Don't Turn Around Read Free

chance to join a board roster, and “financial advisers” surely got some sort of kickback.
    Peter took another tug from the bottle of bourbon, then eyed it. If he drank much more, Bob would be able to tell. Reluctantly, he replaced the cork.
    He was about to tuck the various papers and files back in the drawer, rearranging the bottle on top of them, when his eyes alit on the line item “Project Persephone.”
    That was pretty exotic for a financial company; they tended to have a penchant for testosterone-driven names like “Maximus” and “Primidius.” Peter scanned the page, but all he could tell was that whatever Project Persephone was, it consumed a hefty chunk of AMRF’s significant annual budget. As in, almost all of it.
    Something about the name, though, struck him as familiar. Peter keyed up Bob’s laptop, typing in the password when the box appeared on-screen: his mother’s birthday, of course. He did a quick web search for Persephone, and realized where he’d seen the name before: When they studied Greek myths back in middle school. Persephone was the girl who got kidnapped and dragged down to Hades, but her mom cut some deal where half the year, she returned to live back on Earth.
    Peter sat back in the chair, puzzled. His eyes fell on the clock across the room: nearly seven thirty, SportsCenter would be on soon. The Bruins had played a game earlier, and he wanted to see the highlights. He debated closing the drawer and going on with his evening, but something nagged at him. Peter sighed and ran his fingers back over the keyboard, instituting a basic search on AMRF.
    A long list of organizations went by that acronym, including the Algalita Marine Research Foundation and Americans Mad for Rad Foosball. Skimming the list, none of them jumped out as the kind of company Bob would invest in. Peter hesitated, then decided to dig further. He shut down Bob’s computer and went to retrieve his laptop.
    Twenty minutes later, he was pretty sure he’d found the right site. From the look of things, it was some sort of medical research company, although whatever they were researching was buried under a string of code names. He dug around some more, but the majority of the company’s files were locked behind firewalls that resisted his first attempts to throw a ladder over. Peter knew that given enough time, he could surmount them—in the past, just for fun he’d hacked unnoticed into the Pentagon, FBI, and Scotland Yard databases. The question was, could anything Bob was involved with possibly be worth the time commitment?
    Probably not, Peter decided. With a yawn, he powered down the laptop.
    A minute later, his front door was kicked in.

CHAPTER TWO
    N oa found herself in a corridor identical to the one where she’d left the doctors. She raced down it, the guard’s footsteps pounding behind her, joined by the sound of others giving chase. The crocs flapped against her feet, slowing her down. She finally gave up, kicking out of them as she hit the corner. No point keeping her feet warm if it meant getting caught.
    She glanced back—the guard had just rounded the corner, huffing hard, his face beet red. Just ahead of her, another set of double doors. No padlock, but one of those red signs that warned of an emergency alarm hung above the exit.
    Noa ignored it and pushed through. The alarm sprang to life, blaring in her wake.
    Outside, it was dusk. Freezing cold air hit her immediately, penetrating her thin cotton scrubs. Noa quickly scanned the surrounding area: It was some sort of warehouse complex, battered-looking, dust-colored buildings lining a narrow road. The pavement was uneven and scored with potholes. No cars or people in sight.
    Noa broke right, aiming for a narrow gap between the buildings on the opposite side of the road.
    Behind her the door slammed open against the wall, and she heard the guard shout.
    The space between the buildings was narrow, barely wide enough for a single car to pass. A few