Point of Control by L.J. Sellers Page B

was nothing to gain by being charming to a rude receptionist. At the first door, she knocked loudly, waited a full second, then grabbed the knob. Catching people off guard could be effective, but she changed her mind and waited. A moment later, the door opened and a tall silver-haired man stared at her.
    “Do you have an appointment?”
    “No, I’m with the FBI.” She smiled, meeting his eyes for a long moment. “Agent Bailey.”
    The CEO’s face tightened and he stepped back. “Come in and have a seat.”
    Bailey waited for him to settle into his worn office chair, then sat across from him. “You’re Mark Ziegler?”
    “Yes. What is this about?”
    He wasn’t an aggressor. She could tell by his casual posture, soft eyes, and concerned tone. But maybe someone else in his company was. “Rare earth metals. Where are your products made?”
    “Some parts are made in Vietnam, but we assemble the phones here. Why?”
    “Is your factory having trouble getting the materials it needs to keep up with production?”
    “Everyone is.”
    “Who’s your supplier?”
    “We were buying them from Zing Metals in China, but we’re looking for a new producer now.”
    “Is your manufacturing shut down?”
    “Almost.”
    So they were getting desperate. “Do you know Nick Bowman?”
    The CEO hesitated. “I’m familiar with his work. What’s this about?”
    “Someone killed him. What do you know about that?”
    “What?” A startled expression. “Why ask me?”
    “Why did you take a flight over the Sunol Regional Wilderness Saturday morning?”
    He recoiled, as if physically afraid. “I didn’t. I was right here at my desk.”
    “Can you prove that?”
    “Yes. My manager was working too. What is this about?”
    She would check his alibi, but it didn’t mean anything. He could have hired a contract killer. “Nick Bowman was pushed out of a plane Saturday as it flew over the forest.” Bailey kept constant eye contact and scooted toward him. “Celltronics was one of the only companies that filed a flight plan in that area at that time. Who was on that plane if you weren’t?”
    “I don’t know.” But Zeigler was thinking about it. His eyes shifted as he processed the possibilities, and his lips twitched with worry.
    “Who in your company would kidnap and kill a metallurgist trying to produce a replacement for dysprosium?” It occurred to her that they might have stolen Bowman’s research, then dumped him because they no longer needed him.
    The CEO seemed stunned into silence. Bailey tapped her hand on the desk. “I need answers, or you’re the one coming into the bureau with me. You won’t like our interrogation room.” She hadn’t seen the one in the field office, but they were all the same.
    He grimaced as if in pain. “Only my partner owns stock in the company and would benefit directly from such a thing.” A disbelieving headshake. “But Miguel isn’t capable of murder.”
    He might be surprised. Even empaths could commit murder out of passion, anger, or greed. If his partner was a sociopath, he wouldn’t even feel guilty about it. “I want to speak with him right now. What’s his name and where can I find him?”
    “Miguel Carina. He’s out of town on business.”
    “Where?”
    “Seattle. He’ll be back in two days.”
    Bailey stood. “We believe more scientists’ lives could be at stake, so don’t warn him about our conversation.” She handed him a business card. “Text me his contact information. And call me if you find out anything.”
     
    The drive across the Valley to ZoGo was slow and frustrating, but mostly uneventful. The GPS guided her smoothly with no wrong turns, and nobody in traffic pissed her off. That almost never happened. Was she mellowing with age? Relief and disappointment surfaced at the same time, and Bailey laughed at herself. She was feeling good about this assignment—the challenge and the potential payoff when she resolved it. The sunny California weather