She shrugged. So what? It showed he cared. It showed he’d gone to the trouble of finding something tailored specifically for her.
When had anyone ever done that?
But a little niggle of doubt ate at her as she headed back down the empty corridor to her lab, the heels of her boots echoing in the empty gloom. It summed up her relationship. Jozsef Danko seemed so perfect, but everything about him was always just slightly off center. It hadn’t worried her before. But today it did. Maybe she was making a mistake. Maybe she just needed a holiday. The stress of this project had been getting to her.
Or maybe she’d just been unsettled by the mysterious man who’d moved in next door.
She shoved open the lab door, gasped.
Jozsef had the lid to the box of larvae open. She rushed forward. “What are you doing?”
He glanced up, smiled that nonchalant smile of his. “Just peeking at your babies.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“Oh, come on. It can’t hurt. So, do you like your pendant?”
“Yes.” She moved over to make sure the lid to the larvae was properly secured. The ugly little grubs, her pride and joy, represented a fortune to Kepplar Biological Control Systems. And there was stringent protocol on secrecy. A leak could spell the loss of millions. She couldn’t understand why Marshall would clear anyone with security. Even her fiancé. It just didn’t make sense.
“Come.” She turned to Jozsef. “Let’s get out of here before you ruin me.”
Jozsef chuckled. “Now that would be the last thing on my mind.” He lifted his hand and brushed her cheek softly with the backs of his fingers. “Come, let’s go grab some breakfast. My place or yours?”
Skye hesitated. “Actually, Jozsef, I’m really tired…and I’ve got a meeting with Marshall in a couple of hours.”
He studied her face. Then he nodded. “Sure.” He took her arm. “It’s okay, I understand.”
Skye felt everything but sure. Or okay.
Jozsef halted at the door, grasped her shoulders, turned her to face him. “Skye—”
The sudden severity in his eyes startled her. “What?”
“Promise me you’ll wear that beetle always. No matter what happens. Can you promise me that?”
She reached up, fingered the gold carapace. “Why? What’s going to happen, Jozsef?”
“Just make me that promise.”
She tried to read his eyes. Couldn’t. “All right,” she said tentatively. “I’ll wear your beetle…no matter what happens.”
Scott’s phone beeped. He flicked it open. “Yeah.”
“The plate’s registered to a Jozsef Danko.”
“That was quick.”
“He’s in the system. Landed immigrant, a Hungarian national. Investor, stockbroker, importer-exporter, all-round international businessman. Travels a lot. Works from an office out of his residence. Wonder why an international player like him has set himself up in a place like Haven.”
“He found something to keep him here. He’s getting married morning after next.”
“What?”
“He’s the fiancé.”
“What fiancé?”
“Dr. Van Rijn’s.”
Silence. “We didn’t know there was a fiancé.” There was a new bite in Rex Logan’s voice.
Scott felt a wry smile tug at his mouth. The Bellona boss was suddenly taking this mission a little more seriously. “Well, there is one. And do me a favor. Have someone check into Danko’s recent investment history.”
“Why?”
“A hunch. I think these two may be working together.” Scott flipped his phone shut as two figures emerged from the Kepplar lab building. Danko and Skye.
Jozsef Danko walked her over to her bike. Scott noticed his arm around her slim waist. Something in his stomach tightened.
Danko leaned down as if to kiss her but she moved abruptly, positioning her helmet on her head as if she hadn’t noticed his intention. It gave Scott an unexplained jolt of satisfaction.
Danko’s vehicle exited the Kepplar compound, turned left. Skye, on her Harley, turned right. Scott followed the bike.
The doctor rode home at a ridiculous speed. Scott turned down a side road and approached his house from the opposite direction as pale gray fingers of dawn reached over the distant sea.
He had just fed Honey, sunk down onto the sofa with a mug of coffee and fresh ice pack when he was jolted by a banging at his door.
He sat up, winced. His knee felt like a bloody water-filled balloon after the box-carrying episode last night. He dragged his hands through his hair, reached for his cane, pushed himself to his feet.
The banging got louder.
“All right, already!” He limped over to the door, threw it open.
And froze.
Dr. Skye Van Rijn stood there in a soft pale pink sweater, fresh as a freaking daisy after her night of sneaking around in the dark. She smiled up at him with those lightly glossed lush lips. Her eyes were as pale silver and lambent as the monochromatic dawn sky.
Something shifted in his belly. He pulled the door closer to his body, hiding the dossier, her personal details scattered all over his living room coffee table.
“Mornin’,” he said slowly.
Her eyes flicked over him, taking in his rumpled clothes. “Doesn’t look like you got much sleep.”
He shrugged.
She waited.
He said nothing.
“Your truck wasn’t here early this morning.”
“I work odd hours. Needed to chase my muse this morning. Went for a drive.”
She bit her bottom lip, studied him with those crystal-clear eyes. “I see.”
He shifted slightly, held the door closer.
“I thought you might need that.” She turned and pointed to a dolly she’d left alongside his truck still loaded with gear. “I had one in my garage.” She angled her head, looked back up at him, a twinkle playing in the silver of her eyes. Amusement tugged at one side of her mouth. “I had a hunch you weren’t going to ask anyone for help unpacking.”
She’d floored him. Again. He scrambled for composure. “Thanks.” He said no more. Waited.
“Well, I’m off to work, then. You coming tomorrow, around eight?”
“Tomorrow?”
“My wedding reception.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course. I’ll be there.”
“Well, have a good day, then.” Her top lip twitched slightly as if at some secret joke. “Happy writing.”
Was there mockery in her tone? Challenge in her voice?
“Happy doing whatever it is scientists in Haven do,” he answered.
She halted, as if unwilling to leave just yet. She turned back to face him. “I do research and development. I work mostly with insects and design biological control measures for the agriculture and horticulture industries.”
“You mean, you create assassin bugs?”
She laughed that deep, smoky laugh. “That’s cute, McIntyre. Yes, I find and develop little predators.”
“I see.” He allowed his eyes to walk slowly, obviously, over her utterly amazing body. “I’d never have pegged you for a bug lady.”
She laughed again, a little less sure. “A bug lady? What’s a ‘bug lady’ supposed to look like?”
Scott smiled, holding her eyes. “Not like you.”
For a moment their gazes locked. A silent, primal current swelled, surged between them.
Then she broke the moment. “And there I was, wondering what a typical futurist looked like.” She turned in a fluid movement and strode down the rutted driveway. Scott couldn’t help but watch the way her firm buttocks moved under the denim fabric of her jeans, couldn’t help the soft pulse of warmth in his groin.
“Oh.” She stopped suddenly and swung round.
He braced.
“I meant to tell you, nice Web site.”
Scott closed the door deliberately, quietly.
And blew out a stream of breath h
e hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Thank God. Rex’s boys must have placed some cyber-litter for his cover. It made sense that a woman like Skye would check him out on the Internet. Especially if she was hiding something.
He leaned heavily on his cane, looked down at the dog waiting patiently at his feet. “We’d better use the doctor’s dolly to unpack that computer gear and get connected.” He limped over to where his jacket hung across the back of the sofa. “That is, once we’ve made sure work is where she really is headed this morning.” He picked up his keys, bounced them once in his hand. And he couldn’t help grinning. The woman was a challenge he didn’t mind right about now. She was up to something, sure as hell. And he’d find out what. He’d prove Agent Armstrong still had what it took. This little game was gonna buy him a ticket back out into the field.
The real field.
The jitters in her stomach were still there. And her neighbor wasn’t helping matters. Skye pulled into the Kepplar parking lot, dismounted, yanked off her helmet. She should never have taken him that dolly. But seeing that big pile of boxes still in the back of the truck this morning had tugged something inside her. She’d wanted to reach out, to help. She’d also been curious. Because when she’d come back from the lab in the dark hours of dawn, his truck had not been there. And that only added to the strange cocktail of anxiety skittering through her system.
But taking him that dolly was definitely a mistake. Because seeing Scott McIntyre at the door, ruffled, sleepy, and all get-out sexy, in the same clothes he’d worn the night before, had stirred something else deep within her.
Something that manifested in a potent fusion of basic female desire and a maternal need to care. Both were parts of herself she’d locked away more than ten years ago.
In a few short hours Scott McIntyre was digging them out. Scratching at her veneer. And she knew what lay beneath was too raw and malignant to ever be exposed.
Besides, she couldn’t afford to be distracted now. Her beetle project was close to completion.
And she was getting married in the morning.
Skye shoved her emotions aside, pushed open the lab door and shrugged into her white coat. She was early, but Charlotte, her assistant, had arrived even earlier and was already busy at her microscope.
“Hey, Charly, getting a head start?”
The blond woman looked up, smiled. Skye had allowed herself to get close to Charly, closer than she really was comfortable with. A part of her craved the kind of open, genuine and honest friendship so many women shared. The other part of her was afraid she’d let something slip. She wished, at times, she could let her guard drop, her hair loose and just be free to share. Staying vigilant required energy. Concentration. Sometimes she just got tired.
Very tired.
Maybe that’s why she was marrying Jozsef. She could be with him, play the part of a regular woman, without opening up. He was like that. And marrying him would help seal her cover. Help her hide.
“What’re you doing here, Skye? Working right up until the day of the wedding? You should be pampering yourself at the spa, hon. Not poking at beetles and grubs.”
Skye made a face, motioned with her eyes to the ceiling. “Marshall wanted to meet with me this morning, discuss the project. Besides, I need to check on their progress.”
“The critters are doing just fine. You’ve worked magic again, Doctor. There’s nothing more for you to do but wait for the first shipments to mature.”
“Let’s hope they can stand the cooler temperatures.”
“That little gene seems to have done the trick. The control group is still thriving.”
The phone on the wall rang. “Yeah,” said Skye, reaching for the receiver, “but the ultimate test will be in the field. Dr. Van Rijn,” she said crisply into the receiver.
“Marshall, here. You ready to meet?”
“I’ll be right up.”
She hung up, rolled her eyes heavenward. “God has spoken.”
Charly grinned. “Have fun…oh, I almost forgot, Jozsef was here earlier.”
Skye stopped dead in her tracks. “Jozsef?”
Again?
“Why?”
“Looking for you.”
Skye frowned. “He knew I was home.”
“He probably forgot. The guy’s excited. Give the poor man a break. Tomorrow he gets a wife.”
Skye turned, started to push the lab door open but stopped midway, her mind racing. “What time was he here?”
“Jozsef?”
“Yes. Jozsef. Who else?” She heard the snip in her voice. So did Charly, from the look on her face.
“I don’t know. He was already in the lab when I arrived. Security let him in like always.” Charly stood. “What’s eating you?”
Skye shoved the door fully open. “Nothing. Wedding nerves.” But that little niggle was back, biting, probing deeper into the dark depths of her subconscious. She forced it down. She had work to do. An agricultural epidemic to halt. She strode down the corridor to the elevator.
The director of Kepplar Biological Control Systems was waiting.
Chapter 3
Marshall Kane stood at his office window, heavy brow crumpled down low over small dark eyes. Skye noticed the lines on the sides of his mouth were etched deeper than usual.
“Dr. Van Rijn, come in. Take a seat.”
Skye sat, noting the formal use of her title.
Marshall remained standing, a hulking silhouette in front of the gray morning light. “Thanks for coming. I know this is a busy time for you what with the wedding and all.”
Skye nodded. “What’s up?”
He rubbed his jaw. “Last year this was a purely Canadian problem. Now it’s a bloody international one. I got word last night that the whitefly epidemic has found its way into southern Washington greenhouses. And this morning, I’m told it’s been detected in Northern Oregon. Inside and outside the greenhouses. It’s like a goddamn army marching south. It’s like nothing I’ve seen.”
“It’s nothing any of us has seen, Marshall.”
“It’ll be hitting the U.S. produce basket before we know it. If California takes a hit, the whole damn nation will take a hit.” Marshall moved from the window, seated himself behind his massive glass desk. “Think a minute about the financial implications, Dr. Van Rijn. A Japanese-only embargo of California fruits and vegetables could cost more than 6,000 jobs and over $700 million in lost output. An international embargo of California fruits would cost the state maybe 35,000 jobs and more than $3.8 billion in revenues.”
Marshall leaned forward, elbows on his desk, hands spread flat out in front of him on the glass. “But a total quarantine of California fruits, in which shipments and sales within the United States are embargoed, would result in hundreds of thousands of jobs lost and up to $20 billion in lost revenues.”
“You’re forgetting the hit the Canadian greenhouse industry has already taken, sir. And with all due respect, we are not responsible for the spread of the whitefly to the U.S.”
“No. We are not.” He raised his hand, leaving a steamy imprint on the glass. “But just think about the implications for Kepplar if we are successful in halting the little bastards.” Marshall had a greedy gleam in his small dark eyes. Beetle eyes, thought Skye. He was like a fat hungry bug himself. He picked up his silver pen, punctuated the air as he spoke. “There’s a lot riding on your project, Dr. Van Rijn. The U.S. Department of Agriculture is watching us. Our first beetle shipment goes out to Agriculture Canada for mass dispersal in two weeks, right?”
“Correct. We’re on target.”
“Good, because the U.S.D.A. is waiting to see how effective we are. If they like what they see, there’s another big contract in the works for Kepplar. A U.S. contract. We’ll make headlines, Doctor.”
Skye nodded. She liked the money that came with success. It helped her buy freedom. But she shunned the publicity. That could cost her dearly. She shifted to the edge of her seat, leaned forward. “Marshall, I d
on’t need to tell you I’m still unhappy with the early target date. And I know I don’t need to warn you no project is without risk, including this one. Ideally, I’d like more field trials.”
“Nonsense. The contained trials had excellent results. We haven’t got time for more. The risks are minimal. I’ve read your report.”
“Any time an alien species is released into an ecosystem there’s a risk the new bugs could become pests themselves. Or worse, become a vector for another disease.”
“Dr. Van Rijn, you are a pessimist. This bug was bred in our labs. It’s clean. There’s minimal risk of transmitting new disease.”
“I’m no pessimist, Marshall. I’m a pragmatist. Yes, we bred the bug here. Yes, it’s clean. But we started with a bug imported from Asia—”
“It went through the requisite quarantine process.”
“There’s always risk when meddling with nature.”
Marshall rolled his silver pen tightly between his thumb and middle finger. “But you have a fair degree of confidence in this project?”
“I do.”
“And the first colonies will be ready in two weeks?”
“Yes. But as I said, I’d like more—”
“Good. Because the last thing our southern neighbor needs right now is this army of whitefly marching south from Canada and heading straight for their produce basket. They’re already scrambling with the damned cattle plague. Now this. It’s straining diplomatic relations and they’re looking for scapegoats.”
“I’ve seen the papers. The Americans figure we should have moved earlier to control the epidemic in our own backyard. But these things know no borders.”
“Well, neither will our predator bug so it better damn well work.” Marshall slapped the pen onto his blotter. “If it does, Kepplar is made. If not, we go under.” His beetle eyes bored into her. “This is make or break, Doctor.”
“I read you, Marshall.” Skye felt anger starting to bubble. She had no doubt it would be her who took the fall should the project fail. Not Marshall. Not Kepplar Biological Control Systems. Not Agriculture Canada. She’d be the one hung out to dry. Held out to the media as the pathetic scapegoat who failed to avert an economic crisis.
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