She walked out without another word. A loud, angry woman was a force to be reckoned with, but a quietly fuming one was hell in a skirt.
I didn’t have time to contemplate her fury or its potential consequences. Dr. Gregory lightly tapped on the open door before walking in.
“Sorry I’m late. Had to finish a time-sensitive test on VP#4. Because we’re on a tight schedule, I’m going to jump right in if that’s OK?” she sat in the seat recently vacated by Lydia.
I held out my hand and said, “Please proceed.”
“Since my last email, we did discover a little more about VP#1. It fluoresces in brain tissue and nasal passages, supporting the theory that it creates a change in the brain which manifests as an increase in aggression. It also seems to indicate that it’s responsible for the enhanced sense of smell exhibited by those infected,” her voice held an edge of excitement uncharacteristic by the analytical researcher.
“So, the protein serves multiple purposes?”
“Yes, depending on where it integrates into the host genome. In all likelihood, the genetic material encoding VP#1 incorporates in many different cell types in the host’s body, but the gene doesn’t turn on and produce a functioning protein in every cell type. So, it seems it’s selective about what cells can create the protein.” She shuffled through some papers in the folder she’d brought with her.
“What’s the status of VP#2 and #3?”
“We have them both purified and have found the right combination to get them both replicated in larger quantities. We’ve been unable to figure out what effect VP#2 has.” Disappointment caused her lips to turn down and eyes to darken
“Why?” I didn’t understand the setbacks. I had the most brilliant minds working in my lab.
She held her hands up helplessly. “Maybe it doesn’t have a function. Maybe its function is only visible under the right set of stimuli. We just don’t know yet. But the work on VP#3 is progressing better now. There are no effects when the protein is injected. But when the protein is ingested and passes through the digestive system, it’s absorbed and incorporates into the host. We aren’t sure of how it works yet, but it causes photosensitivity. The work on that protein is still in its infancy.” She slid a chart over to me which detailed the response of the subjects to varying levels of light.
After a quick glance, I slid my chair back, defeat making my shoulders slump. “We’re running out of time. I’m running out of time.”
Her eyes filled with sadness as she reached across the wooden surface to grasp my hand. “I know. I feel the weight of the deadline every day. I assure you, my team and I are doing everything we can to get everything isolated and at least figured out enough to try to target counteractive measures. But science can’t be rushed, especially when it could potentially be life and death for you.”
Ruefully, I smiled at her. “It already is life and death for me. I know you’re doing your best. Is there anything you need that you don’t have?”
“No, I don’t trust any other researchers enough to bring them in on this. The government has ways of getting to people and discovering whatever weakness they need to exploit to ascertain the information they seek. We finally have all eight proteins isolated and are working on replicating everything. We’re also working on generating the sequence of the entire viral genome. We just had some problems purifying the DNA because of the secondary folding. Once we get the sequence, we’ll determine which sequences code for which of the proteins.”
“Sounds good. When should I schedule the next update?” I pulled up my calendar on the computer screen.
“Tentatively, plan for next Tuesday.” With precision, she stacked the papers back up, closed the folder and slid the whole thing across the wooden surface as I added her to my schedule next week.
“Thank you for your diligent work, Dr. Gregory,” I said as I walked her out of my office.
She reached out and stroked my arm. Her eyes were sad and filled with compassion as she said, “I’m doing everything I can to find the cure for you and beat the deadline. If it can be done, I’ll do it.”
“Thanks, Abigail. I know you’re doing your best.”
She walked toward the elevator. When I turned around, my gaze met Celesta’s outside her office door.
“I was just coming to look for some water,” she said awkwardly.
With considerable effort, I pushed aside the sense of despair looming over me. “We can get some on the way down. I just finished my meeting.”
“OK. Let me grab my camera.”
She returned a moment later and followed my path to the elevator. Once we were safely enclosed within the steel contraption, I pressed my palm to the pad and then spoke into the intercom “UG2”.
Celesta looked at me puzzled. “What’s UG2?”
I stuffed my hands into my pockets to keep from touching her. “Underground level two.”
“Your building extends underground? I thought it was impressive with its eighteen visible stories.”
“The underground levels are only accessible with the highest levels of clearance. For people to come to the subterranean levels, they need an approved palm print, an approved voice recognition and be on the list the guards at each level have. There are three sublevels to the building. The first level is the research lab, then my recording studio and music floor, and finally, records. Each of these floors has a counterpart on the upper levels where work can also be done. For instance, the whole eighth floor is a research lab where all my scientists work. But out of a team of fifteen scientists, only three have access to the lab on UG1,” I explained. I wanted as few secrets as possible between us.
Her head tilted down to examine the settings on her camera. “Speaking of scientists, who was the beautiful woman dressed in a lab coat in your office earlier?”
“That was Abigail Gregory, my top researcher. Our meeting this morning was to bring me up to speed on a time-sensitive research project.”
Her face turned back up to mine. “She looked worried when she left. Was the research not promising?”
“Oh, it is. The problem is that it isn’t progressing as quickly as I’d hoped it would.”
“She seemed genuinely concerned, not like an employee, but more like a . . . friend.” Her breath rushed out with the last word of her explanation.
Ah, she was fishing for information about Abigail.
“Abigail is a brilliant researcher, and she hates thinking she’s let me down with this particular project. She and I do have a friendly relationship, in the way that I care about her well-being, but not in a way that I want to spend time with her outside the office. Does that set your mind at ease?” I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
“H-how did you know my mind wasn’t at ease?” she sputtered.
“You keep forgetting about all my enhanced senses. After just a few days together, my body is already attuned to your normal breathing rate, your regular heartbeat, your scents, everything. I’m still figuring out which combinations mean what where you’re concerned. But I do know the message your body was just sending was that you were nervous and maybe jealous. Though, I could be a tad off in my guesses. As I said, I’m still learning to read you. But I wanted to assure you that you have no reason to worry.” My fingers cupped her cheek.
She stepped closer to me, close enough I could feel the heat of her body caressing my skin. She peered up at me through heavily lidded eyes. “What message is my body sending you now, Toven?”
I swallowed loudly in the confined space which now seemed to rage like an inferno. I glanced over her shoulder to the numeric pad and realized we still had about twelve floors to go before the elevator doors would open and let cooler air in. Because I used my palm and voice to request UG2, the car wouldn’t be stopping between floors to let anyone else on.
My eyes drifted back to hers with no mental direction from me. Her eyes brimmed with heat and desire. Her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips. My body reacted as if jolted with
electricity. My cock twitched, and my arms ached to anchor her to me so my mouth could taste those glistening lips.
“Are you going to answer me, Toven?” she whispered.
I’d forgotten the question.
She smirked. “Maybe you aren’t that good at reading my body after all if you can’t figure out what it’s saying right now.”
“I can read your body just fine,” I growled. “It’s mine I’m trying to shut up. Your body is calling out to mine . . . begging mine to kiss you, to take you. Mine is shouting for me to claim you, mark you, devour you, cherish you. Your body is singing to my blood, and my body is producing the accompanying harmonies.” I sucked air in through my clenched teeth.
“Then shut up and let our bodies sing to each other.”
♪ Love in an Elevator by Aerosmith
I just stared at her, my eyes ticking back and forth trying to read hers. I glanced at the numbered display. Damn, when did this elevator get so slow?
“Kiss me, Toven,” she breathed. “Please.”
If she hadn’t spoken the words, I didn’t know if I would’ve given in. But I was no match for the breathy plea on her lips. I crashed my mouth on hers. They were supple and soft and tasted of the sweetest flavor I could imagine, something uniquely her.
Her hands fisted the front of my shirt while mine pressed her closer to me. My tongue traced the seam of her mouth before she opened with a moan. Our tongues twisted in a dance older than time. This kiss was better than each kiss we’d shared before. It touched something inside my shriveled heart and made it flare with life. This kiss gave me more, but it took more too. And God, did it make me want more, so much more. My hand traveled down the swell of her butt to grip her thigh. I hitched it up as much as her skirt would allow, which only made her moan into my mouth, and released the pent-up heat at the juncture of her thighs
Before we could get lost any further in each other, an electronic voice announced we’d arrived at UG2. Maybe coming down here with her wasn’t such a good idea. No one had access to this floor except for me, which meant no one would be around to keep us from finishing what we started in the elevator.
I lowered her leg back to the floor and slowly drew away from her delicious mouth. She whimpered as our lips parted, and her body stumbled forward as if pulled to mine by an invisible force. I closed my eyes and forced my breathing to slow. She struggled to slow her own intake of air. When I finally got a grip on myself, I opened my eyes and took in her flushed appearance.
“Ready to see where the magic happens?” I tweaked her nose and winked.
She nodded and followed me down the corridor to the piano studio.
20
Celesta
I gasped when Toven flipped on the lights in the piano studio. It was state of the art. I bet the equipment in the room would rival some of the most lucrative recording companies.
The room was dominated by a grand piano which was wired to a sound system. A baby grand faced the larger version. Microphones hung in front of the dueling pianos. There were also a couple of upright pianos and a keyboard spaced around the large, high-ceilinged room.
To the right was a soundproof booth, which I imagined was where the documenting of the magic happened. Cushioned chairs and a couch lined one wall while there was a desk in the corner with blank composition sheets and one of Toven’s leather-bound music notebooks.
“Let me show you the booth,” Toven said as he took my hand and led me into the glass-walled room.
The soundboard had more switches and knobs than I could count. A degree in rocket science was probably necessary to run things from this side of the glass. Video monitors and computers were on the far wall. The room could comfortably accommodate five people.
“This is amazing, Toven,” I said, running my fingers lightly over the edge of the soundboard.
“I thought we could set up to record using the cameras already in place. You can pull sound-bytes and video clips from the high-definition recording we get. Does that sound OK?”
“That sounds perfect. Then I’ll only need to concentrate on taking photos.” I was already imagining what we’d need shots of.
“OK. I’ll start the video recording now.” He walked over to the board and adjusted a few switches, causing the monitor behind him to flare to life with a wide shot of the room and a close-up of the front of the grand piano.
“Go play a couple of notes and speak into the microphone, so I can adjust the volume levels from in here.”
I stepped out of the room and to the beautiful instrument. It had been years since my fingers had tickled the ivories.
“Can you hear me OK?” I spoke into the microphone.
He gave me a thumbs up through the window before his voice came through the speakers, “Now, press a few keys for me.”
I sat on the soft bench and positioned my fingers on the keys. My mind raced back to my childhood, trying to recall any of a dozen songs I’d memorized all those years ago. My fingers finally found a familiar melody.
Toven came and settled on the bench next to me.
“That’s an oldie. I remember when Hoagy wrote that.”
He began to play the bass end of the duet while I played the treble end. I closed my eyes and began to sing “Play that Song” by Train.
♪ Play that Song by Train
“What are those words you’re singing?” he asked, his brow wrinkled in confusion.
“Oh, it’s a song Train released not too terribly long ago that uses “Heart and Soul” as the melody. It’s pretty catchy and popular. Haven’t you heard it?” I cocked my head to the side in astonishment he didn’t recognize the new take on an old melody.
“No, I haven’t.”
I stopped playing and dug my phone out of my pocket. A few quick taps brought up a YouTube video of the song. He listened with rapt attention for a bit.
“Nice. People don’t mind that the melody is a song composed nearly eighty years ago?”
“Not at all. Train has breathed new life into a classic song.” I stopped the music and set my phone down.
He stroked his chin and looked deep in thought. “Do you think their success can be repeated with other classic songs?”
I pondered for a moment. “With the right combination of lyrics and song, absolutely.”
“That’s definitely food for thought. So, when did you learn to play?”
“My mom had me take lessons when I was ten. I took lessons for two years. When my mom died, I stopped playing. I only really played because she wanted me to. I didn’t retain much more than that little melody and Every-Good-Boy-Does-Fine.”
He chuckled out loud. “Well, that’s something, I suppose. Do you really believe that, though?”
“Believe what?”
“That every good boy does fine?” He winked at me.
I busted out laughing. “I couldn’t say for certain. Are you a good boy who does fine?” I flirted with him.
“I do fine, but I’m no boy and not generally good.”
Heat stole up my neck and colored my face at the look in his eyes. My brain couldn’t fashion a thought, and my voice couldn’t form words.
“How about we get started?” he suggested, breaking the silent tension hovering between us.
“That’d be great. Ignore me, and I’ll just take pictures as you play.” Thankful for something to do, I started to get my camera settings figured out.
“What should I play for the videos?”
My lips twisted as I considered his question. “How about we start with your favorite song that you’ve written?”
“That’s got to be like asking a mother to choose her favorite child. Do you know how many songs I’ve written? I can’t choose one.” His fingers combed through his hair.
“OK, how about something easier? Can you play one of the songs you’re currently trying to sell to new bands?”
He nodded with a grin. “That I can do.”
He launched into a fast melody, fingers flying
up and down the keys to produce the body-moving song. I was so entranced by him and the sound he produced, I almost forgot to take pictures.
Once the song was over, he asked, “How was that?”
“Good, do you have one with lyrics to try?”
“I have one I haven’t shopped around yet. Let’s move over to the keyboard so I can add in the other instruments I recorded a few days ago.”
He stood, and I followed. Settling himself on the bench before the large keyboard with a massive series of buttons, Toven pressed a code into the keypad. A toe-tapping rhythm started with an impressive drum sound. Soon a bass groove was added in, followed by a guitar riff that made my skin tingle. Then Toven began to overlay a matching melody on the keyboard. After an attention-grabbing intro that would rival the opening notes of a concert act, Toven’s voice chimed in, singing lyrics about the constant chase of something unattainable, of feeling the need deep within your blood, and lusting after it to the point it consumes you.
As I took photos of Toven completely lost in his creation, I wondered if I’d ever wanted something so badly I felt it in my blood. My degree and the truth about my dad were the only things I’d ever truly desired and went after. But they didn’t compare with the lyrics coming from Toven’s heart and soul. I longed to understand that feeling, to want something that desperately.
When the song faded away, I asked, “When did you write that one?”
“Well, I composed the notes months ago, and I had lyrics a few weeks ago. But the lyrics changed as recently as a few days ago. Originally, it was very literal. The constant hunt a vampire embarks on to feed his blood lust. Now, it’s taken a more figurative turn, making it a song I think more people can relate to. You know, mass appeal and all. I just need to find a band to record it.” His head dropped, and he looked dejected for a moment, a very rare look on him.
“It sounds amazing. I think it should be the background music playing on your homepage. Now, how about you play something you’ve sold that topped the charts?” I encouraged.
Blood Song: Prelude (Blood Song Series Book 1) Page 26