The screen filled with possible matches. One by one she scanned them, eliminating each result until her gaze settled on one interpretation of the acronym.
Neuro Pathway Quotient…Neuro Pathway Quotient.
She wasn’t a doctor, but she knew enough about brain injuries to know it destroyed neuro pathways.
She clicked on the link and an article about the subject popped up on screen. It had been included as reference material in a medical research paper dated May 1999. The copyright on the source paper was 1979, pre-Internet.
A rush of excitement charged through her. The copyright holder was Martin J. Trayborne, the patriarch of the Black’s Cove Clinic. Jack Trayborne’s grandfather.
Olivia selected the print option and sent the request. In the background, she heard the laser printer fire up as she scanned the article.
A lot of medical jargon filled the page, but a single paragraph caught her attention.
I have managed to isolate the protein responsible for the formation of new neuro pathways. I am hopeful that this discovery will result in the formation of new attachments within the patient’s injured brain, rewiring and resetting the synapses.
Was this why her parents had brought Ross to the clinic? For some sort of miracle cure? It was a heroic effort, but obviously, it had failed. She swallowed and sat back in her chair. If Ross was used as a human guinea pig, were there others?
Was there any way to get at the Foundation’s financial records? If Ross had a trust account, then maybe others had been established, as well.
A loud screech interrupted Olivia’s thoughts.
She spun around in the swivel chair, her brain trying to process what her eyes were seeing.
Paper shot out of the holding tray on the printer, like fast balls off a pitcher’s glove.
The librarian scrambled, trying to shut off the kamikaze machine.
Olivia stood up and rushed to help. Finding the power cord plugged into the floor, she pulled it. The printer ground to a stop.
What on earth was happening? she wondered as she turned back to her computer cube, only to find her screen and every other monitor had gone black.
“Oh my, there must have been a power surge of some sort,” the librarian said as she crawled around on the floor picking up the paper.
“Has this ever happened before?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
Olivia knelt next to the flustered woman and helped her scoot the sheets into a pile.
“I was printing out an article I found on the Internet. Did you happen to see it?”
“No,” she continued to work the mess into a neat stack. “Everything here is blank.”
Olivia placed the last piece of paper on the stack and stood up. Glancing around the library, she studied the two lone patrons. A young teenaged girl and a middleaged woman. Neither of them looked like a would-be printer-monger and Internet saboteur.
This freaky episode was too much like what she’d experienced in the basement of the clinic. Otherworldly.
“Thanks. I’ll come back when the Internet is up.”
The librarian tucked a stray strand of gray hair back behind her ear and nodded. “Thanks for your help.”
“You’re welcome.” She exited the single-story library building and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Scanning the street in both directions, she half expected to see Jack Trayborne’s distinctive car, but it wasn’t there. How was it he always seemed to be nearby when things got weird?
Maybe it was time to poke the tiger.
She watched an older gentleman move toward her on the sidewalk.
“Excuse me, sir.”
He stopped, a polite smile on his mouth. “Yes, can I help you?”
“I need directions. Can you tell me where I might find Jack Trayborne’s home?”
His smile vanished. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know where he lives.” The man hurried away, leaving her amused.
Surely someone like Jack Trayborne was well-known in the community his family established. She’d almost bet everyone in town knew who he was and where he lived.
“Excuse me.” She stopped an elderly woman with a shopping bag on her arm. “Can you tell me where I might find Jack Trayborne’s home?”
The woman shook her head and picked up her pace in an effort to get away.
His address wasn’t listed in the phone book; she’d already checked. Maybe she could find out where he lived through the hotel?
About to give up, she spotted a young woman pushing a stroller along the sidewalk. It was worth another try.
“Excuse me, miss.”
The woman stopped. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if you know who Jack Trayborne is?”
An instant smile spread on her lips. “Yes, I do. In fact, he’s my hero.”
Her confusion must have amplified on her face, because the young woman attempted to clarify.
“He saved Gracie’s life.”
“Gracie?”
“My baby girl.”
Olivia’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest. Staring down, she looked at the baby tucked into her stroller in a fluffy pink blanket. She had her mother’s pretty brown eyes.
“He saved your little girl? From what?”
“An out of control car. We were on the corner of Main and 11th. Grace was in her stroller. Virginia Radcliff accidently hit the gas pedal instead of her brake when the light turned red. She lost control of her car. It came through the intersection and jumped the curb. Jack Trayborne grabbed me and Gracie and pushed us out of the way. The car ended up right where we’d been waiting to cross. If it hadn’t been for him, we wouldn’t be here.” She looked down at her baby and the little girl smiled up at her mother.
Olivia could see how much she loved her child and a measure of respect for Jack Trayborne took shape in her brain.
“That’s a touching story, with a happy ending. I was wondering if you can tell me where he lives.”
“It’s easy to find. It’s just west of Black’s Cove Clinic.”
An ounce of dread leaked from her bones and splayed across her nerves. She’d made a silent vow to avoid that place like the plague.
Leaning over, she stared down at the adorable baby girl, pursed her lips, and made a clicking sound. Gracie responded, a toothless grin pulling up her mouth and bunching her baby cheeks. “Bye-bye, sweetie, glad you’re safe, and thank you…” She glanced at Gracie’s mom.
“Judy…Judy Bartholomew.”
“Judy. Maybe I’ll see you again.”
The young mother nodded and continued along the sidewalk.
Olivia pulled in a breath and headed for her hotel four blocks away. She planned to return to the library for a copy of the article she’d found on the Internet, but for now, she needed to write down everything she’d discovered about NPQ. And then there was Jack Trayborne. Hero, rescuer of women and infants. A Black’s Cove resident everyone had to know, but wouldn’t talk about or betray. Why?
Could she risk a face-to-face meeting with him before she’d uncovered enough ammunition to counter the verbal assault she was sure he’d launch against her and her exposé?