Page 32 of Tear Me Apart
“Thanks, Cam.”
16
Juliet navigates the streets carefully. The gentle snow from this afternoon is driving hard now. What normally takes five minutes is instead a white-knuckled thirty, the truck slipping and sliding all the way despite her excellent four-wheel drive and snow tires.
Shaking the snow out of her hair, she buzzes, and the door obligingly buzzes back. At the click of the lock, she enters. Cameron’s offices are clean and bright: floor-to-ceiling windows in the reception area, the lab itself spotless, stainless and white machines gleaming. He runs a clean shop. She trusts him implicitly.
He meets her in the hall. Cameron is a handsome man, of this there is no doubt. A solid six feet tall, hair prematurely gray, he has a black goatee, always wears black turtlenecks, a gray half-zip, faded jeans and black high-top Converse—his uniform. Tonight he’s wearing his glasses instead of contacts, and she has to admit, he looks good. A handsome nerd. He was born in London but has lived in Colorado since he was ten. He still has some British phrases and the slightest accent on some words, which makes him sound mysterious and interesting. Women flirt with him constantly.
In another life, she might even think he’d be a good match for her. But something has always held her back, though Cameron has made it very clear he’d be more than happy to take things further. Thatsomethingis his prodigious mind. She would hate to lose him because he is one of the most challenging, intelligent, interesting people she’s ever met. His intellect, and his biting sarcasm, aren’t for the weak of heart. She adores that about him.
“Come on, then. Let’s get you something hot to drink, and you can tell Uncle Cameron what’s wrong.”
“Uncle Cameron? Creepy, dude.”
He throws a rakish grin over his shoulder, and she laughs.
In his office, he hands her a cup of tea, then leans on his desk, arms crossed.
“It’s my sister. She told me that the labs are wrong. We both know that’s not the case. And I think Lauren is hiding something. I mean, wouldn’t you want to know why the test results don’t match? There’s only one logical conclusion, right?”
“That the baby isn’t hers? That it looks like Mindy was switched at birth?”
“Yes. And since the baby is someone else’s, that would mean Lauren’s real child is living with strangers. And if that’s the case, the biological family could be a transplant match. There could be siblings.”
“This is juicy. Do go on.”
“Don’t make fun. I’m serious. I want to open an investigation.”
“So do it.”
“Lauren practically begged me not to, then shoved me out the door, insisting I’m crazy as she did. But, Cameron, blood doesn’t lie.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Cameron takes a sip of tea, and she senses there is more coming.
“But?”
“Juliet, your sister is going through a horrible trauma. Her wunderkind is sick, and her sister is telling her that the child she’s loved, raised, trained to be an elite athlete is not hers. I might not react well to the situation, either.”
“Which is all fine, except Mindy needs a stem cell transplant, STAT. We have to put aside our feelings.”
“Let them take her out onto the donor database.”
“Well, they are. But in the meantime...”
“Oh. You don’t need my permission to tell your bosses if that’s what you’re thinking. I will release the information if there’s an investigation, no problem. I’ll tell them I ran the samples twice just to be sure, because of Mindy’s stature. Since a subpoena will show we did just that.”
She doesn’t say anything. She can feel Cameron watching her. Finally, he sets down his tea.
“What’s wrong, Juliet? Why are you here?”
She takes a deep breath, blows it out hard. “I’m only wondering... There is a way to investigate this without going the official route.”
Cameron pulls off his glasses, scratches the side of his nose. “Ah.”
“Yes, ah.”
He puts the glasses back on. “I’m surprised at you, Juliet. It goes against everything you believe in. You know the consequences if we do that and we’re found out. Every case you’ve ever worked could be reopened. Criminals you’ve put behind bars could have their verdicts vacated, be granted new trials, and justice might not be served the second time around. Plus, you’ll get fired, be in disgrace, and be forced to live out your days eating potted meat sandwiches. Isn’t it easier to have it out with your sister than risk your career? If that’s not enough to freak you out, the idea of perpetually stale bread and mystery meat should scare the bejesus out of you. Not to mention the fact I could lose the lab.”
