They passed by more long windows that opened up into various rooms. Chris would not so much as glance to see what they contained. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, and he kept his eyes forward. They trudged toward an open door at the end of the hallway. Two men stood outside the room and nodded at the businessman as the group approached.
“Go in there,” the he said, pointing through the doorway. He withdrew the two guns that he had taken from Greg and Chris and handed them to one of the men guarding the room. “Take these upstairs and send Mr. Kaufman down here.”
Chris walked into the room first. In the center, Tracy sat on a chair designed for donating blood. Straps secured her wrists and ankles to the chair. A length of silicone tubing stretched from an IV needle in her forearm to a plastic container and pump that collected her blood. Her eyes lit up when they entered. “Chris. Can you get this shit out of my arm?”
When the businessman came in behind them, her expression dropped. “Now, now, Ms. Harrow. We need to retrieve as much of your blood as we can.”
She glared at him. “You keep taking it from me and I’ll end up dead.”
“No matter to me.” He shrugged. “Mr. Morgan, you’ll find a box of individually wrapped syringes in the second drawer to your left. Please remove three of them for me.”
Chris steadied Jordan against the examination table that Greg had pushed in.
As Chris searched through the drawer, Greg stepped between the businessman and Jordan.
“Now, now. Don’t do anything rash.” The man pointed his gun at Greg until he stepped back up against the wall.
Chris found the sterile syringes in a white box and took out three of them.
“You’ll find a glass bottle in that shelf-top refrigerator. Fill each syringe with five milliliters from that bottle.” The businessman squinted at Greg. “I take that back. Fill two of them with five milliliters and the third with seven milliliters of the solution.”
Chris opened the small refrigerator. Ten little glass bottles with rubber tops, labeled identically, rested on a shelf. He took one and plunged a needle in. As he retracted the syringe plunger, the liquid surged up into it to the 5 ml mark. He filled the other two and turned back for further instructions.
“Inject Mr. Harding with the seven-milliliter syringe,” the man said.
“What’s in it?”
“Give Mr. Harding his shot.” He waved the pistol at Chris.
Chris stepped toward Greg, the syringe shaking in his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Greg said, holding out his forearm. “Do what you have to.”
Taking Greg’s wrist in his, Chris steadied the syringe in his other hand. He inserted the needle into Greg’s flesh, plunging it into a vein. The clear liquid swirled as he pushed down on the plunger.
As Chris withdrew the needle, Greg stumbled back, losing his balance. His eyes rolled up into his head so that only the whites showed. Then his eyelids jerked closed and he fell.
“Greg!” Jordan knelt at the man’s side and checked his pulse.
Greg’s barrel chest still rose and fell. He was deep in the throes of unconsciousness.
“Perfect,” the businessman said. “Mr. Thompson goes next.”
Lowering himself beside Greg, Jordan grimaced. He placed his good hand on top of Greg’s. “Go on.” He closed his eyes and sat with his head against the tiled wall.
Chris steadied the cold needle against Jordan’s skin. He hesitated and used his undershirt to wipe the blood from Jordan’s forearm. Using his fingers to better isolate a vessel, he inserted the needle and pushed in the plunger. Jordan’s breathing slowed as his head tilted toward Greg.
The businessman picked the last syringe up from the table. He tapped it, releasing the bubbles that clung to the sides, and held the needle upright, pressing the plunger to clear the trapped air. “Your turn, Mr. Morgan.”
“Don’t let him do it.” Tracy struggled against the straps holding her in place. The chair rattled.
The businessman pointed the gun at her. “Go on.” He handed the syringe to Chris.
Choosing a vessel in his forearm, Chris clenched his hand and lowered himself against the drawers. He plunged the metal needle in and felt a sharp pain. As he pushed on the plunger, a cold jolt erupted in his arm. It spread as his blood carried the liquid through his body. He blinked, lightheaded, as the lights around him appeared to dim. Tracy’s eyes turned into black beads before the rest of the lights disappeared, swallowed by a dark void.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“We’ll be through with her in about half an hour or so.”
“Good, good. You don’t think we should let her live?”
“Not at all. I think that would be unwise given the trouble that she’s caused with Mr. Morgan. We’ll have more than enough of the recovered virus to start replicating the DNA. We’ve recovered what we’ve hidden, and she’ll be no use to us anymore.”
“What about him?”
“I would like to keep him around until we can find Ms. Powell. We may be able to use him as leverage to get Mr. Thompson to talk. I believe using Mr. Harding may be effective.”
“Thompson’s been pretty stubborn, huh?”
“Yes. He’s been most regrettably stubborn.”
“Fuck you both.”
“Now, now, Ms. Harrow.”
A stubborn urge to gasp for air sent an electric pulse through Chris’s nerves. He repressed it in an effort to stay unnoticed. His eyelids were heavy, and he struggled to open them. His pulse beat in his ears, and he wondered if anyone else noticed the heavy thudding. With careful, deliberate effort, he maintained his breathing, hoping that it sounded as if he still lay unconscious.
He had managed to squirt out most of the liquid from the syringe onto his skin before inserting the needle into his arm. It had been risky, but he could not stand to be put into an induced sleep again.
As he raised his right arm, it met with a slight resistance. The effort caused a flash of pain in his injured shoulder, but he prevented himself from grimacing. He lifted his left wrist and felt the same resistance. Leather straps secured both arms, similar to the ones he’d seen on Tracy’s wrists. When he risked a peek, his eyelids quivered as he kept them open just enough to let the bright lights of the room burn into his unprepared pupils. As his eyes adjusted, the silhouettes of two men appeared hovering over Tracy.
He recognized the businessman in his suit. The man’s tie hung loose, and the top of his shirt splayed, unbuttoned. Another man standing next to him shared the same sharp nose and pale white skin. This individual wore a white T-shirt and dark denim jeans. He clapped the businessman’s back. “Good job, Lawrence.”
“Enough of your bullshit.” Tracy tried to spit at them. Her face appeared paler, sicklier than before. “You’ll pay for this. For all of this. I’ll kill you both.”
The man in the white T-shirt laughed. “You’re so feisty. I love it!” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I can’t wait to get a look at that blood. I’ve missed working with my little babies!” He picked up the plastic canister filling with Tracy’s blood. “Are you sure I have to wait until she’s dried out? I’d like to start now. Isolating the viruses is going to take long enough. Then I have to lyse them and parse out the DNA, sequence it, and send it through the replication process. I want to have working samples to send out to NanoTech as soon as we can.”
“Just be patient. A few more minutes won’t kill you,” Lawrence said.
“It’ll kill her, though.” The man in jeans laughed.
“Exactly.”
Tracy rattled the chair again. “Let me go!” A vessel in her forehead throbbed as she lashed forward at the man in jeans. He jumped back in surprise.
Standing up, he put his hand on Lawrence’s back. “What do you say? Should we let her go?”
Lawrence glared at Tracy, saying nothing.
Again the man in jeans laughed, holding his sides. “Of course, we won’t!”
<
br /> Tracy lunged forward again, pressing her wrists against the bands. The man in jeans laughed but then stopped when a tearing sound came from the straps on the arms of the chair. In a flash, Tracy tore from her restraints and pounced on Lawrence. The IV needle ripped from her arm, a spray of blood following it.
She wrestled with the businessman and pulled his gun from his jacket. Pointing it at his head, she pushed him against the floor. She squeezed the trigger until a deafening report echoed against the walls. Lawrence’s gray eyes turned lifeless. A mess of blood and red tissue splattered around the floor and onto Tracy.
The man in jeans shrieked. Running out of the room, he closed the door behind him.
Chris’s eyes shot wide open as Tracy jumped after the man. She yanked the handle of the door, and the metal groaned. The color in her cheeks rose as she settled back against the chair where Chris was restrained. She turned to him and steadied herself. “Goddammit. I need to eat. They took too much blood.” She pulled at his wrist straps, peeling them from the chair in a single effort. “Glad to see you awake.”
Shaking, Chris sat up. He pulled the IV needle from his skin and pressed his hand over the insertion point to stop the bleeding. “How did you do that?” His head still felt light, and he found it difficult to believe what he saw.
Her gaze appeared distracted as she ignored his question. “I didn’t want them to know about me, but I needed to get out of there. I had them both...but he got away. Dammit.”
“I don’t understand.”
Tracy tore the straps from Chris’s ankles. She gripped his left shoulder and pulled him up straight, supporting him with one arm. He winced at the pressure. “You think you can stand up on your own?”
He blinked the haziness from his eyes. “I think so.” He tottered up and leaned against the wall as the blood drained from his head. After the lightheadedness cleared, he looked around. Jordan and Greg lay unconscious against the wall. Chris went to the drawers, scattering the contents of each as he searched for smelling salts to wake them up. He found a small packet in one of the drawers next to extra coils of IV tubing and boxes of bandages. “Can you find anything to get that chain off Jordan’s foot?”
Peering out the window in the locked door, Tracy turned and nodded. She took the gun out of her belt and pointed at Jordan.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She fired, and the lock on the chain securing Jordan’s ankle burst with metal shrapnel. “Happy now?” Tearing at the broken metal, she released the chains and threw them aside. “We need to find Ben.”
His mouth agape, Chris glanced from the torn lock to Tracy. He cocked his head, a fog still hanging over his mind. “Ben?”
“Ben Kaufman. The other man that was here.” She kicked the businessman in the ribs. “This asshole’s brother.”
“Brother?” Chris stood in front of her, dumbfounded.
“Yeah, they’re in business together.” She looked down at Lawrence’s body. “Or, they were in business together.” She slammed a fist down on the top of the metal drawers where Chris had retrieved the syringes. The top of the drawers dented inward.
Chris knelt in front of Jordan. He tried to calm his racing heartbeat. Pinching his fingers together, he waved the smelling salts under Jordan’s nose.
Jordan shot awake and looked around. “Are we okay?”
“I don’t know.” Chris woke up Greg and turned back to Tracy. “What do we do now?”
“We need to get the hell out of here.”
“They’re going to need this,” Chris said, indicating the container of blood. “The virus, all the DNA, is in here, and we’re stuck in here. Ben will have to come back.”
Tracy paced in front of the door.
“You should sit and relax. You’ll faint with all that blood loss.”
Her face turned up in a growl. “I’ll be fine.” Her expression softened. The fire in her eyes subsided. She threw her arms around Chris. “Dammit. I’m sorry.” She pressed her cheek against his. Her skin felt feverishly warm. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I’m so happy you’re alive.” Drawing away, she gripped his sides. Her eyes seemed wet with tears. “I thought they killed you.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. All of this. Please, sit down a minute. We’ll see if we can break this lock, but you need your strength. You lost too much blood.”
Greg struggled to his feet and lumbered to the door. “Yeah, Chris is right. Let him and me get us out of here.” He tried pulling on the handle of the door, but it didn’t budge.
“Wait a second,” Jordan said. “Check his pockets. Maybe he’s got a comm card we can use to call for help.”
Tracy’s brow wrinkled, but her expression grew complacent again. “Good idea.” She let Chris go and knelt by Lawrence’s body to check his pockets. “Got it.” Brandishing a comm card, she tapped on it. She gestured in a couple of commands as the card projected a blue, winding image that turned red. “Shit, shit. It’s locked.” Her nose scrunched in a snarl, she broke the card in half and tossed the pieces toward the sink. The shards of the card fluttered and landed harmlessly on the tiled floor.
Eyeing her, Jordan coughed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Surely he’ll be back with help to keep you both from getting away. You both are too valuable to him.”
“Then we need to be prepared.” Greg dismantled the IV pole that, minutes ago, had held the tubing draining Tracy’s blood. After swinging the pole around to gauge its weight and balance, he bent down and picked up the container with Tracy’s blood in it. “He’s got to send someone back.”
Chris opened his mouth to mention that someone on the outside, Veronica, possessed the DNA they needed. If Kaufman found her, he wouldn’t need them. He could leave them to starve and rot in the whitewashed examination room. But he decided against saying anything, snapping his mouth closed again.
Sitting on the examination bed, a laceration on his head still bleeding, Jordan erupted in another coughing fit. Greg wrapped one of his large arms around Jordan, dwarfing the man, and held him steady.
Distant sounds of raised voices penetrated the door. Chris walked over to Tracy, her eyes transfixed through the reinforced rectangular window. “We’ve got to get help,” he said. “Jordan needs a hospital.”
“We need to catch Kaufman.” She watched out the window like a guard dog waiting for a burglar.
“Jordan’s going to die if we don’t get him out of here.”
Red flames burning in her eyes, Tracy glared at him. “I’ve got to get to Kaufman. You can save your friend.”
Chris backed away, setting his jaw, but said nothing. He went to the drawers, leveraging his body weight to open the one that Tracy had dented inward. Amid the scattered cardboard boxes, he squeezed out a box of medical tape and several packets of sterile gauze infused with antibiotic nanoparticles. He scooped up the supplies with one arm and grabbed a brown plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol from next to the sink with his free hand.
One of Jordan’s eyes had swollen shut, caked with dried blood and black with bruises. Chris squirted a stream of alcohol across Jordan’s forehead and dabbed at it with a cotton swab. Jordan winced but made no sound as Chris cleaned up the wounds.
Greg watched with cautious interest as Chris finished cleaning the lacerations and blood. He applied gauze patches over the torn skin.
Outside the room, a muffled pop sounded. Chris whipped his head toward the door, the quick movement sending a flash of pain in his still-tender neck and shoulder. “What the hell was that?”
Tracy seemed to grin. “Gunfire.”
“What the hell are you so happy about?” Greg said, his voice shaking.
“Gunfire means problems for Kaufman,” Tracy said.
Ripping a piece of medical tape with his teeth, Chris paused. “Trouble? You think the police are here?”
Her eyes narrowed and turned back out the window. She lowered her voice. “Not likely.”
&nb
sp; “Who, then?” Chris cocked his head, the medical tape still in his hands as he lined it up over another patch of gauze. Tracy shook her head and remained staring out the window as Chris pressed the gauze over and across Jordan’s cheek.
Jordan recoiled, pinching his lips tight until they drained of color. He relaxed after Chris stopped applying pressure.
Tracy seemed distracted and distant. Chris frowned, wondering what she meant, as she peered through the window.
Greg leaned in to Jordan, tracing the man’s cheek with his index finger. “I think it’s fractured.”
“You think, doctor?” Jordan poked his cheek with a light touch, probing at his jawline.
“Tracy, you don’t happen to have any of those pain pills on you?” Chris asked.
“No, they took everything I had on me.”
“You know what they did with them?”
She glowered. “Jesus, I guess I forgot to ask.”
“I’m just trying to help the poor guy out.”
Tracy’s expression softened again. “Sorry.” She left her post at the door and placed her hands on Chris’s shoulders. “Thanks for trying to save me.”
“You didn’t need too much saving.” He held her close, inhaling the scent of lilacs from her hair. In spite of everything, that persistent scent still clung to her. He kissed her on the cheek and then pressed his cheek against hers as they embraced. “Turns out I gave you a bit of these genes they had me carrying, huh? God, I’m sorry for getting you into this mess.”
When he pulled his head back to see her face, she wore an odd, almost pitiful expression. “Don’t be sorry. It’s my fault.”
“I don’t see how you can even say that,” he said. He kissed her, the hint of a metallic taste lingering on her lips.
Enhancement (Black Market DNA Book 1) Page 22