Preston forced the images of the man's razor-sharp teeth and the memories of his stinking breath out of his head.

"On top of that, I have a little more bad news," Preston groaned. "The DEA is getting involved."

"s.h.i.t," Jack replied with an annoyed reaction. "Only a matter of time, I guess. It was a miracle that they let us have it this long. Four months and the leash goes right back on."

"Yeah, they know how bad this'll be if it gets out of Chicago," Preston said with a defeated smile. "That's probably why we've been left alone for the most part," Preston stated, allowing the left side of his mouth to rise in a cerebral smirk. "They considered it a local problem. Some good news came out of the situation, though," he said, his smile shifting to one of general enjoyment. "The lieutenant just filled me in. The Columbian drug cartels have drastically reduced shipments of cocaine into the city. Heroin, too."

"No one's buying anymore, huh?" Jack said, looking slightly more hopeful. "That's one way to kill demand-get them addicted to something worse."

"Its basic capitalism-offer a competing product of the best quality at the lowest price and the customers start knocking down your door to get it," Preston responded casually, letting his smile fade with a shake of his head.

"If it were basic capitalism, they'd be making a profit," Jack reminded him. "This is just insanity."

"I suppose you're right," Preston conceded.

"Well, just be prepared," Jack said, lowering the volume of his voice slightly and sounding mildly defeated.

"For what?" Preston asked, allowing his gaze to wander back to the screen.

"As soon as we take Bloodstrife out of the picture, all those other hard drugs will be rushing back into this city like a tidal wave," Jack answered una.s.sumingly. "We'll be doing the cartels a real favor any way you spin it. Right now, we're like their best friends."

"Yeah, I know," Preston said, irritated. "It just goes with the job, not unlike late nights and prematurely graying hair."

"Can you picture what the next twenty years are gonna be like?" Jack said, turning on the lights and shutting down the PC.

"It doesn't matter," Preston said, getting up. "I think our careers are going to be defined by what happens in the next twenty days."

Jack removed the flash drive that contained the slide show, slipping it into his pocket while they proceeded toward the door.

"You might be right," Jack said, reflecting. "What are your plans to handle the DEA?"

"They always try to take over, but we've usually been able to keep them distracted while we run the real police work," Preston said, arriving at the door. He paused, looking his partner in the face. "They said their agent is arriving tomorrow evening. I want to see if I can do anything by the time he gets here."

"Good luck with that," Jack said sarcastically. "Mind if I ask where you're going to start?"

"They brought all of the equipment from the factory to the station already, right?" Upon receiving a confirmatory nod from his partner, Preston continued. "I think I can dig around a bit."

The next day, after eating an early dinner alone at a quaint diner down the street, Preston returned to the station unceremoniously, trying to stay under the radar of the lieutenant and, by approximation, the DEA.

The air outside had taken on an unseasonable chill. Although no longer so fatigued that he couldn't stay focused, Preston knew he wasn't at the top of his game. The street seemed to stretch on forever as he made his way back to the station. Perhaps it had been the events of the past few days which really got to him. More recently, it was the statistic he'd heard on the news while in the diner.

In only a little more than four months, Bloodstrife was the most abused illegal drug in the city. All others had fallen by the wayside. Although still outnumbered by prescription addiction, the number foretold that they would be outpaced within the next one to two months.

It was almost an insult to him personally. It implied he wouldn't have it off the streets by then.

Still, other matters took precedence. Detective Burroughs knew he had only a few hours at most before the DEA agent showed up. The evidence room was overflowing with new inventory, but even a few hours wasn't enough time to sift through everything, especially if he was trying to do it covertly.

He'd spent most of the day trying to discern the full scope of Jason McGovern's Particle N discovery. He'd also been sure to review as much of the case as possible, ready to tackle whatever he found in the evidence room.

Preston took a deep breath as he entered the station and went upstairs to his floor. Peeking around the corner, it appeared to be smooth sailing to his office. As usual, the floor was buzzing with everything from normal water cooler conversation to the yelling of perps who had been brought in for questioning against their will. Uniformed officers and other detectives pushed people into interrogation or spoke, sometimes loudly, on the phones.

The detective made his way cautiously toward his office, avoiding eye contact with anyone he pa.s.sed.

"Preston," the lieutenant said as he reached the mid-point of the room. Apparently, blending into the commotion had aided the lieutenant as well. Preston never saw him coming. "There's someone I want you to meet."

Walking over, Preston could already see the dark suit and gla.s.ses indicative of a DEA agent. He should have known that the man would be there early.

His hair was dark brown and short. He was probably only a few years younger than Preston, but he didn't have any advancing gray. Since he was clean-shaven, Preston couldn't tell if the color of age had started invading his beard either.

It was certainly a man who had been dictating from behind a desk for quite some time. Silently, the detective grew mildly angry. The job wasn't nearly as stressful when the gunshots or the addicts were up close. This agent couldn't hope to imagine what Preston had just been through.

"Hi, I'm Detective Burroughs," Preston said, offering his hand with veiled courtesy and a friendly demeanor.

"This is Agent Wilson," the lieutenant said, apparently aware that the agent wouldn't introduce himself directly. He did still offer his hand, however. They shook briefly.

Preston knew he probably still had a reputation after the last incident. The DEA had been called in during the cocaine bust eighteen months earlier as well. Needless to say, their presence hadn't helped the situation. In the emotional outbursts that followed Elisabeth's death, Preston had made sure they were aware of it.

This particular agent hadn't been there, but he had no doubt been informed. Preston shrank back a little, putting his hands in his pockets.

"We're looking forward to working with you," Agent Wilson said in all seriousness. Preston couldn't get a read on him. His face was like stone; his personality clearly as dense.

"Me, too," Preston offered, lying through his teeth with another toothy smile. He glanced to the lieutenant, seeing that he was beginning to pick up on the insincerity. Just from working with him he would have known that Preston never acted so happy.

"I was wondering if you could walk me through the case files," the agent stated, not phrasing it as a question. "Your lieutenant here already offered, but I'd like to work with someone who's been on the front lines; you know, get a fresh perspective." He turned to the lieutenant, almost as a matter of emotionless reflex, like he'd been programmed to do it. "No offense, of course." The lieutenant shrugged it off, probably happy he didn't need to work with the DEA directly.

"Sure thing," Preston said, making sure the artificial smile didn't linger too long. "It'll have to wait until tomorrow, though. I just stopped by to pick up a few things on my way out."

"If it concerns the case," the agent said, pouncing, "I need to be kept in the loop."

"On no," Preston replied briskly. "This is more of a family emergency." He could see the uncertainly in the lieutenant's eyes at such a statement. Everyone in the whole station was aware that he wouldn't be dealing with any family emergencies ever again; probably the DEA agent, too.

"Nothing too serious, I hope?" Agent Wilson commented with a degree of suspicion. Clearly, he was willing to let it slide.

"Not too bad," Preston replied in kind, making his way toward his office in an attempt to cut off the conversation. The plan was to duck inside for a few minutes and wait for the heat to cool off. Then, it was on to the evidence room.

"We'll talk tomorrow then." Agent Wilson called after him. Preston offered a half-hearted wave in return. He ducked into his office as planned, keeping a casual eye on the window to the outer offices. Upon seeing the DEA agent depart with the lieutenant, he made his way downstairs.

Preston entered the evidence room with a slow stride that forced him to appreciate the seriousness of the situation. Aside from the earth-shattering information that the kid scientist had provided them with, being on the verge of death had given his mind more focus in recent days. On top of that, the DEA was here, in his station. For now, they still wanted him involved in the investigation, but it was only a matter of time until they tried to take away the case completely.

In such bleak times, one of the few constant optimistic factors was Jack. As usual, he'd helped him up after hanging precariously over the edge of the cliff. His partner had always been there with a handshake and an open ear every time there was a struggle. This meant coping with the aftermath of Elisabeth's death through the more recent threats against him. The two were so much alike. If anything were to happen to Jack's family, it might be like losing Elisabeth all over again.

Lately, Preston had been retracing the events of his life in the past eighteen months. The evening prior, in the dark, quiet surroundings of his apartment, occasionally interrupted by the wailing of pa.s.sing police sirens, he'd come to a realization. Preston knew he probably would have turned in his badge a year and a half earlier without Jack's support. Then, perhaps in his aimless wanderings, he'd be on the other side of the addiction at this moment in his life, sneaking down alleyways, looking for a fix.

Immediately, Preston grew furious at himself for even entertaining the thought. He quickly pushed the idea out of his mind.

He took in the stale air of the evidence room. In reality, it was a vacant office that hadn't been used for much more than storage until the overflow of computers and doc.u.ments from the factory had started to spill into the station. It was now wall to wall with file cabinets and all the electronic equipment that had been confiscated in recent days.

There was a small desk in the center with several smartphones, ordinary cell phones and a couple of disconnected computer towers. The various power cords and monitor hookups were arranged neatly on the table beside them. A single flat screen monitor rested near the edge. The woman keeping watch over the room stood in front of them, writing on a clipboard as she inventoried the evidence for what Preston a.s.sumed was probably the tenth time.

"h.e.l.lo, Detective," she said with a simple and uncaring smile, barely looking. "They told me you'd be coming. I'm just finishing up here. You can have the place to yourself in a moment." She presented the kind of expression that Preston knew he could never have for himself. Her face was stagnant and still, devoid of the lingering pain that he wore daily.

She clearly enjoyed the safe, albeit uneventful life of someone who worked behind a desk, just like Agent Wilson. She was still closer to the front lines than he, probably seeing the occasional spillover of violence in the department from criminals brought in kicking and screaming. Unless the offenders decided to start attacking the station directly, this woman would never see any danger. That was probably for the best.

"Thanks," he replied casually, already taking in the atmosphere of the room. Despite all the information they had obtained, it was that young kid McGovern who had somehow managed to crack such a monumental part of the case. As far as Preston was concerned, the people who were made aware of Particle N needed to be kept small. There was still the matter of whoever might be eavesdropping on the police files.

A faint reminder of the awful stench in the factory had clung to the equipment. Had the room been bigger, it would have been barely noticeable. Instead, it was cramped and concentrated. They might as well have shipped the rotting burgers and maggots along with them.

Lingering traces of canned air freshener hung stagnantly in the air. It wasn't helping matters much. It took a few moments for Preston to get used to the thought of staying in the room for an extended period of time.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw several half empty bottles of air freshener on the table. He began to spray them indiscriminately until the room was drowning completely in the dense smell of artificial flowers.

After the woman had left, Preston proceeded to hook up the computers and plug in the cellphones and smartphones. There had been no phone chargers found with them, but the corporations that manufactured them had been kind enough to send a few of them over, probably so they could take the same route as Argosi and hope to spin it in their favor should it ever become public. Preston wondered how many would have been willing to help with nothing to gain. d.a.m.n, he thought, irritated. No wonder everyone is getting hooked.

The devices flickered on with the generic chime of each of their manufacturer's logos. In a matter of minutes, two of the computers were hooked up and running as well. Only the hum of the machines and his own steady breathing floated around the room, which he noted was gradually getting hotter, similar to his apartment at night.

While waiting for the devices to boot up completely, he opened the office door. Feeling it made little difference, he looked around the evidence room. In the corner was a small fan, which Preston immediately turned on. Soon, it began flooding the room with a shallow breeze that washed over him like cool ocean waves.

Preston fiddled around with the files on the computer, hoping to find something that the evidentiary team had missed. If that kid McGovern could leech something useful out of this mess, then there might be something else worth finding.

As soon as it was done booting up, he could see that most of the files had been pulled to the desktop to allow for easier access by whoever was investigating them last. None were unfamiliar. Both he and Jack, along with half the force, had been briefed on their contents previously.

Like him, most of the cops had left the data mining to the tech guys, only reading over the pertinent doc.u.ments when they had been handed a hard copy. Of course, this meant that it was possible something had been left out.

The Chicago PD was now privy to the entire production line process of the Bloodstrife that was found in the factory, with the notable exception of the catalization agent, and of course, the newly discovered N particle.

Digging a little deeper, he managed to come across a few of the charts that Mr. McGovern had discovered, hidden in an encrypted file. Jason had been right. It was located in such a secluded place on the drive, barely anyone could have found it. He studied them for a few minutes more before jumping to the other computer, hoping to find something else of note.

So far, nothing new had popped up.

Preston almost jumped out of his seat as a small beeping sound shattered the consistent hum of the fan around him. He turned, seeing one of the smartphones lying on the table. Its screen lit up, showing that there were missed messages. He opened the inbox quickly.

There were two text messages, both having been sent shortly after the factory bust. The phones themselves had been logged into evidence that night and searched the next day. Whoever was sending the messages probably hadn't heard about their seizure until well after. The first message read "pick up scheduled at site B. 8/7."

Preston offered a slight curse to himself. It was dated the day after the bust, which meant they had missed their chance. Preston checked the current time and date on the phone and saw it as the 12th of August. Whatever was happening at site B had already pa.s.sed. Unless the factory was site B, the Detective said.

"That's true," Preston said aloud, knowing he was alone. "They would logically pull the particle from the air at another site, presumably site A. Then, they would distribute it at site B." Finally, he had a chance to use the detective as intended, an ally rather than a nuisance.

The second message was a warning that had been sent out just yesterday, on the 11th. It read, "Site C compromised, discontinue."

"So much for my keen deductive skills," Preston admitted aloud. "So we have at least three sites. Site C is no longer a factor," he continued aloud, occasionally checking the door to make sure no one was there. The incident at his apartment with the young woman had been embarra.s.sing enough. "They probably make the main ingredient at site A, then site B is still unknown." He found speaking aloud helped him think. It stood to reason that at least one of the other locations was a fully functioning factory. It was clear that the supply of the drug hadn't been disrupted since the bust. The street dealers were still getting it from somewhere.

If Jason had calculated correctly, those three known sites might be all that exist, a small operation. Preston hoped the kid was right. He has been so far, the Detective said, getting off track again.

Preston thumbed through the other numbers and messages which had been logged by evidence. The phone number that the new messages had originated from had already been tracked by the Chicago PD. Like the others, it was tied to a cloned cell phone. Moreover, they didn't provide any clues as to the whereabouts of their owners either. In a city as densely packed as Chicago, pinpointing their locations via cell transmissions had also come up short. Far too many buildings existed within the specific radius of the tower.

A smart criminal would have thrown them away already anyway, he reasoned.

Preston began thinking of his family life before the cocaine bust which had brought it all crashing down. Cases were easier to crack in those days.

Whenever he would hit a road block, he would just take a break and speak with Carol; not about the case, but rather informal conversation that helped clear his head. How did she want to re-model the kitchen? Was she going to be working late this week? Elisabeth would always be nearby, playing with her toys, ready to join in whether she understood what they were saying or not.

More often than not he was surprised when he looked out the window of the study in the old house, seeing the sun creep up along the rooftops of the neighbors on the hill. Mild shock and a quick smile soon followed when he realized that he'd stayed up all night going over rudimentary details concerning the case. His daughter would even come to visit him as soon as she woke up in the morning, first thing.

Now, he was still staying up all night, but not because he needed to clear his head.

Preston sighed, glad that no one else was there. Keep it together, the Detective said. Maybe the reason this case is harder than the others is because you don't have them to help you anymore.

"That's enough," Preston said aloud, slamming his hand lightly on the table. The wobbly table shook enough to send the monitor teetering over the edge. Preston barely caught it in time.

One of the smartphones beeped, indicating yet another message.

"Jeez," Preston said to himself with a groan. "If they're this dumb, I should have caught them by now."

He opened the message, puzzled by what he saw. In plain text, the words "I want you to come find me" were written. Great, the Detective said, another criminal who taunts us, pleading to be caught. That's my favorite kind.

Preston responded to the message instantly. "Who is this?" he typed, fumbling slightly with the keys on the screen.

He waited impatiently for a few seconds, which gradually dragged onward into a few minutes. The detective sighed again, realizing he probably wasn't going to get an answer. It had been a long shot to begin with.

He placed the phone on the table and took one last look around. As he was about to leave, the phone beeped again. He picked it up quickly, almost dropping it in the process.

The message said "My name is Betsy Burroughs."

The phone fell to the table below like a stone. That was one of the nicknames he had for her. He could tell she never liked it very much, always preferring to be called by her full name.

You realize where they got this information, right? the Detective said.

"Yeah," Preston affirmed. "There's no doubt now. They have access to the case files."

Chapter 13.

Jack began the tedious drive up the road, arriving at the now finished gateway which greeted him at the entrance to Argosi's estate. The initial shock he'd experienced upon seeing the mansion for the first time quickly faded. It was replaced by a restless urgency to get in and out as quickly as the CEO would allow. Even the sky appeared impatient, scattered with thin flecks of gray and white as if it were forcing itself to rain.

Arriving at the newly erected barrier, Jack had come to the edge of the now completely isolated estate of Benton Argosi. The bulldozer that had been present before, nestled in the bushes, was gone. The large tracks it had left in the lawn had been carefully erased from the landscape with impeccable skill. Trying to picture where each former blemish had been was virtually impossible. There was no trace as if each had merely been painted over with a thick growing green.

The fresh steel gate, however, looked out of place, like Argosi was advertising his fear.

Although Preston was the one who could more easily tolerate Argosi, Jack had insisted on a coin toss to determine who would be cluing the millionaire in on his new living arrangements. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances, Jack would have tried to use his charm to get out of this inane exercise entirely, but considering what Preston had been through lately, he decided to give the man a break.

More to the point, Preston had visited the CEO just yesterday at the hospital. Knowing what he knew now, Jack would have volunteered. From what Preston had said, he was barely there five minutes.

He slowly came to a stop and rolled down his window to the guard. The man was sheltered in a newly constructed security station standing to the side of the gate. Lazily, Jack peeked out of the window, seeing the formally gray afternoon transitioning into a foreboding evening.