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in this manner, the results were slightly higher, but not as high as the marketing materials for Cardovin would suggest.”
    “And yours?”
    “My study showed that it worked no better than a placebo.” She returned to preparing to draw blood. Stark grabbed her wrist to stop her.
    “No better than a placebo! Are you serious? Just what am I supposed to tell the board of directors? The shareholders? Price is due to report last quarter’s earnings in a few days, and to project future sales. You expect me to tell them that our number-one seller doesn’t work? Wall Street will eat us alive.” Stark’s eyes were hard, furious.
    Emma shook off his hand. “How you reveal these findings is up toyou. My job was to analyze the drug. I did that. But, to be honest, I’m a little surprised by the depth of your reaction. You knew over two months ago that Cardovin had problems. I saw the memo from your head scientist telling you that he felt further action was required to analyze Cardovin’s efficacy. Price hired Pure Chemistry right after, so I assumed you were acting on the memo.”
    Stark was up and pacing. “I was told that the drug had some questionable results, but not that it was a complete waste!” He stopped prowling the room and straightened. He pinned her with a stare. “I want a copy of that report e-mailed to me at your earliest convenience. Until that time I wish to remind you that Pure Chemistry is subject to a confidentiality agreement. You are not to release these findings to any scholarly journals, or to anyone else, without our express consent.” He delivered the order in a precise, clipped manner. It was all Emma could do to respond to him in a normal tone of voice.
    “I’m aware of my responsibilities—and yours. Price cannot continue to sell a drug that it knows is worth no more than a sugar pill. Once your scientists review my findings and agree with them, Price will have to stop selling the drug. It’s that simple.”
    “Nothing is ever that simple.” Stark strode to the lab door. “Inform the guard when you’re done here. The door will lock behind you.” He was gone in an instant.
    Emma sighed. The day was getting worse by the moment. She returned to the task at hand. She’d worry about Stark later. Right now she was far more concerned about herself. Filling the vials was much more difficult now that she was alone. She watched as the red plasma rose in each one. She still felt normal, which was impossible if she’d been injected with a chemical weapon on the level of what she suspected. Each hour she didn’t react was further evidence that whatever had been pumped into her wasn’t going to cause immediate, catastrophic harm. So not a fast-acting chemical weapon—then what?
    Several street drugs caused some of the same symptoms she washaving, absent the extreme endurance boost, but something told her that the EpiPen contained nothing so ubiquitous. The injecting device itself showed a level of sophistication that wouldn’t be found in conjunction with a street drug. In that case one could simply hit her with a needle and achieve the same result. She finished, tossed the sharp into a hazardous-waste container on the wall, and applied the Band-Aid to the injection site. She took the vials to another workstation to begin testing.
    Anxiety usually entailed a level of stress, this much she knew. Stress released chemicals into one’s bloodstream; hormones triggered cortisol, cortisol triggered epinephrine. Too much of any of this would overwhelm her system, but one’s body also had a mechanism in place to moderate the reaction. Hers, though, was charging ahead full bore. It was as if her moderating switch had been deactivated. An adjunct Rapidtest existed that could reveal the levels of stress chemicals circulating in her veins. She prepared to check for catecholamines: dopamine, norepinephrine, and epinephrine. She finished the test, then waited.
    Forty-five minutes later, she had her answer.