three
It had been years since she had set foot inside Bio-Tec Canada, the company her father had worked for. The company that was mentioned in Schroeder’s journal. Not much had changed. Even Annette Taylor was still there.
The receptionist’s eyes widened as Del approached.
“Delila, what a surprise. What are you doing here?”
“I’m not really sure, Annette. Who’s in charge now?”
“Edward Moran.”
Moran had been one of her father’s associates, a man with a hard edge and a way of looking at her that made her cringe. She had always avoided him whenever her father had invited her to social events.
“Do you want me to buzz him for you, Delila?”
“I guess so. To be honest, I’m not even sure why I’m here.”
She was starting to sweat and her legs were beginning to shake.
Damn! Not now!
Annette returned with a glass of water. “Mr. Moran will be down shortly. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, I’m fine, Annette. Thanks.”
Ten minutes later, Edward Moran strutted through the doorway, his chest puffed like an old rooster. He was a heavy-set man with a round, pudgy face. Small, squinty brown eyes were framed by copper-rimmed glasses perched atop a thick nose. Dark, curly hair receded from a wide forehead and settled into gray streaks above his ears. On some men it would look distinguished but on Moran, it just made him look old.
The man’s navy-colored suit strained across his stomach as he approached. It was at least one size too small. The black buttons on the jacket were fastened…barely. One sneeze or cough would likely send them flying like shrapnel, and Del pitied whoever was in the line of fire.
“Delila Hawthorne, is that really you?”
“Can we talk somewhere private?”
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