Page 26 of Defending Love

Chapter Twenty-Five

Dani

B ack in my condominium, I sat in my office at my desktop computer, going through the hundreds of emails I’d managed to avoid until now.

Preston Ayers’s CV was among the masses.

Eli was in his new office, formally my guest room.

He was right; the setup wasn’t as big as the one in the villa.

Yet, he assured me that he had much of the same capability.

If there was anything he couldn’t do with the new setup, he could ask the people in Philadelphia to do it for him.

The sky beyond the windows was dark, the lights of downtown twinkling below.

On a Saturday night, the sidewalks were bustling with people.

While football season was in full swing, the large venue was constantly booked with other forms of entertainment.

Basketball was just beginning. The city was a beehive of activity.

Leaning back against my chair and staring out the window, my thoughts went to my mother. She said she’d been alone since Dad’s death. I understood that feeling. If it weren’t for Eli down the hallway, I would feel alone.

Honestly, while I wasn’t alone, without the ease and freedom of those walking the sidewalks, I had the sensation of being trapped. I also feared that I’d never feel truly safe again.

The stack of journals I’d brought from Florida caught my eye.

Untying the twine, I pulled a journal from the middle of the pile. The first few pages were similar to the journal I’d opened last night: equations and compounds.

On the third page, the writing was different. I didn’t recognize it as my father’s or grandfather’s.

03/26/2015 – E.O.

Too recent to be my grandfather’s.

We’re almost ready to submit the proposal for human testing.

The results with the lab rats were promising.

Much like humans, a rat’s amygdala processes emotions, fear, and aggression.

LC and RC took a great deal of time indoctrinating the rats to associate a stimulus with fear.

Some were made to fear loud noises. Some were frightened by bright or flashing lights.

They even had some rats subject to fear of their feeder.

Utilizing automated segmentation techniques, their team utilized software algorithms to identify the activity of the amygdala, assessing true fear. After the first dose of C16H21NO21, when exposed to fear-triggering stimulus, the activity of the amygdala was reduced by over fifty percent.

Consecutive doses showed increased inactivity; however, not at the same rate.

The question I posed to our team was if the C16H21NO21 was the causative factor or if the repeated exposure to the stimulus was the reason for the decreased fear production.

Holy shit.

This was the early testing on what we now label Propanolol. The date was at least three years before Sinclair acquired the research.

I flipped through the pages, seeing more notes in the same handwriting.

Each entry began with a date and E.O.

The man Mom said was in the picture was Dr. Eric Olsen. I put his name into a search.

An announcement from Indianapolis University was one of the first articles to appear.

We at Indianapolis University are saddened by the unexpected death of our distinguished and beloved professor emeritus Dr. Eric Olsen.

His research with our university will forever be remembered.

Originally from Detroit, Michigan, Dr. Olsen left behind a wife, Elizabeth (Weaver) Olsen, a daughter, Brenda Marie Olsen Carpenter (David), and three grandchildren.

Donations in his name are being accepted.

“Whatever you’re reading must be interesting.”

I gasped, bringing my hands to my chest. “Oh, you scared me.”

In reality, Eli wasn’t scary. He could be seen as intimidating, but that wasn’t what I saw.

The new rule-breaking side to my bodyguard was on full display.

His crisp suit was gone, replaced by a black t-shirt that didn’t completely cover the tattoos on his muscular arms, and low hanging blue jeans that hugged his sexy, firm ass.

Eli’s gaze lingered, taking me in as his lips quirked into a sexy grin. “Did you forget about me already?”

“No,” I said with a sigh. “I just…” I wasn’t sure if it was important. “…found something in one of the journals from Dad’s safe.”

“What did you find?”

“Research notes about early testing on Propanolol, years before Sinclair acquired the research. There was a man in one of Dad’s pictures who I didn’t recognize. Mom said his name was Eric Olsen. The notes all begin with the date and the initials E.O.”

“Why would your dad have those?”

I shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. In the notes, Dr. Olsen discusses early trials, failures and successes when the research was started at the university. He names researchers by initials: LC and RC.” I had an idea. “Maybe Dr. Carpenter brought the notes to Sinclair when he came to work for us.”

“How would Dr. Carpenter get Dr. Olsen’s notes?”

“Oh,” I said, standing. “Mom said Dr. Carpenter was married to Dr. Olsen’s daughter, Brenda.”

Eli’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know if that’s connected to what happened to your father.”

My phone on the desk vibrated. Eli came closer as I picked it up.

“It’s Damien.”

He shook his head. “Don’t answer.”

“I have to answer. He’ll worry.”

“I came to tell you something I recently learned. You can call him back after that.”

“Damien is not guilty of killing our father.”

Eli took the phone from my hand and swiped the red icon. “Listen to me first.”

Crossing my arms over my breasts, I stared incredulously at him. Despite his incredibly handsome face and toned body, I wasn’t a fan of being told what to do. “Talk.”

“The initial forensics came back on your dad’s letter. Multiple latent fingerprints were found. None belonging to Derek Sinclair.”

What?

I staggered backward, my knees folding as I fell to my chair. “None?”

Clenching his jaw, Eli shook his head. “They’re running the prints through the government databases. Not everyone has fingerprints on file. In the state of Indiana, attorneys are required to submit their fingerprints as part of the bar admission process.”

“Attorney. Stephen Elliott’s fingerprints are on Dad’s letter?”

“Yes. Do you recall last year when Damien had Darius arrested?”

“Yeah, Darius was broadcasting family laundry from in front of Sinclair Pharmaceuticals’ main office building.”

“Darius’s fingerprints are on file,” Eli replied.

“Were his on the letter?”

“No, but there were some with enough similarities to infer that they were from someone related to Darius.”

“Not Dad?”

“Not Derek. Damien.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You’re not sure, right? You said infer.”

Eli squatted near my legs, laying his hand on my knee. “We need to get Damien’s fingerprints to rule him out.”

I met Eli’s green stare. “Are you just going to ask him? He’ll think you’re a lunatic.”

“Deidra can get them for us. She’s currently in Damien and Ella’s home.”

“Dad and Damien worked together before Dad’s retirement. Damien could have touched a piece of paper.”

My phone vibrated again.

“I have to answer this.”

“Don’t tell Damien what you just learned.”

“If he spoke to Mom, he knows I left Florida.”

With his firm lips pressed together, Eli nodded.

My stomach twisted as I lifted the phone, hitting the green icon. My eyes met Eli’s as I tried to hide the trepidation in my voice. “Hey.”