Page 60 of Wild Fever

"Wasn't sure you were coming back."

"I had to get out and clear my head for a bit. Don't worry, I wasn't followed back here. I didn't break any laws while I was out, if that's what you're worried about.”

I chuckled, then told her Piper had cracked the encryption. I filled her in on the scenario, including the toxin.

She perked up. "Where's this chemist, and how soon can we get to him?"

36

Icalled the sheriff, and he sent the harbor patrol looking for Covalent Bond. They found the sailboat in Dirtbag Bay of all places—a pejorative coined by the locals. The name stuck.

It was a vagabond community of anchor-outs that were squatting in the pristine waters just off the coast of an upscale neighborhood. They were skirting the 72-hour anchoring rule by moving around the bay every few days. The county didn’t have the resources to enforce the ordinance, much to the chagrin of the local residents. Granted, crime had increased in the area, and the population of anchor-outs had swelled. There was no doubt it drew a bad element.

Kara and I borrowed a patrol boat from the station and cruised out to the bay. In an abundance of caution, Jack had stayed behind to look after Piper. With the information we had acquired, none of us were safe.

I navigated beside the sailboat. Covalent Bond was an anomaly in Dirtbag Bay—pristine and unblemished. Well-maintained. Sleek and modern with graceful lines, ready to explore theworld’s oceans. This wasn’t a 30-year-old boat, barely afloat. Shiny and new, Dr. Malcolm had spent a chunk of cash. I had no doubt he’d been well compensated for his efforts with the CIA and DRI.

Over the megaphone, I shouted across the bow, "Coconut County Sheriff's Department. Prepare to be boarded for routine inspection.”

The county had the authority to ensure compliance. It gave us a little wiggle room.

Dr. Vernon Malcolm poked his head out of the hatch and looked at us with an annoyed gaze. He was in his mid-60s with silver hair, a bushy beard, and narrow eyes. His face was lined with the requisite amount of wrinkles, and he had a swarthy tan.

"Everything is in order, I can assure you," he shouted back.

I climbed over the gunwale, into the cockpit, flashed my badge, and made introductions.

Dr. Malcolm was unimpressed. "Why don’t you spend your time doing something productive?”

Kara joined us.

That changed the dynamic a little. Dr. Malcolm’s eyes drank in her form. Even though she was under the weather, she still looked pretty good, all things considered. The dark sunglasses hid the circles under her eyes.

“Relax, Dr. Malcolm, I’m not here to harass you. I’m here because I need your help.”

His brow crinkled. “What kind of help?”

“It’s about Velotraxin.” I let it hang there like smoke.

Brief recognition flashed in his eyes. “What’s that?”

“I think you know damn good and well what that is. I don’t have time for games. She’s dying because of it,” I said, motioning to Kara.

His face went pale, and he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, you’ve got me confused with someone else,” Dr. Malcolm said. “Carry out your inspection, then leave.”

“She’s running out of time,” I growled.

Dr. Malcolm’s face tightened, and his guilty eyes flicked to Kara again.

“Please,” Kara begged in a desperate voice.

The silence was thick.

“I know you worked with DRI and the CIA,” I said.

Vernon glanced around, looking uncomfortable. Then he mumbled, “There’s nothing I can do. There is no antidote. I’m sorry.”

Dr. Malcolm retreated into the salon.