The Gender Experiment: (A Thriller) (11 page)

Inside the store, he ran through an empty checkout lane and bolted for the back. He considered hiding in their storage area, then spotted the stairs. Offices on a second floor loft overlooked the store. Jake climbed the wooden steps two at a time and ducked into an alcove at the top. From his position, he could see the man in black jogging down the same aisle he’d taken. Or was that a woman? The assassin’s face was angular, but hairless, and the mouth was oddly feminine. The bulky black jacket hid the shape of the killer’s body. It probably concealed the weapon he’d seen as well. No, not a woman. The killer moved like a man.

The assassin glanced up in his direction, and Jake’s already overworked heart kicked up a notch. But the killer quickly looked back down and focused on the swinging rubber doors near the produce section.

Thank God.

“What are you doing?” A middle-aged woman stared at Jake from the landing at the top of the stairs.

“Uh.” He scrambled to come up with something. “I have an interview, and I’m spending a moment preparing for it.”

She blinked, her skepticism obvious.

Jake forced a smile. “Wish me luck. I really want to work here.”

“You should have dressed better.” She shook her head and moved down the catwalk.

Jake leaned over the railing for a better view and spotted the assassin pushing through the rubber doors into the back part of the store. Now what? Would the killer assume he’d left out the back? Then search for him behind the store? Or would he come back inside and head straight for the stairs? Jake felt trapped and regretted his decision to come up here.

He pounded down the steps and jogged to the opposite rear corner of the store where he could smell bread baking. He slid through an opening between the glass-front counter and a wall lined with wheeled trays. A heavy woman in a hairnet looked up from a table where she packaged cookies. He smiled and jogged past a row of industrial ovens toward a back exit. He felt the woman following him so he stepped outside, keeping flat against the building. He glanced to his right.
Shit!
The man in black was looking in dumpsters lined up against the back wall.

Jake hurried back into the bakery. He spotted a large recycling bin and climbed inside, sitting cross-legged on a pile of cardboard. The darkness, small space, and greasy smell creeped him out, but after some of the places he’d slept recently, it wasn’t that bad. Being homeless had taught him to be grateful for every little thing. At the moment, he was just glad to be alive—and not in jail. He might still get arrested, depending on what Taylor told the police, but no one had seen him access the computer. They probably wouldn’t find the flash drive and without it, could never prove data theft.

He wondered how long the killer would look for him around the store. Maybe the assassin had moved on to search the alley and businesses on the next block. Or he could be circling the building, just watching for Jake to exit. If the armed man was a trained military person, he might wait for him all day and shoot the minute he walked out. Jake decided to stay inside the bin until someone discovered him, then hide somewhere else in the store until dark. Or maybe he could figure out a way to sneak out of the store without being seen. Maybe attach himself to a large family and try to blend in. No, he was tall and obvious in his Broncos sweatshirt. He needed to hide inside something that was leaving the store.

Like a delivery truck. Those rigs usually backed right up to the giant overhead doors, then after unloading, they drove away. If he could sneak inside, he could get away. But then he would be inside a semi-trailer that might be traveling across the country. Not a bad idea, but cowardly. He couldn’t leave Taylor. The bakery probably took deliveries too, and/or made deliveries to restaurants. He needed a local truck that would only travel around Colorado Springs.

Voices in the hall cut into his thoughts. He heard a woman say, “Only three stops today. The two Breakfast Pantries and the stale goods that go to the Mission.”

A man responded, “Good. My back is killing me.”

Footsteps moved away in two directions.

Perfect
. Jake pushed up the metal lid over his head and peeked out the inch-wide opening. The hall was clear. He climbed out and glanced toward the kitchen. No man in black. He stepped out the exit door again, blinking in the bright sun. A blue box truck sat there, with the back roller-door open. The driver was inside the cargo area, dumping a tray of bread bags into a bin. Jake moved sideways against the building, hoping to get out of the driver’s line of sight. He wished he had a cigarette to light, so he could pretend to be a store employee on a break. The driver clumped down the metal ramp, empty-handed, and walked back inside the store. Jake scooted up the ramp, glancing around for the killer.

Was that him by the dumpsters? His heart skipped a beat, even though the man in black wasn’t looking at him.

Inside the truck, Jake rushed to the back and moved a load of boxes, then slipped behind them and sat down. Hopefully, the driver would be preoccupied with his back pain and not notice the change.

He didn’t. The driver made two more trips into the truck to load bakery goods, then pushed the ramp back into its slot, and closed the overhead door.

An hour later, Jake scooted out when the driver took the old bread into the Mission. He stared at the familiar building and longed to go inside for a meal. But he would settle for the stale muffin in his pocket. Finding out what was happening with Taylor couldn’t wait.

Jake hurried back to the Rocky Ridge Motel, taking only side streets so he wouldn’t be seen from Nevada Avenue. He didn’t mind the walk, but his feet were cold from the holes in his shoes, and he wanted out of the killer’s sight. The motel room might not turn out to be a safe haven, but right now it seemed like one.

He passed the manager’s office and considered paying for another night but not yet. He had calls to make first, and it might be better to move to another motel. He put the card-key in the lock of room seven and hesitated. What if the killer was inside, waiting for him? He backtracked to the office. A different woman was on duty, older and reeking of cigarettes.

Jake nodded and gave his name. “Has anyone asked about me or my friend, Taylor Lopez?”

“No.” She glared at him. “You can’t have guests in the room.” A glance at the clock. “And it’s past checkout time.”

“I know. I’m trying to decide if I want to stay another night. I’ll get back to you in a bit.” Jake scooted out of the office before she could respond. He glanced up and down the street, then turned his face back to the building and hurried into their room. He wished he knew what the assassin was driving. And it would be great to have access to Taylor’s car. How would he retrieve it? The killer might be watching the vehicle now, assuming they would eventually come back to it. Abandoning the Jetta seemed crazy.

Inside the dark motel room, Jake finally felt his body start to unclench. He lay on the bed and listened to his heartbeat, grateful to be alive. He’d never come so close to death. Not even that time he’d nearly drowned trying to swim across Cedar Lake—while stoned, of course. He really wanted to smoke a joint right now but resisted.

When he felt calm enough to sound rational, Jake called his friend at the Colorado Springs PD. They’d met when they were both employees at the Denver paper. She’d left the Post to take a public relations job at the Springs police department for better benefits. They’d dated briefly, then decided they were better friends than lovers. But she moved soon after, and they’d lost contact. “Kari, it’s Jake.”

“Hey! It’s good to hear from you.” She lowered her voice mid-sentence, as if suddenly aware of her surroundings. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m struggling a little, but it’s temporary. How are you?”

“Good.” A pause. “I can’t really talk right now. Can I call you after work?”

“Do you have a minute?” This wasn’t a social call.

“Sure.”

“I need a favor. I’m in Colorado Springs, and a friend was picked up this morning by detectives. I need to know what’s happening with her.”

“That doesn’t sound good. What’s her name?”

“Taylor Lopez.”

“Do you know which detectives?”

“No, but one of them looked young. Dark hair and jeans with a tweed jacket.”

“That’s Brad Miller. Give me your number, and I’ll see what I can find out. But I’m not optimistic.”

“Thanks.” He ended the call.

Jake booted up Taylor’s laptop and searched for inmate information at the local jail. Taylor’s name didn’t come up. At least she hadn’t been booked into custody. A troubling thought hit him. If the assassin had seen Taylor being arrested, would he wait for her outside the police department? Maybe jail was the safest place for Taylor right now.

While Jake waited to hear back from Kari, he decided to search for Seth Wozac. He’d promised Taylor that he would, but he hadn’t had time since they discussed it in the coffee shop. Jake checked Facebook and Instagram but struck out. He then tried Denver city records, in case Seth owned property or had been married in Denver. No luck there either. Seth could have moved away to attend college or taken a job in the oil fields. He could be anywhere. Or already dead.

Jake started to search El Paso county, which covered Colorado Springs, but his phone rang.
Kari.
“Hey, what’s the situation?”

“Taylor is being questioned in the murder of Bonnie Yost,” Kari whispered. “But they haven’t charged her, except for criminal mischief. That’s all I could find out.”

“Will you call me when she’s released?”

“If I can. I leave at five, but the detectives often work all night if they have a homicide and a viable suspect. Taylor could be released at anytime.” Kari kept her voice quiet. “Or she could be booked into jail. I’ll try to keep you posted.”

“Thanks.”

“Jake? Did she do it? Kill that old woman?”

“Get out! No.” He wanted to tell Kari about the assassin, but it sounded lame without the whole back-story. “Taylor just wanted to find out more about her birth and maybe learn something about her father.”

“Good to know. I’ll call you later.” Kari clicked off.

Jake paced the musty motel room. Was this his fault for pushing Taylor to go back to the clinic, or would the detectives have tracked her down anyway? It didn’t matter. He had to help her. What Taylor really needed was a lawyer. Yet an attorney would want a retainer, probably several thousand, and they didn’t have it.

Could he bluff his way into the police department, pretending to be her lawyer? He could pick up a suit at a second-hand store. Maybe even print a few fake business cards. Bad idea. Maybe he could find a lawyer who would take her case pro-bono. The criminal mischief charge was bullshit. The police might just question Taylor and let her go.

And the killer could be waiting—unless the man in black was still looking for him.

Jake had never felt so helpless. The least he could do was to track down Seth and warn him. It was the one thing he could accomplish while holed up in this motel room.

Jake plopped on the bed and grabbed the laptop. He would search every county in Colorado. If only he had access to national databases. He suddenly remembered the files from the clinic. He stood and pulled the thumb drive from the hidden interior pocket of his jeans. Running from the assassin and worrying about Taylor had preoccupied him so much, he’d briefly forgotten about the clinic data. With the drive inserted, he opened the white file icon on the laptop screen. Dozens of color-coded folders appeared, many labeled with yearly dates and a short group of seemingly random capital letters. The labels meant something though, and with enough data sifting, he would figure it out. The first thing he would look for was Seth’s parents. They might still be in Colorado and know where to find him.

Loud knocking on the door startled him. The motel manager shouted, “Pay up or get out!”

Jake decided to pay for another day. If he moved to a new motel, it had to be late at night when he had a chance of escaping the assassin’s watchful eye. Using Zion’s cash, he opened the door a few inches and gave the manager the night’s rate. “I’ll get a receipt later.”

The old woman eyed him suspiciously, trying to look past him into the room.

“Don’t worry. It’s all good.” Jake closed the door and sat on the bed. His stomach cramped, and he realized he hadn’t eaten hardly anything since he’d left Zion’s home the night before. Guilt sent another stab of pain to his gut. When he could, he would locate Zion’s family and pay them back.

For now, he had to eat. He ordered a sausage-and-mushroom pizza to be delivered and sat back down to open files. He couldn’t stop thinking about Taylor. She must be hungry too. Maybe even handcuffed and thirsty. Would she confess to a murder she hadn’t committed if they intimidated her enough?
Please no.
He didn’t believe it. She was stronger than she thought. Her courage to pursue this investigation, knowing that two subjects had already been killed, spoke for itself.

He grabbed the laptop, leaned back against the wall, and opened a file dated 1995/96. Within it were hundreds of folders labeled with last names. To check what kind of data they contained, he clicked the top folder: Sandra Altman. Three documents displayed. The first was a medical history file with some personal data, the second contained birth records, and the third was her pregnancy record. A scan of the birth information revealed that the baby had been labeled
female
, with no notes indicating gender confusion or abnormality. Were these files even relevant? Maybe the test subject data had been destroyed or kept somewhere else. But the researchers had known not only where to find the three men who’d been killed, but they also knew the three subjects shared a love of fire. They were keeping track of the offspring.

Jake switched to Sandra Altman’s pregnancy record and scanned through the data, looking for a prescription or injection and didn’t see one. But he’d moved too quickly. He started at the top and perused it again, reading every word. Under a listing titled
Ges-Rx,
he finally found a short list of medications
: Prenatal vitamins, amoxicillin, ImmuNatal.
The vitamins and antibiotic seemed harmless enough, but what the heck was ImmuNatal? He googled it and came up with nothing. Was it the experimental medication that had created dozens of intersex children? It would be interesting to see if the mystery prescription showed up in other files.