Page 33 of Ghosted (The Ravenwood #1)

TWENTY-SIX

We’re nearing the end of Dean’s workday run through when he hits a roadblock.

“Usually I start shutting down my computer and packing up my stuff, but this time, something happened. Something changed,” he says, brows furrowing in concentration.

He squints at the files on his computer that he was reading through.

They’re the same ones he would have been looking at the day he died.

His eyes widen a fraction when he reads some more. “Oh my god.”

“What?” I ask, standing from the surprisingly comfortable leather loveseat across from his desk. I stand so suddenly, I feel a little woozy. I shake my head to clear it and focus on Dean.

“That’s what changed. I found something that would have helped my client win the case.

It was an employee’s family suing the factory she worked for, because they knowingly exposed her to hazardous health conditions.

The poor woman ended up with lung cancer that metastasized to her liver.

She died just a month after her diagnosis .

This report details all their internal testing and memos dating back at least ten years, showing Bushell Inc.

knew about the dangers she was exposed to.

Apparently, they were using pesticides inside the factory and would frequently spray them when workers were present.

Their food products were free to absorb it as well.

Basically, their reports say, ‘Yeah it’s bad for people, but worse for ants and roaches, so let’s keep doing it,’” Dean says, shaking his head in disgust.

“That poor woman,” I say sympathetically. I can’t imagine how awful it must have been finding out that how you provide for yourself and your family is also what’s going to kill you. I hope she moved on and is at peace now, at least.

“I know,” he agrees. “I remember being excited at this finding because it was buried under layers and layers of bullshit. It was in a folder titled ‘tax returns 2008,’ and it seemed only a handful of people at Bushell knew about it. I knew that this was the smoking gun we needed, so I practically ran to my dad’s office to tell him. ”

He flits out of the room in a blink, and I scramble after him, trying to keep up.

I catch the tail end of him melting through the door of his dad’s corner office.

He pushes it open for me from the inside, and I take a tentative step into the office.

I don’t want to encroach on Jack’s privacy or step into any legal trouble.

This has already been more “breaking and entering” than I’ve ever done, even if I do have the owner’s permission.

Breaking Jack’s trust in general seems like a bad idea, especially when he’s been so accommodating.

“So I came in here, showed him what I found,” Dean mumbles to himself, sitting in the visitor’s chair opposite where his dad would have sat.

“And then… Then he called everyone in here to show them because, like I said, this was the big br eakthrough we were looking for. It was getting late, like probably seven or eight at night, so we all decided to head out and start fresh the next day. My dad held me back after the others left his office and mentioned that this was a ‘partner-level finding,’ and that I should be proud…” he trails off, looking down at his lap.

He was so close to getting the promotion that he was fighting for, even if he wasn’t sure he wanted it. It must be heartbreaking to realize just how close he was.

He audibly swallows and clears his throat, saying, “Then, I went back into my office to get my stuff together so I could get home.”

He stands and guides me back to his office, walking at a much slower pace for my benefit. Just as we get to the threshold, he says, “Wait. No. I wanted to have a cup of coffee before I left.”

“You drank coffee that late?” I ask. If I did that, I wouldn’t sleep until dawn the next day. I can’t believe he used to have more than one of those ridiculously sweet coffees every day. Just the single cup I drank was more than enough, and nausea is making my mouth water.

“Yeah, my caffeine tolerance was high, and I wanted to make sure I was awake enough on the drive home,” he says absently, looking out toward the break room.

“I went and got a to-go cup of coffee started and then came back to my office. I was trying to get out of here quickly because I was exhausted.”

“Exhausted like how you felt at the end?” I ask, wondering if something had already happened by that point. I can feel a headache coming on, and absently rub at my temples.

God, I feel awful. I really should have eaten something before we came here.

He shakes his head. “No, just regular staring-at-a-computer-and-reading-legal-minutiae all day tired. I still felt normal.” He rubs his jaw pensively, then guides me with a hand on the small of my back to the break room.

“So you grabbed your stuff and then came to get your coffee?” I clarify, committing it to memory so I can write it all down later and try to pin down a timeline.

Normally, I wouldn’t have an issue with remembering it, but everything feels fuzzy right now, and I could really use a nap, even though I drank that coffee.

He nods, entering the break room again. “Yeah, I came in here and got annoyed at the other senior associates for blocking my way. They wanted to celebrate because we had finally moved on from the purgatory of digging for information. Vanessa invited me to go with them to The Shamrock, a bar just down the street, but I declined. I just wanted to be home and texting you,” he says with a small grin.

I smile a little at that. “So, who was going to go out?” I ask, trying to stay focused.

“It was all of the other senior associates. So, Vanessa, Blake, Maria, Richard, and Amari. They were all crowded in here with a couple paralegals as well. I said to have fun, and that I would see them tomorrow. Vanessa and Amari tried to talk me into going with them, but I wasn’t budging.

I had to sort of push through all of them to get to my coffee, which had already started to cool.

I remember being annoyed about that. I didn’t say anything, obviously, but I was frustrated that they wouldn’t let me leave.

Richard took pity on me and handed me a lid for my coffee, then distracted the others by asking which shooters they should take first. When they started debating between the Lucky Charms one and the Skittles one, I made my escape.

” He grimaces as if remembering one too many bad decisions .

“And then?” I nudge, trying to focus.

He shrugs and says, “I left. I grabbed my stuff and went home.”

I try to hide my frustration, not wanting him to think it’s about him.

I just don’t want this day to be a waste.

I was so sure that if we came here, he’d remember something important.

Some weirdo lurking around the office, or maybe someone accosting him on the way out.

But nothing. Just a regular day at the office, minus the promotion talks and good research findings. So why did Dean wind up dead?

I walk back to his office, wanting to close his door and make sure we left things as they were.

Plus, I’m ready to go home and get some sleep.

I round the desk to turn off the computer and trip over a looped extension cord, put there solely for clumsy people like me to trip over.

I catch myself on my hands and the room spins around me.

My bag splats to the floor in the process and I sigh when everything inside scatters to the far corners of the room.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You have some serious tripping hazards in here, though,” I say, gesturing to the extension cord curling out into the walkway.

“Sorry. Consolidating all the wires and cords was on the list,” he says, bending to help me pick up all my stuff. I’m halfway under the desk, hand closing around a rogue lip balm when Dean asks, “What’s this?”

I straighten up and smack the back of my head on the underside of the desk, hard enough that my teeth click together. The headache that’s been snaking its way through my skull tightens like a vise .

“Ow,” I say grouchily, rubbing the sore spot and carefully maneuvering from under the desk.

Dean winces sympathetically. “Sorry. Again.”

I scowl, my head still aching. “Why is your office full of booby traps?”

He twists his lips, failing to contain his smile at my expense. “You caught me. I set up totally normal office things like desks and cords disguised to be killing machines.”

I blink at him, not appreciating his sarcasm. “What’s what?” I ask, wanting to change the subject away from my clumsiness.

He looks at me confused for a second, and then says, “Oh, this.” He holds up a little bottle of test strips and shakes them, making them rattle against the plastic tube.

“They test if your drink has been spiked with different date rape drugs,” I say, grabbing them from his outstretched hand.

“Well, that’s both convenient and sad,” he says with a frown.

“The joys of being a woman of the world, my friend,” I say, shoving them back in my bag.

I scan the floor one more time to make sure I got everything, and find a stray, balled up gum wrapper.

I grimace and scoop it up, chucking it in his little trash can.

“Hey, wait a minute. Is that the coffee you drank?” I ask, pointing at a to-go coffee cup in the trash.

It matches the ones I saw in the break room.

Dean nods. “Probably. Why? Are you mad I didn’t recycle? I know I should have used one of the regular mugs, but I thought I might drink it on my way home, and?—”

“Dean,” I cut him off testily. I’m usually more patient, but right now I feel like I’m a second away from collapsing.

“Listen, I’m not concerned about your recycling habits.

Remember how I told you that you might have been drugged?

We should test the coffee with these if there’s any left.

” I snag the test strips again and shake one out.

“Can’t hurt.”

He watches as I retrieve the cup from the trash and pop the lid off.

Luckily, it’s still about a quarter of the way full.

I’m not even sure the test strips would work this far out from being dosed, but it’s worth a shot.

I grimace at the film of congealed milk, tipping the cup to the side to reveal a less-gross layer of old coffee.

Using the underside of my long nail, I scoop out a little and drip it on the strip.

Within seconds, the panel for the date rape drug, GHB, changes colors.

“Oh shit,” we say together, watching as the strip further darkens.

“I’m the only one in the office who drinks those caramel Nespresso pods. Do you think the whole batch was dosed with it?” Dean asks. My stomach drops.

“Oh fuck,” I say, the whole head-spinning, exhaustion thing suddenly making sense. “Dean, you drugged me.”

“Huh?” And then it dawns on him. “Shit. The coffee!”

“The coffee,” I agree, sitting down hard on his couch. I blink rapidly, trying to merge the two concerned Deans I’m seeing back into one. “I think I’m gonna take a little nap,” I slur, lying back with a sigh. I close my eyes, drifting off quickly as the world goes dark.