“No offense, I’m not really in a chitchat mood right now.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you aren’t. Then again, neither am I.” He sat forward. “I know who killed your guard—and no, it wasn’t me. You can check your security feeds. Gus and I were in your guest bedroom.”
“I know where you were.”
“I think my old boss is back in action and still wants to take you down.” A return of that sudden tightening across his frontal lobe made him rub over his eyebrows again. “Back in the spring, my commander attempted to leverage my relationship with Lydia after I tried to pull out of my mission—and I had hoped, when things stayed quiet through the spring and summer, that he’d moved on to another target. But your dead guard last night? I think you’re in play once more.”
“So who did you work for?”
“The Federal Bureau of Genetics.”
C.P. shook her head. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“That’s the point.” As his headache seemed to be sticking around, Daniel shifted his position to relieve the pressure on his spine. Not that it helped. “No one has. We were tasked with protecting the integrity of the human genome against unlawful manipulation—by clandestine labs just like yours. I was part of an expert team of mercenary soldiers who, shall we say, were deployed to dismantle such operations.”
“And to think I assumed I only had to watch out for my competitors,” she said dryly. “I’m impressed the government managed to keep you such a secret. So who is your boss, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“He goes by the name of—” A real spear of agony rocketed through Daniel’s skull, but he refused to be derailed. “Blade. It’s code for fuck only knows what. He had resources that were very deep, and he coordinated our squads of two to three soldiers, doling out the assignments and priorities. He’s efficient, highly rational, very deadly. I can only assume from the way he operated with such autonomy, and stayed so far outside the reach of conventional law enforcement, that his orders come from the highest levels.”
“Well.” C.P. laughed a little. “If I can do it, why can’t the president of the United States? Function under the radar, that is.”
“Listen, I’ve been really grateful for you.” He shrugged and was relieved as his headache began to ease up. “For taking Lydia and me in. Even if your intention was for me to be your first test subject, when I changed my mind and stuck to it, you haven’t kicked us out.”
“Don’t make a hero out of me, Daniel.”
“I’m not, don’t worry. But I’m surprised that you let me stay at all. Given what you know about me. What if I were a fox in your henhouse?”
“You aren’t. I monitor everything that happens around here. I know what everyone is doing—all their conversations, their calls, their movements. I have quite a comprehensive system—although there are certain provisions that are made for… privacy purposes.”
With a smile, he thought about what he’d done with Lydia the night before in their bed—when they hadn’t been able to sleep. “I appreciate the discretion.”
Her mouth lifted briefly at the corners. “You’re welcome.”
“Anyway, I’m a quid pro quo kind of guy. So in return for what you’ve done for me and my woman, I’d like to offer you a little help.”
A finely tended-to eyebrow lifted. “How so.”
“I have some ins with the organization I worked for. I’m prepared to exploit them to find out what’s going on with respect to your lab—and before you ask, you can have one of your security guys sitting at my shoulder when I do it. At least if you know what you’re dealing with, you can drive your strategy of retaliation better.”
There was a long pause. “Will your former boss be shocked at your disloyalty, I wonder.”
“I’m not being disloyal. I don’t work for people who threaten my woman’s life.”
“Fair enough.” C.P. inclined her head. “But I’m not sure I require anything. I am curious why this is all coming up now.”
“Apart from the dead guard, you mean?” As C.P. tightened her lips, like she was going well-duh in her head, he continued, “I want Lydia to be able to pick when she leaves this house. If you feel like you owe me something, that gives her some time. Even if I’m dead.”
“You don’t have to worry about her. She’s welcome here for however long she wishes to stay. I am… aware of her differences.” C.P. cleared her throat. “Security cameras have shown me… incredible things. She is a miracle.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.”
And he respected that C.P. hadn’t tried to exploit any of that—or brought it up with Lydia as far as he knew. Stress was stress, after all, and he wasn’t sure how much of that dual nature she wanted out in conversation.
“You know what,” C.P. said, “I think I will take you up on your offer.”
“Good.” He laughed a little. “I figured I’d have to argue with you—or wait until a couple of others died on your property before you came to your senses.”
“I’m far more logical than you give me credit for. And at any rate, you are an unusual situation.”
He waited for the expound on her reasons for taking someone she hadn’t hired, and perhaps shouldn’t trust, into her confidence. But when she didn’t go any further, he approved of her closed-lip routine. He would have been the same in her situation: She had a big operation to protect and the resources to do just that—but an unknown threat was on her horizon. If she could somehow extract intel from him? She bettered her position without a lot of exposure, given he had already been on the inside of her lab and had done nothing to violate her privacy.
“What do you need from me?” she asked.
“A computer with internet access. That’s it.” He held up a forefinger. “And I don’t want to stress Lydia out about this. I worry her too much already—and besides, it’s not like I’m going to go out into the field or anything.”
At least… he didn’t think he was headed in that direction.
Nah, he thought as he got to his feet. That wasn’t what was going to happen.
After C.P. told him she’d deliver a laptop to his room, he turned and started crossing the distance to the door. Halfway there, he paused and looked down at himself.
Well. What do you know.
He’d forgotten his cane, and didn’t even miss it.
TWENTY-FIVE
DOWN AT THE lab, Gus was pacing around his office, dribbling his basketball. In the entire facility, his work crib was one of the few that had four walls and a door; everything else was those open-air workstations. Of course, in typical C.P. Phalen style, he was monitored like everything else on the premises, but he certainly had more privacy than most.
And good goddamn thing, too.
He was supposed to be getting things ready for the first transfusion at midnight. Instead, he was fucking around, playing ghost jump shot with the door, working offense against absolutely nothing coming at him: He’d lied to good ol’ Cathy. There were no more tests to run. The shit that had been done at MD Anderson recently had been more than sufficient for relevant baselines and an assessment of her general health, and he’d done his own snapshot last night.