InSight

paced. “Ingenious, Collyer. It’ll tie up all the loose ends. No lab. No drugs. No proof. I’ll have to improvise if the papers ever come to light. Martin finagled the foundation’s money. Who could refute that? I was shocked to find out, and when I did, I made it right immediately. My accountant will verify that. I was only protecting the good name of my dead husband and a foundation that has helped so many people lead better lives. I might get a slap on the wrist, but that’s all.”
    The woman was mad ― cold and calculating as she stood over the body of her dead son. Abby wanted to scream, to lash out, but she couldn’t give in to emotions now. She had to stay strong. “You could have done that from the beginning without destroying your son in the process.”
    “Water under the bridge and all that, Abigael. Poor Stewart. He was always my favorite. So much like his father.”
    Abby wiped the clotting blood from her nose, glad to be spared the image of Stewart’s blood-soaked body. She listened to this modern-day Medea talk about her dead son and wondered how any mother could be so heartless.
    “Gather whatever papers you need, Herbert. He has time, doesn’t he, Mr. Collyer?”
    “Half an hour, max. And I suggest you leave your patients where they are. We don’t want any witnesses.”
    “Mr. Collyer is right. Those patients will implicate you as soon as they get out. They know what you look like.”
    “Well,” Scanlon said in a high-pitched voice.
    “Exactly.”

Chapter Forty-Three
    The Weak Link

    A bby and Collyer remained alone in the room after Mrs. Gentry and Scanlon fled the building. Her nose hurt like hell but, surprisingly, she maintained her calm.
    “So what now?” Abby asked. “You’re going to rig an explosion, giving yourself enough time to get away?”
    “Very good, Doctor Gallant. I’m afraid I must leave you to go upstairs. Pharmaceutical labs are loaded with volatile chemicals. Perfect raw materials for setting off explosives.”
    “And what about all the innocent people in the building? You’re about to commit mass murder. Don’t you have a conscience?”
    “A man in my position can’t afford a conscience. Besides, it won’t be the first time. Mrs. Gentry’s confession leaves me no choice.”
    “You won’t get away. The whole country will be on the hunt for you.”
    “And who will be left to implicate me? Certainly not you. Not Stewart either.”
    “Scanlon will talk. He’s the weak link.”
    “Frankly, I’d like to take him out. But I’ll be long gone before he causes me problems. Now, enough chatter. I’m locking you in this room, but before I do, I’m going to inject you with a little something to make your final moments more enjoyable. I’ve grown to admire you, ma’am. You have guts. It’s the least I can do after all I’ve put you through. This way, you won’t feel a thing.”
    Collyer grabbed her arm. She yanked it free and backed away, slammed into a desk. Collyer latched on tight as she fought to free herself. She felt the prick of the needle in her arm. Where are you, Luke?
    “No, don’t.”
    “Don’t fight it, Doctor Gallant,” he whispered. “Relax. Let it take you away.”
    “ Nooo .” But it was too late. The liquid seeped into her vein like slithering ice, up her arm, until a rush of adrenaline exploded in her brain. A kaleidoscope of colors flashed in front of her, the first true images in eight years. She fell back and watched, mesmerized by the streaks of reds and blues and yellows. Powerless to fight the euphoria that captured her, she floated along.
    “That’s right. Go with it.”
    Collyer’s hot, clove-scented breath wafted in her face. She closed her eyes, her senses on high alert, body tingling.
    “See, you won’t feel anything, not even the fire. In fact, you’ll enjoy the experience.”
    He walked to the door, the sound of his footsteps like boulders crashing down on her head.
    “Enjoy your flight, ma’am.” The click of the lock reverberated like a gong, magnified, as was her breathing, as were all the sounds that echoed in her head from a far-off place. She was falling, falling. Colors filled her head, spiraling like a kaleidoscope.
    Mesmerized, she watched, as the drug’s poison leached into her, prickling the pores of her skin. No. She couldn’t let them win. Marshaling all her strength, she rose to her knees and crawled toward where she imagined the door, swiping her hands in front of her. She felt