BLACKWELL
Presented by:
AugustBooks
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Praise for
New York Times and
USA Today Bestselling Author
Diane Capri
“Full of thrills and tension, but smart and human, too.
Kim Otto is a great, great character. I love her.”
Lee Child, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author of Jack Reacher Thrillers
“[A] welcome surprise…. [W]orks from the first page to ‘The End’.”
Larry King
“Swift pacing and ongoing suspense are always present…[L]ikable protagonist who uses her political connections for a good cause…Readers should eagerly anticipate the next [book].”
Top Pick, Romantic Times
“…offers tense legal drama with courtroom overtones, twisty plot, and loads of Florida atmosphere. Recommended.”
Library Journal
“[A] fast-paced legal thriller…energetic prose…an appealing heroine…clever and capable supporting cast…[that will] keep readers waiting for the next [book].”
Publishers Weekly
“Expertise shines on every page.”
Margaret Maron, Edgar, Anthony, Agatha, and Macavity Award-Winning MWA Grand Master and Past President
Fatal Bond is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Diane Capri and Nigel Blackwell
All Rights Reserved
Published by: AugustBooks
Visit the author websites:
DianeCapri.com
NigelBlackwell.com
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eISBN: 978-1-940768-97-7
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Reviews
Copyright
Dear Friends
FATAL BOND
Cast of Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
About the Authors
Also by the Authors
Dear Friends,
Thank you for buying this copy of Fatal Bond. I’m very excited to share this new Jess Kimball Thriller with you. Readers say Jess Kimball Thrillers are filled with “fast-paced, believable characters, taut action, and surprises all the way to the finish.” In all these ways, Fatal Bond will not disappoint!
It’s been fun to write this book with my friend Nigel Blackwell, too. The most frequent question I receive from Jess Kimball fans is “when will you write a new Jess Kimball book?” With Nigel’s help, I’m pleased to say the answer is very soon!
I’m always working on a new book. Please sign up for my mailing list to receive advance notice of new releases and lots of other exclusive stuff for members only. You can do that here: http://dianecapri.com/get-involved/get-my-newsletter/
While you’re waiting for a new Jess Kimball Thriller, please give my other books a try. I believe you’ll enjoy them. You can find a complete list of all my books here: http://dianecapri.com/books/
And please let me know what you think. I love hearing from you. You can write to me anytime, and I hope you will. I’d love to get to know you better, and you can always reach me here: http://dianecapri.com/get-involved/message/
Meanwhile, thanks so much for reading. Readers like you are the reason I feel it’s an honor and a privilege to write for you.
Caffeinate & Carry On!
FATAL BOND
by
DIANE CAPRI
and
NIGEL BLACKWELL
Presented By:
AugustBooks
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Jessica Kimball
Gary Hadlow
Henry Morris
Carter Pierce
Mandy Donovan
Alex Cole
Debora Elden
Claire Winter
Rafa Lopez
Vanna Sánchez
Ethan Remington
CHAPTER ONE
Gloriana Island, Angola
After Midnight
Rafa Lopez focused his sharp eyes on his workers as a starving wolf attends his dinner. The lights in the control room were low. Rows of LEDs blinked. Lines traced readings across monitors. Books and coffee mugs held down papers, combatting the ever-present blast of air conditionin
g.
In the corner behind him, Vanna Sánchez leaned against the wall. Tall, austere, and platinum blonde with deep blue eyes and the long-limbed muscles of a distance runner, she was easily the most attractive woman in any room. A cell phone in her hands held her full attention. At her feet was a small backpack.
At regular intervals, a tinny and distant voice came from a small speaker in front of a large, thick window. The glass revealed six transparent glass-walled laboratories on the floor below.
In the middle of each laboratory was a circular stainless-steel drain. Around the clear walls, stainless-steel benches held complex looking glassware and machines protected with thick seamless plastic covers.
Each room had its own class III biosafety cabinet, a large structure with built-in rubber gloves for conducting experiments inside a hermetically sealed environment.
Only one of the six rooms was occupied. Two workers, both in full protective suits, breathed air through a hose that connected to a panel on the wall. The suits were constructed of material as transparent as the lab walls. The first worker was a bald, heavyset Texan. The second was female, half the Texan’s weight, with Asian features and thick black hair trimmed short.
The Texan stood at the biosafety cabinet. His hands were deep in the rubber gloves, pipetting liquids into a multi-well sample tray like a miniature ice cube tray.
The Asian woman divided her time, alternately operating a high-power digital microscope and a liquid chromatograph to monitor reactions.
Results were fed to the control room where a young man categorized them before they were displayed on two massive television monitors in front of Lopez.
The televisions displayed graphs and images side by side in squares. The graphs portrayed biochemical changes taking place in the visual image.
The Texan’s pipette appeared in the corner of one image. He had a steady hand. A single drop of clear liquid formed on the end of the fine glass tube and dripped onto a pinkish sample in the multi-well tray.
The pinkish sample was a sliver of muscle. It contracted to half its size in a single convulsion. Had it been the complete muscle, such a jolt would have been powerful enough to tear tendons from bone.
“This is hopeless,” said the Texan with the pipette. His electronic voice grated through the speakers. “The electrochemical transfer process will have to be thousands of times slower.”
Lopez keyed a microphone. “Lower the molarity. Move down a decade.”
“A decade won’t do it. We need a different solvent. A lower ionization constant at least,” the Texan said.
Lopez pressed the microphone switch again. “Move down a decade, please.” Cool and calm, as if the researcher’s advice had not been spoken. Lopez combed back his salt and pepper hair with his fingers while he waited.
Knowing he was being observed every moment of the experiment, the Texan at the biosafety cabinet suppressed a sigh and simply nodded. He stood the pipette in a holder and placed the multi-well tray on a rack in a metal box.
The box was for the destruction of biological samples. It met all the international standards for safety considering its contents.
When the experiments were completed, an automated system would lower the box from the biosafety cabinet into an oven. For thirty minutes, the box would be subjected to temperatures beyond anything a living organism could withstand. The box would then open, and the charred inert remains would be disposed of.
In order to maintain the biological integrity of the box while it was being lowered into the oven, there was a stainless-steel door. The door was opened and closed by an electric motor, which applied enough torque to compress a silicone gasket around the edges and ensure a hermetic seal.
The Asian woman pressed a switch down, and the door began to close. The tray wasn’t fully seated, and the door impacted the wells. There was a momentary grinding noise, the motor winding tension into the door’s gear mechanism. The Asian woman flipped the switch up, and the motor stopped.
The Texan pushed on the tray. It didn’t move. He pushed harder. The tray scraped a fraction further into the box. The door kept its pressure on the rear of the tray. He placed both hands on the tray and pushed. It moved with a jolt. He lurched forward, banging against the cabinet glass.
The door’s mechanism released. Even without power, the precision gearboxes acted as a coiled spring and spun in an instant. The door snapped down.
The fingers of the Texan’s right hand were inside the box. The door scythed down. Debilitating pain shot through his nerves. He screamed long and hard.
A raging fire grew from his hand up his right arm. The door had trapped the tips of his left glove. He yanked the glove free, ripping the ends of the fingers.
The Asian woman rammed the operating switch to the open position as hard as it would stand.
The door lifted.
The Texan stumbled back, screaming as he dragged his shattered fingers from the thick gloves. The Asian woman shoved a chair behind him, and he collapsed squeezing his right wrist to control the pain.
The safety cabinet’s gloves bobbed in the air, inverted and pointing outward from the Texan’s rapid and agonizing exit.
It took only a fraction of a second for the Asian woman to realize why the gloves had gained their jaunty bounce. “Breach, breach,” she screamed.
Sánchez looked up from her phone. Lopez started a timer and moved closer to the window. The Texan’s hand was bloody. The biosafety cabinet’s gloves had been ruptured.
The young man in the control room slammed his hand on a large red button. Yellow lights flashed, and a woman’s voice calmly announced an emergency had occurred.
In Lopez’s opinion, the announcement was pointless. There were only five people in the building, and they were all well aware of what had happened.
Sánchez picked up her backpack.
The Asian woman pulled the air hoses from the panel on the wall and levered the Texan to his feet.
“What concentration level were they using?” Lopez said.
The young man stared, his mouth open. “We’ve got to get them out—”
“What concentration level were they using?” Lopez repeated, precisely as before.
The young man turned to his monitor. “Um, er…ten ppm.”
The Texan stood still, coughing.
“Move!” the Asian woman said.
“I’m going to open the next lab,” the young man said.
“No,” Lopez said.
Sánchez held her backpack in front of her.
The young man shook his hands in the direction of the Texan and the Asian woman. “But they’re exposed. We have to get them into another chamber, or they won’t stand a chance.”
“Wait,” Lopez said.
“Wait?” The young man screwed up his face. “Are you crazy?” He crossed the room in two steps and flipped the red safety covers off two large switches. “I’m opening lab 3,” he said into a microphone.
Sánchez took a pistol from her backpack. In one smooth motion, she stretched her arm out straight, looked down the gun sight, and fired. The sound from the small gun was a harsh pop, not the deafening boom a larger caliber weapon would have produced.
The young man yelped as he snatched his hand away from the switches and clutched it to his chest. He gaped at Sánchez. “What—”
Sánchez lowered her gun and put a bullet in his knee. He collapsed, screaming.
She stepped beside him.
He used his good leg to slide back a couple of feet. His wounded knee left a bloody trail across the floor. Panting with pain, he sat up. “You can’t do this!”
Sánchez took a step forward. A lunge. The heel of her foot crashing down on the man’s ruined knee. He screamed and swore.
“Enough,” Lopez said quietly.
Sánchez thrust the gun in the young man’s face and fired three times. The blast shoved his dead body back. His legs caught under him in a mangled heap.
She chose a blood-free patch o
n his shoulder and leaned on it with her foot. His body twisted and his legs popped free. He lay flat on the floor in a growing pool of blood.
Sánchez stood beside Lopez, watching through the Plexiglas windows.
Lopez opened a metal door that covered a series of electrical breakers. He ran his finger down the list of circuits and found the one marked chamber doors. He had to push hard to move the heavy-duty switch to the off position.