Kestrel (Hart Briothers #3) (3 page)

“That’s
why I needed you so badly, bro.”

“One
other thing. The proposal I made to the governor should be back in the next
week. That should help our land deal.”

Kolson
hummed. “We can certainly promise the state some higher paying jobs if they can
give us a few tax breaks. That’s a given.”

“Oh,
do you know when my vehicles are supposed to arrive?”

“Hang
on. Let me check.”

I
can hear him clicking on his keyboard.

“Yep.
They should be pulling in tomorrow.”

“Great.
And let me know if you get a line on any good properties down here. I’m going
to get off here so I can head to my executive apartment, which I’m sure is more
like a hole in the wall.”

My
brother chuckles. “No doubt. I’ve stayed in some that are worse than youth
hostels.”

“Shut
the fuck up. With my luck, the toilet won’t flush or something.”

“Kestrel,
did you even have anyone check it out for you?”

“Your
agent, remember?”

“Oh,
it’ll be fine. Gaston never sends me anywhere that’s not up to standard.”

“I
hope you’re right. Catch you later.”

The
driver is waiting for me as I exit the building. My apartment is downtown, in
the old section of Charleston where all the historical buildings are. In fact,
the studio is in what used to be an old carriage house. It’s quaint and beautiful,
with wide planked heart pine floors and gorgeous antique furniture. I’m quite
dumbfounded. This far exceeds anything I expected.

Much
to my surprise, the owner has a wonderful binder of menus from all the
restaurants in the vicinity. They are divided into sections according to whether
they deliver or not. There is another small binder of local grocery stores,
highlighting ones that deliver. I quickly make a couple of phone calls, placing
orders for food, wine, and dinner.

While
I wait for my things to arrive, I unpack my clothes. My thought is that I’ll be
here for at least a month or two, maybe more. After a brief tour of this place,
I decide I want to buy something similar to it, but much larger than this. The
apartment is spacious—a one-bedroom with a huge bathroom, living area,
and nice sized kitchen combination dining area. In the back is a moss-covered
stone terrace that is walled off and very private. I’m not sure if the owner
lives in the main house that’s adjacent to this, but if so, I envy him or her.

The
carriage house is equipped with a top of the line sound bar, so I sync my blue
tooth and put some tunes on. It’s not that I mind being alone; it’s the quiet
that gets to me. That’s when the memories rush in. Music keeps them at bay, so
I usually have something playing all the time, even if I have to wear
headphones.

Not
much later there’s a knock on the door, and my food arrives. Shortly after
that, my groceries follow. And then my phone rings.

“Yeah.”

“What’s
all that noise?” It’s my sister-in-law.

“I’m
putting away groceries that were just delivered, listening to music, and trying
to eat dinner.”

“Hmm.
Busy much?”

“No.
Only tonight. And you called right in the middle of it.”

“You’re
always busy, Kestrel.”

“Not
too busy for you.”

“So?”

“It’s
great. The office is great. My admin is awesome, except she makes shit coffee.”

Gabby
breaks out into a fit of giggles. She knows I’m a coffee addict.

“Oh,
God. What did she give you? Some generic ground up brand?”

“Worse.
Instant.”

“She
didn’t!”

“Oh,
yes, she did. And her eyes bugged out when I told her it was shit. I wish you
could’ve seen her.”

“Oh
my God! Poor woman.”

“But
here’s something better. I told her not to call me ‘sir,’ only ‘Kestrel’. And
she kept saying, ‘Kestrel, sir’. I’m talking constantly, you know?”

“Uh
huh.”

“Well,
apparently it’s a Southern thing, but I thought she was afraid of me.”

“No!
What did you say?”

“I
asked her. And she finally cleared it all up.”

“Oh,
shit. How funny.”

“But,
here’s the best. There wasn’t a brew station in the office.”

I
hear her spit out her drink and then cough.

“Hey,
you okay?”

“Yeah.
Give me a sec.”

Then
she howls and I can hear her hand slapping the counter. “Holy shit,
Kes
, what are you gonna do?”

“That’s
just it. She told me to go to Target.”

“You?
Target? My pretentious asshole of a brother-in-law setting foot in a Target?”
She starts snorting now.

“I
know, right? Am I that bad Gabby?”

“Uh,
yeah. Well, mostly.”

“Hmm.
I’m working on it, I swear. Anyway, I told her I’d never set foot in a Target and
now she thinks all New Yorkers are like me.”

I
hear this loud bang, and then a crash, and nothing but snorting and laughing on
the other end. This is going to take a while. Finally she gets back on the
phone.

“Jesus,
I’m dying here. I wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall.”

“Oh,
you would’ve loved it. After she realized I wasn’t an alien or something, she
finally volunteered to get me the coffee maker. But now I’m worried she’s going
to get one of those pieces of shit. You know—like the one you and
Kol
have.” Then it’s my turn to laugh.

“Yeah,
you coffee snob. It would serve you right.”

“Seriously
though, if she does, I’m screwed. I’ll have to buy one and sneak it in there
and hide it somewhere so her feelings don’t get hurt.”

“Kestrel,
I’m sure you’ll figure that out.”

“Hey,
I’m a sensitive guy.”

“Uh
huh. I’ve seen that
sensitive
side of you.”

“What?”

“You
know what I’m referring to.”

“So
I’m an ass sometimes.” I can only imagine the face she’s making. I’m an ass a
lot of the time. “But Shayla is a super admin and I don’t want to fuck anything
up with her. She’s going to be the queen of the office so I cannot be hurting
her feelings.”

“If
you say so. How’s the apartment?”

“Sweet.”

“You
got a suite? I thought it was a one-bedroom?”

I
groan. “No, it’s sweet—like sugar.”

“Awesome.”

“You
need to get your ass down here. This town is the cutest place. You’ll love it,
Gabby. You and
Kol
need to buy a place down here.”

“Maybe
so.”

“Think
beach. Or maybe even yacht.”

“You
sound well.” She seems satisfied.

“I’m
fine. Now quit worrying.”

“Right.
I’ll let you go. Talk later.”

That
was easier than expected. I do a little work on my computer and then go to bed.
Tomorrow will be a busy one for me.

Chapter
Three

Carter

I
stand in the cemetery and blankly stare at the three headstones. They are only
markers with no bodies beneath them. But I had to have something to honor their
memories.

Ellsworth Carter Simon Drayton

Loving
daughter of Carter Ellsworth Drayton

August
14, 2007—October 2, 2010
 

Mary Ellsworth Drayton
 

April
11, 1958—October 2, 2010

 
Daniel Carter
Drayton

February
15, 1958—October 2, 2010

Loving
parents of Carter Ellsworth Drayton

and

Loving
grandparents of Ellsworth Carter Simon Drayton

Four
years have passed and it’s still difficult for me to process. Their absence has
left a gaping hole in my life, a wound that will never heal. I pull out the
pictures I carry with me everywhere. One is of Ells and me. Another is of Ells
by herself and one is of Ells with my parents. Her blond curls shine in the
sun. She is playing in the sand at the beach house. She loved the beach and the
water. Irony is a killer. The very thing she loved the most was the thing that
took life away from her. She would be seven now. I should be buying her ice
cream and presents. Instead, I’m sitting at her damn headstone.

An
arm reaches around me and hugs me. “You were lucky to have had her, if only for
those three short years.”

It’s
my friend Harper. She always comes. On the anniversary and Ells’ birthday
because she’ll know this is where I’ll be.

“Yeah,
I know. But it was way too short, Harper.”

“It
was. But she was the greatest gift of all.”

“That
she was.”

Harper
takes the pictures and holds them for a second. “She was also the most
precious.”

“I
know. Thanks for being here.” My hand covers my mouth. Telling myself I’m not
going to cry is pointless. It never works. Harper pats my back and tells me
it’s going to be okay. It’s not. Four years later, and I’m still as raw as I
was the day it happened.

My
hand reaches out to steady myself on the headstone, and I cram the pictures
back in my pocket as we head to our respective cars. The morning dew leaves my
toes and sandals wet, but I don’t care. They’ll be dry by the time I get to
work. Besides, no one sees me anyway. Being stuck in a lab all day, looking
through a microscope, has its advantages sometimes. And why should I care if my
stupid feet are wet anyway? And for that matter, why should I care if anyone
else sees them?

My
phone disturbs my depressing thoughts as I close the car door.

“Drayton.”

“Carter.
It’s Uncle Foster.”

Uncle
Foster was my father’s partner in his law practice. They grew up together and
were more like brothers than friends, and then went on to practice law
together. Foster has gone beyond what any true uncle would do for a niece,
financially.

“Hey.”

“How’s
my girl today?”

“Do
you really have to ask?”

“No.
It’s a shitty day for all. Um, I hated to make this call, but honey, I can’t
put this off any longer.”

“I
know. The house.” I moan but I realize if I don’t sell the house on Murray
Boulevard, I’ll be bankrupt soon. The house is in the wealthiest area of
downtown Charleston. Its upkeep is astronomical and the taxes are more than any
burden I can handle. I’ve taken out a second mortgage to cover expenses, and
Uncle Foster has helped me as much as he can, but it hasn’t been nearly enough
to keep things running. Now I have no choice but to sell. I can’t ask Foster to
keep bailing me out. I’ve gone through all the money from the firm that came to
me as part of the death benefit, the hundred thousand in the safe, and
unfortunately for me, my dad was ridiculously underinsured.

“I’ve
listed it.”

“I
know. The agent called me last week.”

I
can hear Uncle Foster sigh. “You don’t hate me?”

“No.
I could never hate you. I know I have to sell. There’s no other option. I’m
just sad. But what else is new?”

“I
wish I could take your sadness away.”

“Me
too.”

“Anne
said she’d call us both when she had someone interested,” he says.

“Anne?”
I ask.

“The
realtor.”

“Oh,
right.” Duh. I need to get my head out of my butt.

“Ok,
sweetheart, I’ll talk to you later.”

He
ends the call and my heart pounds. The thought of even showing the house freaks
me. No one knows about
the room
. And if someone looks at the house,
they’ll have to see it.

It’s
all I can think about as I drive to work. My nerves are so addled; I put my ear
buds in and turn the volume on my music up so loud that Muse blares in my ears.
I really should take better care of my hearing, but right now, music is my
salvation. It drives my demons away and soothes me.
The
louder the better.

As
I walk in the lab, my boss, John, greets me with a cheery smile. “Morning,
Carter.”

My
open hand moves through the air, gesturing back to him.

“I
see we have music Carter today.” He yells at me.

I
bob my head. Usually, that’s enough to put him off, but not today.

“So,
what’re you working on?” he asks as he follows me like an eager puppy.

Why
the hell would he ask me that? He knows damn well what I’m working on. It’s the
same thing I’ve been working on since I’ve been here. I’m trying to decode
cancer cells so they can’t produce PD-L1. Cancer cells produce programmed death
ligand 1 proteins that bind to T-cells, inhibiting them from killing the cancer
cells.

Pulling
the buds out of my ears, irritation laces my voice as I answer him. “John, you
know I’ve been working on the inhibition of PD-L1. I’m trying to reprogram the
genetic coding of cancer cells so they are unable to produce the programmed
death ligand 1 protein. You know, so they’re susceptible to being lysed by
T-cells.”

He
enthusiastically grins at me.

“Yes,
I know.”

It’s
almost like he’s getting ready to get some cake or something, like a little
kid. I wonder what’s up. He never acts like this.

“Are
you feeling all right?” I ask.

“Splendid.
Absolutely splendid.”

I’m
happy someone is on this horrific day. But as I look at John his enthusiasm is
nearly contagious. He’s a funny looking little man. Short and squatty, only
reaching to my shoulder (though I am tall for a woman at five feet ten), he’s
bald on the top with a wide rim of gray fuzzy hair that springs out around his
head, framing it like a wiry nest. His long, narrow nose supports a pair of
wire-framed spectacles and he has large square teeth that are always visible
because he’s usually smiling for one reason or another.

“Are
you going to tell me what’s so absolutely splendid?”

“Well,
Carter, in order for you to continue your research, what is it that you need
the most?”

“An
unlimited supply of
oncomice
?”

He
breaks out in giddy laughter, ending in a snort. This is highly unusual, even
for John.

“And
in order to get that unlimited supply, what do you need for that?”

His
eyes are lit up like hazel orbs, sparking with excitement. And it finally hits
me.

“No!”

“Yes!”
he yells, hops up and down like a rabbit, and grabs my hands. We both are hopping
now.

“When?
Who? How much?”

“Late
yesterday.
A major pharmaceutical company.
And as much as it takes for you to discover either yay or nay.
They want a cure, my smart doctor. They want
your work
, Dr. Drayton.
They want you to create a way to reprogram the cell. Are you up to the task?”

“Huh?
What the hell have I been doing all this time?”

“And
look where’s it’s gotten you!”

“Oh
my gosh! Wait! Are you telling me I have unlimited funds?”

“Carter,
my girl, you have unlimited funds for your research.”

I
throw my arms around his neck and kiss him straight up on the lips. Then I
laugh and he laughs. And we hop around some more.

Suddenly
I come to a halt. “Jesus.”

“What
is it?”

Rubbing
my face, I say, “Well, of all days. I … today’s the anniversary of—you know.”

“I
do know. And I thought it most proper and fitting that this day be dedicated to
your family’s memory. Your hard work, everything you’ve dedicated your life to,
won’t be in vain, Carter. Some day, children will live because of you. People
won’t get a death sentence because of what you’re doing and what you believe
in. Not many people can say that. So you know it wasn’t in vain, Ells’ death
that is. Going to that conference put you in the right place. And as much as
you miss her and your parents, you can at least think of it that way.”

My
arms fly around his body so fast I nearly knock the little bugger off his feet.

“Thank
you, John. None of this would’ve happened without you. If I hadn’t met you at
Duke and if you hadn’t believed in my research, I would never have gotten this
far.”

“Nah,
you’re a genius, my girl. So why don’t you start with making a list of
everything you need and then a list of everything you want. I’ll try to get you
both.” He winks at me.

It’s
hard to believe. My dream is becoming reality. Funding for my research project.
I can begin digging in. Drugs that inhibit PD-L1 are in development. Two are
already on the market with amazing results. But what if one could plug
something into the cancer cell to make it impossible for that cell to even
produce PD-L1? Decode it genetically, so to speak. Turn off the switch. Once
that capability was removed, the human immune system could function as it was
designed to and the T-cells could destroy the tumor cells. Boom! End of cancer,
or at least some of the cancers. This is my mission. My goal. And if this
works, then I’ll move on to other similar projects.

My
lists are outrageous, but I have nothing to lose at this point. The only thing
they can say is
no
. They (whoever
“they” are) have seen all of my research and are obviously impressed with my
data, thus far. I’ll see what they deign to dole out to me. If I get half of
what I’ve requested, I’ll be giddy with excitement.

“So
when should I expect to hear from them?”

“Tomorrow.
They’re coming to meet with you.”

“Shit,
John. A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“You
have nothing to worry about. All you have to do is tell them what you want. And
be honest. Carter, they want you, badly. And they’re afraid if they don’t get
you, someone else will. That’s how important your research is.”

“Really?”

“Yes,
really. You should have more faith and confidence in your work. It is most
spectacular.”

“I
suppose so.”

My
lists are complete, so after lunch I’m back to work as usual and my phone
rings.

“Dr.
Drayton.”

“Hi,
Dr. Drayton, this is Anne Crosby from Premier Properties. Foster
Haynesworth
said he discussed the listing of your home with
me. I know this is sudden, but I have someone interested in your house already.
And given the price point, this is highly unusual. I was wondering if you could
meet me at the house for a showing because I haven’t had a chance to put a lock
box on it yet. As I said, I know this is very sudden, but this potential buyer could
be a perfect match.”

My
heart falls. Oh, God. Not today.

“Okay.
When?” I stammer.

“Today.”

“Um,
well, I’m at work and can’t leave.”

“Dr.
Drayton, that’s fine. The interested party can’t be there until five-thirty. Is
that okay?”

No, that’s not okay!
“Of course. I’ll see you then.”

“Thank
you.”

Now
I’m in a completely shitty mood. My mood has roller-coastered from low to high
back to low again. What the hell! I’m ready for this day to be over. And
the
room
! Fuck! My heart hurts just thinking about it.
 

Darn!
I was hoping no one would ever be interested. That’s not really true, but the
fact is I don’t ever want to move away from that house. I love that house. It’s
my home. Now I’ll never be able to focus.

I
don’t hear John behind me until he speaks and I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Hey,
calm down. Is everything all right?”

“Not
having a good day, John.”