Page 18 of Once a Killer

“I hate sitting around and waiting for something to happen. I want to be proactive. Take it to the fuckers who’re doing this.”

“Believe me, I sympathize with that desire,” Bree said. “I’m an action-oriented person myself. But until we have more information, it’s better to sit tight. Over the next few days, I’ll talk to everyone in the lab. For my ‘story’.” She smiled. “I’d like to share everything with you, but I don’t know you well enough yet to know if that’s a good idea. If I do discuss my findings with you, maybe we can narrow down the suspects. For now? We take off those stickers and I pretend to be Bree Jones, girl reporter.”

His mouth curled up in a smile. “I think I prefer Bree Gordon, kick-ass security agent.”

“I do, too,” she said. “But none of the people who work for you are going to open up to your bodyguard. A reporter? Getting their names in a tech-oriented e-zine? Depending on the size of their egos, I’ll get a lot more information that way.”

When they returned to the office, Jameson helped her remove the red and blue stickers. She’d counted how many she’d placed, and when all the stickers were accounted for, she wadded them up and shoved them into her bag. She’d throw them away when they got back to the apartment. She didn’t want anyone noticing stickers in a wastebasket and wondering what they were for.

“When will the first person get here, roughly?” she asked him.

He pressed his Apple watch. “About half an hour. Give or take,” he said.

“Good. Why don’t you give me an overview of each of your lab people?”

“I can do that.” He walked over to the first workspace. “This one belongs to Stu Rivers. He’s not doing well with his program -- it’s a hot mess.”

Bree studied his space, seeing that it was very disorganized. Looked like Rivers himself was a hot mess. There were papers, books and tools everywhere, all in a huge jumble. “How does he ever get anything done?”

Jameson shrugged. “Some people thrive in chaos. Their minds work better in messy disarray. I don’t police anyone’s workspace -- I don’t even step into it unless I’m invited.”

“You think he’s doing okay with his program?”

“No,” Jameson said quietly. “I think he’s in trouble, although he hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Okay. If his program’s failing? That’s motive for going after yours.”

She wandered to the next space, which was a huge contrast to Rivers’ space. “That one belongs to Hayley Brogan,” Jameson said. “She’s the newest member of the lab.”

Meticulously tidy, this space was the polar opposite of Rivers’ space. Books arranged alphabetically by author. A series of binders in different colors lined up in a row, stickers on the spines showing chronology. Hayley’s computer was even centered precisely on the middle of her desk.

She glanced at Jameson. “What’s your take on her?”

“I’m not quite sure,” he said slowly. “She’s a brilliant coder. But she’s angry -- about the advantage that men have in technology and computers. About the scarcity of women professors and women in management positions in the big tech companies. She’s angry that so many women in tech PhD programs give up and drop out. And she’s right to be.

“She came to my lab late in the game. Her program was almost finished. But she’d hit a wall and her money ran out. She needed support. I have to admit that part of the reason I took her on was because she was a woman. They’re still too scarce in technology, and I wanted to help her.”

“Really? You gave her a pity job?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Definitely not a pity job,” he said, his mouth quirking up in a tiny smile. “I found her interesting, and her program is damn good.” His smile faded. “I told her to call me Jameson, like I tell everyone else. She calls me Jamie. I’m not sure what to make of her.”

Bree nodded. “Okay.”

He waited for a reaction to his take on Brogan, but instead she walked to the next cubicle. “Who works here?”

“That’s McKay Brewster. Comes from a wealthy family, prominent in Chicago. He’s told me more than once that the Brewsters are a big deal in this city. I questioned him hard when he applied to work here. I told him that, with his family’s money, he could set up a lab just like this one. He could make the 7% of everyone else’s work. He wasn’t interested. Said he didn’t want to be in charge of a lab, and he didn’t want to work alone. Said he does better when he’s working with other people.” He paused, and she watched his gaze sweep over Brewster’s space. “He’s cocky. Told me he’s not going to miss the 7% he has to pay me, because his program is going to be a huge hit.”

“Is it?” Bree asked.

Jameson raised one shoulder. “No idea. He hasn’t shared much, which is fine. I know the broad outline of what he’s doing, but not enough to have a sense of its commercial appeal.”

“Interesting,” Bree murmured. Brewster sounded arrogant. But in her experience, a lot of rich people were. Seemed to come with the territory.

“Okay, one more.” Bree stepped over to the last cubicle.

“That’s Joe Lewandowski. I know the least about Joe. He keeps to himself. Doesn’t mix much with the other guys. He’s a hard worker, though. Usually comes in later than everyone else, but he leaves a lot later, too. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t get mixed up in office gossip or office politics. Keeps his head down and focuses on his work.”

“If it’s someone from your office who’s after your program, you have any gut feelings about who it might be?” she asked.

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