Colton K-9 Cop

The role had been meant for her, honing her accounting knowledge and expanding her contribution to the overall business and its bottom line. She’d loved LSP already, but coupled with the professional advancement, her employer had also been understanding of her family situation. They’d allowed for flexible scheduling when she’d needed it and hadn’t asked her to curtail the care and attention her parents needed.

She’d met enough people in waiting rooms at the hospital to know that flexibility was a gift beyond measure. The fact she’d also had an opportunity to still be considered for and receive promotions had cemented her sense of loyalty to LSP that was impossible to shake.

The company was a good one, with a focus on making life better for its consumers, its employees and even the community where it made its home—Whisperwood, Texas. Their CEO, Sutton Taylor, was a longtime resident and had stated on many occasions how important it was to him that his company have the same deep roots as he did.

Deep Texas roots, he usually clarified with a wink and a smile.

She couldn’t hold back a faint smile of her own at the image of Sutton Taylor, standing tall in his suit and cowboy boots, proudly telling the employees how strong their year-end numbers looked. It wouldn’t bring her parents back, but she could at least take some small joy in knowing she’d worked hard and contributed to a job well-done.

Satisfied she might leave the office on a glimmer of a bright note, Bellamy returned to her email, determined to tackle the last one before leaving for the afternoon.

The missive still bold because it was unread, Bellamy scanned the subject line, registering the odd description. RE: Vaccine Normalization.

Normalization of what?

The sender said INTERNAL, a company address she didn’t immediately recognize, but she clicked anyway. A quick scan of the header information didn’t show a named sender, either, nor was there anyone in the “To” list. Intrigued, Bellamy leaned forward, searching for anything that resembled usable details to describe what she was looking at.

Was it a virus?

That subject never failed to make her smile, the fact they had a department that battled real viruses housed in the same location as one who battled the digital kind. The humor quickly gave way to the sobering details that filled the content of the note.

Bellamy caught the subject in snatches, the words practically blurring as she processed the odd, bulleted sentences.

LSP’s virus vaccine, AntiFlu, will be distributed in limited quantities, with release schedule held in the strictest confidence.

Quantities are throttled to highest bidder, with market pricing increased to match quantity scarcity.

Management of egg supply has been secured.

If those points weren’t bad enough, the closing lines of the email left no question as to what she was reading.

Lone Star Pharma has a zero-tolerance policy for discounted distribution of AntiFlu for the annual flu season. There will be no acceptance of annual contract prices with existing accounts.

Bellamy reread the email once, then again, the various details spiking her thoughts in different directions.

Throttled availability? Controlled pricing? Fixed scarcity?

And the fact there was mention of the egg supply—the incubation engine for production of the vaccine—was shocking.

What was this?

She read the note once more before scrolling back up to review the header details. The sender was veiled, but it did originate from an LSP email address.

Who would send this to her? And worse, why would anyone possibly want to keep the very product they created for the public’s good out of that same public’s hands? She knew for a fact they had more than enough flu vaccine for the season. She also knew the scientific team had followed the CDC’s guidelines for which strains of flu needed to be included.

She scrolled through the details once more, daring the words to change and prove her interpretation incorrect. But one more reread, or one hundred more, wasn’t going to change the information housed in the email.

If this email was to be believed, the company she loved and believed in had turned to some dark and illegal practices.

* * *

“WELCOME BACK TO WHISPERWOOD, Alex. Quintessential small town Texas, from the tippy top of the big white gazebo smack in the middle of the town square, to the string of shops on Main Street.”

Donovan Colton glanced over at his companion as he passed the gazebo and turned from Maple onto Main, unsurprised when he didn’t receive a pithy response or even acknowledgment of his comment. As a matter of course, he’d have been more concerned if he had received a response.

His large black Lab possessed many talents, but a speaking voice wasn’t one of them.

What Alex—short for Alexander the Great—did have was a nose that could sniff out explosive materials and he knew exactly how to translate that knowledge back to Donovan so he could in turn secure help. The fact Alex had several hundred million scent receptors in his nose—and had been trained almost since birth to use them in support of police work—meant Donovan had a powerful partner in their work to capture the bad guys.

It also helped he got along far better with his canine partner than he ever would have with a real live human one.

Donovan had been an animal lover since he was small. His various chores around the Colton ranch never seemed like chores if an animal was involved. Whether it was horse duty, mucking stalls or collecting eggs from the coops, he hadn’t cared or seen any of it as work, so long as he got to spend time with the furry and the feathered Coltons who shared space on the large ranch that sprawled at the far west end of Whisperwood.

That love ran ever deeper to any number of mutts who had called the Colton ranch home.

Just like me, Donovan added to himself, the thought a familiar one.

Shaking it off, he focused on the gorgeous dog next to him. Donovan had loved each and every canine that had graced his life, but Alex was something extra special. Alex had been trained since puppyhood for life on a K-9 team; the two of them had bonded quickly, one an extension of the other. Alex looked to him for security, order, discipline and the clear role as alpha of their pack. In return, Donovan stroked, praised, and directed the animal into any number of search and rescue situations, confident his companion could handle the work.

And Alex always did.

From bombs to missing persons, Alex did his job with dedication, focus and—more often than not—a rapid wag of his tail.

Yep. Donovan would take a four-footed partner over one with two feet any day.

Not that he could technically complain about any of the fine men and women he’d worked with in the past, but something just fit with Alex. They had a bond and a way of working that was far easier than talking to someone.

Their trip to Whisperwood had been unusually quiet, he and Alex dispatched to an old warehouse site to confirm the Austin PD hadn’t missed any drugs on a raid the prior week. The cache they had discovered had been worth millions and Donovan’s captain wanted to ensure they hadn’t overlooked anything.

Donovan’s thorough site review hadn’t revealed any missed stashes but it was Alex’s attention to the crime scene that reinforced the fact the initial discovery team had found all there was to find. Donovan would bet his badge on it.

If Alex couldn’t find it, it’s because it didn’t exist.

What it also meant was that his trip to Whisperwood was over far earlier than Donovan had planned.

And disappearing back out of town—especially after greeting the local chief of police at the crime scene—wasn’t going to go down very well. If his mother knew he’d come through and hadn’t stopped by, no amount of excuses could save him.

“You’re just too damn good, Alex.”

The dog’s tongue lolled happily to the side while he maintained a steady view of the passing scenery outside the car. The use of his name had Alex’s ears perking but even the warm tone couldn’t distract the dog from the holiday wreaths hanging neatly from each lamppost in town.

Donovan took in the view, his memories of his hometown not too far off the mark of the real thing. The wreaths came out like clockwork the Monday before Thanksgiving, hanging until precisely the third day after the new year. A town committee changed out the ribbons on each wreath every week so they remained perfectly tied throughout the holiday. Red, green and gold, they alternated in a steady pattern, accompanied by bright, vibrant banners that wished people the happiness of the season.

His gaze drifted toward the corner store, an old memory pushing against his thoughts. A night, several Christmases past, when he’d had a sick little puppy and had flirted with a woman.

She’d been kind, he remembered, and pretty in a way that wasn’t flashy, but that intrigued all the same. There was something solid there. Lasting, even. Which was silly, since he hadn’t spent more than a half hour in her company before heading out on a call.

He’d thought to go in and ask about her a few times since, but training Alex had provided Donovan with a good excuse to stay out of his hometown; by the time he came back a year and a half later it had seemed lame—and far too late—to stop back in and ask about her.

But he did think of her every now and again. The slender form that filled out a pair of jeans with curves that had made his fingers itch and just enough skin showing at the top of her blouse to shift his thoughts in interesting, heated directions.

Dismissing the vague memory of pretty gray eyes and long, dark hair, he refocused on the pristine streets before him and the large ranch housed at the edge of town.

He needed to go see his mother. If he was lucky, his father would be out for the afternoon and he could avoid the lecture about coming to visit more often. He found it odd—funny, even—that it was his father who was more determined to deliver that particular guilt trip than his mother.

At the edge of the town square, Donovan looked at the large gazebo that dominated the space before putting on his blinker to head toward the Colton ranch. “Pretty as a picture.”

At his comment, Alex’s ears perked again and he turned from the view out the passenger window, his head tilted slightly toward Donovan.

“You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

Donovan took his role as alpha in their relationship seriously, and that meant avoiding tension, anger or panic when speaking and working with Alex. Donovan had always innately understood an animal’s poor acceptance of those emotions, but his K-9 training had reinforced it. He needed to stay calm and firm in the face of his furry partner, never allowing random, spiking emotions a place in their partnership.

Which meant the emotions that had the deepest of roots—established in the very foundation of his childhood—needed to be avoided at all costs. Especially if the prospect of visiting the Colton ranch was transmitted by his tone.

Extending a hand, he ruffled Alex’s head and ears, scratching the spot he knew was particularly sensitive. A low, happy groan echoed from his partner when Donovan kneaded the small area behind Alex’s ears, effectively erasing whatever tension he’d pushed into his police-issued SUV.

And on a resigned sigh, he made the turn that would carry him to the large ranch that sprawled for over a thousand acres deep in the heart of Texas Hill Country.

Home.

* * *

BELLAMY FOUGHT THE steady swirl of nerves that coated her stomach, bumping and diving like waves roiling on a winter’s day as she walked the long corridor toward the human resources department. Lone Star Pharmaceutical had a sprawling campus and HR was three buildings away from her own, connected through a series of parking lots as well as overhead walkways for when the weather was poor or just too darn hot during a Texas summer.

She’d thought to call ahead and share her concerns but for reasons she couldn’t quite explain to herself, ultimately decided on a surprise approach.

Was she even supposed to have the email?

The sender was veiled, but so was the distribution list. She didn’t even know why she’d been targeted for such information.

Snatches of the email floated through her mind’s eye, each destructive word adding another pitch and roll to those waves.

Limited quantities...throttled to highest bidder...quantity scarcity...

No acceptance of annual contract prices.

Was this the reason for the exceptionally strong year at LSP? Were they all celebrating extra time off and assured holiday bonuses at the expense of human lives?

She’d worked in finance her entire life and monitoring the ebbs and flows of the business was a part of her day to day. She understood balance sheets and marketplace pricing. She understood profit and loss statements. And she understood what it took to run an ethical business that still remained profitable.

And creating a scarcity in the market—deliberately—was not legal.

But it could be very, very profitable.

All the drugs LSP produced were essential for the individuals who needed them. They led the market on several fronts, with specialties in diabetes, heart disease and cholesterol reducing medicines. LSP had also done wonders with drugs designed to improve motor skills, several of which had been essential to her father’s well-being.

But the flu vaccine was a whole different issue.

For anyone suffering from an illness, access to proper care and medicine was essential, but the flu affected everyone. A bad season could kill a large number of people, especially those at highest risk.

Just like her parents.

Had her father forgone a flu vaccine for the last several years of his life, he’d surely have been at higher risk of dying from the virus. And the fewer people vaccinated, the higher the risk.

Was it really possible LSP was attempting to profit from that?

Technically, they were late in the season to get the vaccine, but even as late as the prior week she’d run the numbers and realized that immunizations were down versus the prior year.

Was that because too many people felt they didn’t need protection?

Or because there wasn’t any protection in the market?

She tamped down on another wave of bile cresting in her stomach and knocked on the open door of the HR department. She’d been at LSP long enough to know several members of the HR team but wasn’t acquainted with the head of HR, Sally Borne.

A light “come in” echoed through the cavernous outer office. Bellamy understood why the voice sounded so far away when she saw only one person seated in what appeared to be a sea of about six desks. She headed for the woman, taking in the office along the way. Decorations celebrating the holiday season peppered the walls and filing cabinets, and a bright string of lights hung from the ceiling over a table that held a pretty menorah as well as a beautifully carved wooden kinara holding the seven candles of Kwanzaa.

This holiday sentiment was matched throughout the five buildings of LSP and reflected Sutton Taylor’s stated goals of inclusion and celebration of diversity. It had been yet one more facet of life at LSP and one more reason she loved where she worked.

Could someone who believed so deeply in humanity and culture and individuality be so soulless as to withhold essential drugs for the good of others?

“Can I help you?” The lone woman smiled, her voice kind as she stood behind her desk, effectively welcoming Bellamy in.

“I’d like to speak to Sally Borne.”

“What’s this regarding?”

“It’s a private matter.”

There was the briefest flash of awareness in the woman’s bright blue eyes before she nodded. “Let me see if Sally has a few minutes in her schedule. I’ll be right back.”

Pleasant smile for a watchdog, Bellamy thought.

The idea struck swiftly and was at odds with the sense of inclusion that had welcomed her into the human resources department.

The woman disappeared toward a wall of frosted windows that allowed in light but made it impossible to see through. The windows covered what appeared to be one large office that extended across the back of the space. While it was to be expected—Human Resources dealt with any number of private matters—something about the glass made her think of a prison.

Which only reinforced just how far gone her thoughts had traveled since reading the email.

This was Human Resources, for Pete’s sake. The department in all of Lone Star Pharmaceutical that was designed to help the employees.

Bellamy had worked with HR during her flex time requests when she was caring for her parents and they’d been kind and deeply understanding. They’d been in a different building then, only recently having moved into this space in the main building that housed the LSP executive staff.

Sally Borne was new to the company, as well. She’d replaced their retiring HR lead in the fall and had already implemented several new hiring initiatives as well as a new employee training program that was rolling out department by department. The woman was a leader and, by all accounts, good for Lone Star Pharmaceutical. Painting her as some fire-breathing dragon behind a retaining wall wasn’t going to get Bellamy anywhere.

Especially as those waves in her stomach continued to roil, harder and harder, as she waited for the meeting.

The sensation was so at odds with her normal experience at work. She’d become accustomed to the frustration and fear that came from managing her father’s care, but LSP had always been a safe haven. She loved her job and her work and found solace in the routine and the sense of accomplishment. At LSP, she was in control.

So why did she feel so out of control since opening that damn email?

“Are you ready?” The lone HR worker reappeared from Sally’s office, her smile still firmly intact.

“Thank you.”

Bellamy ignored the sense of being watched, and headed for the inner domain, hidden along the back wall. There was neither a fire-breathing dragon nor anything to worry about. She’d been sent the suspicious email. Coming to HR was simply about doing her job.

More, it was about being responsible to it.

“Hello.” Sally Borne met her at the door, her hand extended and that same bright smile highlighting her face. “I’m Sally.”

Bellamy introduced herself, then provided a sense of her role in the company. “I’m part of the financial team that manages the process of bringing new drugs to market.”

“Andrew Lucas’s team?”

“Yes, Andrew is my boss.”

Sally nodded and pursed her lips before extending a hand toward her desk. Bellamy followed her, settling herself in a hard visitor’s chair while Sally took her position behind a large oak monstrosity that looked like it belonged in Sutton Taylor’s office.

Sally scribbled something on a blank legal pad, her attention focused on the paper. “Is Andrew aware you’re here?”

Bellamy forced a small smile, unwilling to have the woman think she was here to complain about her boss. “Andrew’s not the reason I’m here.”

“But does he know you’re here?”

“No.”

“How can I help you then, Ms. Reeves?”

The prospect of sharing the details of what she’d discovered had haunted Bellamy throughout the walk from her office to HR, but now that she was here, the reality of what she had to share became stifling. Whether she’d been the intended recipient or not, the information she held was damning in the extreme. Anyone within LSP who would make such a decision or declaration would surely be fired. Worse, the possibility of jail time had to be a distinct consideration. They might be a for-profit company, but they still worked for the public good.

Was she really sure of what she’d come to discuss with HR?

Even as she asked herself the question, the memory of what she had read in the email steeled her resolve.

She was sitting on a problem and rationalizing it away at a personal moment of truth was unfair at best, flat out immoral at worst.

“I received an odd email today and I felt it was important to discuss it with you directly.”

“Odd?” Sally’s hands remained folded on top of her desk but the vapid smile that had ridden her features faded slightly.

“There wasn’t a named sender, for starters.”

“We have effective spam filters on our email but things can slip through. Do you think that was it?”

“No, no, I don’t. The email just said ‘internal.’”

“And no one signed it?”

“No.”

Something small yet insistent began to buzz at the base of Bellamy’s spine. Unlike the concern and panic that had flooded her system upon realizing what the email held, this was a different sort of discomfort. Like how animals in the forest scented a fire long before it arrived.

A distinct sense of danger began to beat beneath her skin.

“Here. Look at this.” Bellamy pulled the printout she’d made out of the folder she’d slipped it into, passing it across the desk. “If you look at the top, you can see it came from the LSP domain.”

Sally stared at the note, reading through the contents. Her expression never changed, but neither did that vague sense of menace Bellamy couldn’t shake. One that grew darker when Sally laid the paper on her desk, pushing it beneath her keyboard.

“This is a poor joke, Ms. Reeves.”

“A joke?”

“You come in here and suggest someone’s sending you inappropriate messaging, then you hand me a note that’s something out of a paranoid fantasy. What sort of sabotage are you intending to perpetrate against LSP?”

“I’m trying to prevent it.”

“By forging a note and tossing it around like you’re some affronted party?”

Affronted party? Forgery? The damn thing had popped into her inbox a half hour ago.

“This was sent to me.”

Even as Bellamy’s temperature hit a slow boil, Sally Borne sat across from her as if she were the injured party. “Are you sure about that? It would be easy enough to make a few changes in a photo alteration program and muster this up. Or perhaps you’re even more skilled and able to hack into our email servers.”

“You can’t be serious. I received this email. Pull up the server files yourself if you’re so convinced they’ve been tampered with.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

Bellamy sat back, her ire subsiding in the face of an even more unbelievable truth. The director of Human Resources didn’t believe her. “You do understand the implications of something like this?”

“I most certainly do.”

Although this wasn’t the same as losing her parents, Bellamy couldn’t fully shake the sadness and, worse, the acute sense of loss at Sally Borne’s callous disregard for her word. Her truth. With one last push, she tried to steer the conversation back to steady ground.

“Who could possibly be sending messages like this? What are they trying to accomplish? And who else might have received something like this?”

“You tell me.” Sally waved an idle hand in the direction of the email now lodged beneath her keyboard. “You’re the one in possession of the mysterious email. No one else has called me or sent me any others to review.” Sally’s gaze never wavered as she stared back from her side of the large desk, her words landing like shards of ice as they were volleyed across that imposing expanse.

“Which I’m trying to get your help with. Could you imagine if this were really true?” Bellamy asked, willing the woman to understand the gravity of the situation. “We’d be putting millions of lives at risk.”

Only when Sally only stared at her, gaze determinedly blank, did the pieces begin to click into place.

“So it’s true, then? LSP is tampering with vaccines.” The words came out on a strangled whisper.

“What’s true is that you’re a financial leader at this company determined to spread lies and disruption,” Sally snapped back.