Skin Tight

by Ava Gray

  “Regardless, you are not the sort of woman who disregards a pledge lightly.”

  It rankled that he was right. “What do you need me to do?”

  “We have a limited window of opportunity. First we hit IT for the pass and then proceed directly to the east wing. I can take it from there.”

  “You really think I’m going to get you through the doors and head home?” Mia raised an incredulous brow.

  “It was too much to hope for. Let’s go.”

  They stole silently through the darkened halls. It was definitely after hours, so if they were caught, there were no excuses, no reason for them to be here.

  She deftly lifted the IT pass from her boss’s desk. “You know they’ll be able to tell someone used the pass . . . and I’m the only one in this department who hasn’t used my badge to exit the building.”

  He smiled. “I think Security will find that your boss hasn’t left, either.”

  “Oh, you’re good.”

  “Computers are easy. Come on, we have less than a minute to get past those doors before the cameras return to normal.”

  Mia increased her pace. Her IT badge and the pass got her into the computer room where she’d worked with Kelly Clark. He would have to take it from here.

  To her surprise, he brought out a tiny tool kit and popped the security panel, then rerouted the wires with silent expertise. The metal doors slid open. She’d never glimpsed the labs, but she followed him, eager to see what Micor guarded so closely.

  Just inside, she stopped, utterly puzzled. They stood inside one large room. Along the far wall, there were monkey cages, clean at least. The walls were painted white, like the rest of the facility, but there seemed to be less equipment than she would’ve expected, just from watching TV.

  There were a few microscopes, a few bits of technology that she couldn’t identify readily, but nothing like a proper lab ought to look. There was also a table and chairs, which Mia bet got a lot more use than anything else in this “top secret facility.”

  Søren swore softly. “It’s a front.”

  They searched the room to be sure, but there were no other exits. No hidden doors. No secret panels. Just a room full of monkeys, who chattered as they went back the way they’d come in.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, once the security doors closed behind them.

  “Forget it. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be easy. Return the pass to IT and then get going. I’ll take care of the security logs before anyone sees them.”

  So that’s it, she wanted to say, you’re done with me. But she could tell his disappointment was so fierce as to be something else. The intensity radiating from him in this moment frightened her a little. Mia hurried away from him and didn’t look back.

  Søren didn’t like surprises.

  In his experience, they were seldom good. He should’ve known the real lab wouldn’t be accessible through a simple set of doors. The dummy facility served to distract interested parties, like himself, nothing more. But it was bitter gall to find he’d wasted months here, only to learn his efforts had been focused wrong. A day later, he was still brooding over that failure—and the fact he’d imperiled Mia’s life for no good reason.

  He didn’t mind the big gambles when they paid off. There was no point in senseless risk, however. With no payoff, it turned last night’s foray into futility.

  He reread his e-mail with a growing sense of unease: Your three-month physical is coming up. Insurance rates being what they are, I am sure you can appreciate that we wish to know should any of our employees suffer from a health problem that could best be nipped in the bud.

  Though he wasn’t an expert by any means, he suspected this policy might violate several fair-employment laws. He wasn’t even sure they had requested anyone else take a three-month physical, making him think they suspected he wasn’t Thomas Strong. He had no idea what might have tipped them off.

  Maybe it was truly a standard company policy. In a time of recession, most employees would be reluctant to question such a policy, when corporations could terminate at will and generally without cause. He had a contract, but in the fine print it required regular physicals at the company’s discretion. But one at three months seemed . . . unusual.

  Mary tapped once on his office door as he was gathering up his belongings. “May I come in?”

  “Of course,” he said, though he was in no mood to be kind and patient.

  “I just wanted to thank you. Glenna has been a great deal of help to me. So much that I’m ready to go on maternity leave early, if you’ll sign off on it.”

  Ah, so that was what she wanted.

  “Of course. You think Glenna is ready to take your place?”

  Mary nodded. “In my opinion, she should’ve been promoted long ago.”

  He tended to agree. “I’ll have her request a temp, then. You can start your leave on Monday, if that’s all right.”

  “That was what I had in mind. The girls are throwing me a shower in the break room on Thursday. I was wondering if you’d like to come.”

  A baby shower. He regarded her with bemusement. “I appreciate the invitation. If I can’t make it, I’ll send along a gift with Glenna.”

  All so mundane. How had he gotten tangled up in this life? It wasn’t meant to forge connections; it was only a means to an end.

  Mary accepted that with an embarrassed nod and hurried out. Before too much longer, Glenna came in with the necessary paperwork for him to sign, including the authorization for the temp in reception.

  “I’m just thrilled,” she said, bouncing on the heels of her sensible shoes. “I’ve thought this before, but never said it aloud. You’re the best thing ever to happen to this department.”

  And God help you all.

  Søren scrawled his signature on all the documents and then told her, “I have an appointment. Don’t expect me back today, I think.”

  Just when he thought he’d get away clean, Todd stopped him in the hall outside HR. “So I hear you promoted Glenna. Will the temp be able to assist me with special projects?”

  “No,” Søren said with a quiet, appreciative smile. “I’m afraid that’s not in the budget. She’ll have enough on her plate coping with Glenna’s workload.”

  He left the other man glaring at his back, as if Todd had built up some expectations over the past weeks. There was something very satisfying about disappointing an asshole.

  By two-fifteen in the afternoon, he was at the hospital, strolling casually toward the blood bank. Nobody paid him a second look because with his stolen white jacket, they expected him to be a doctor—and that meant he had a perfect right to be here.

  He told himself he had nothing to worry about.

  He’d fooled them at Micor once, and he could do it again. He just needed to locate a sample with which to fool the doctors. There was no doubt if he submitted his real blood, it would match records of his DNA in their files. They kept track of their test subjects.

  Just before he opened the door, a nurse tapped his arm. “Doctor, Mrs. Feldman is demanding to speak with an MD.”

  Shit. Keep calm.

  “Is it an emergency?”

  The nurse sighed. “No, she’s just a pain in the behind. Could you give her a few? I’ll owe you big if you can stop her from ringing every five minutes.”

  Søren considered. “I’ll talk to her. What’s the room number?”

  “Thanks. She’s in 201.”

  The nurse’s crepe-soled shoes made no noise as she hurried off to the next crisis. Søren found his way easily to 201; he could hear the strident tones halfway down the hall. Pinning a smile on his face, he stepped in and grabbed the chart, mostly because he thought it would be in keeping with his role.

  He pretended to scan it and then asked, “What can I do for you, Mrs. Feldman?”

  “You can tell those no-good nurses to stop stealing from me!” she snapped. “And I want some decent food. And why does it take so long for someone to help me to t
he toilet?”

  Yeah, the nurse had been right. This old battle-axe didn’t need a doctor; she wanted company. So he perched on the edge of her visitor’s chair, fighting the memories of long hours spent in vigil for Lexie before he’d accepted she was gone for good.

  “The hospital is understaffed,” he said gently. “I’m here during off hours, and I came in to check on you on a purely volunteer basis. But I’m happy to say you look lovely, and you seem to be recovering nicely from your broken hip.”

  She actually blushed before remembering her annoyance. “Hmph. You’re full of it.”

  Søren spent five more minutes sweet-talking her before adding, “As for the time the nurses take, I bet they’d come much faster if you didn’t call as often.”

  The old woman sighed. “Then maybe you could pour me some water before you go?”

  “Of course.”

  The nurse’s request taken care of, he retraced his steps. Søren slipped into the storage area and began to rummage. It was a good job he’d noted the donor number on the first vial he’d nicked, three months ago now. He had never imagined he’d still be spinning his wheels at the facility. But it had taken much longer to punish Serrano to his satisfaction, so he could be patient.

  At last he located the bags, but there weren’t very many of them. Guilt panged through him; somebody might need this. Resolving to give blood later, he tucked the bag into his pocket and slipped out. With an ability like his, he could come and go as he pleased, most places, as long as he was dressed appropriately. He didn’t need to focus on his gift; it worked on its own, naturally, but that meant he couldn’t shut it down, either. God knew, he’d tried over the years.

  And the more targets he affected, the more energy it required. He’d made the mistake of attending a college football game once and wound up in a coma. For obvious reasons, his attendance at sporting events was out of the question. He also couldn’t attend films on opening days. Best for him to catch a matinée or, better yet, watch at home. He’d long since come to terms with his limitations and liabilities.

  He hastened out of the hospital and to his car. As he climbed in, Søren checked the time on the dashboard clock. Fifteen minutes until his physical. He smiled. Everything was under control.

  They were sending him to the same physician as before, so he already knew the layout. It would be easy to switch the samples. He pulled up outside the one-story red brick building and parked toward the back of the lot. After shrugging out of the white coat, he stashed the blood in his deep pants pocket. Long strides carried him through the front doors with five minutes to spare.

  It was a typical waiting room with prefab furniture and annoyed-looking people flipping through old magazines. He scanned their faces once through force of habit but found nothing to alarm him. A few of them looked genuinely ill; others were probably here for a routine physical like him.

  The receptionist beamed as he strode up. “Good afternoon. You have an appointment?”

  “Of course. Two forty-five.”

  “We have all the forms we need already on file. It will be a little while.”

  Understatement. It would be a miracle if he got out of here before four. Still, it wasn’t the receptionist’s fault, so he offered a smile as he took a seat.

  As it turned out, he waited nearly forty-five minutes before he was called back to the exam rooms. The nurse in the pink scrubs led him to room 4, where she took his vitals and made notes on his chart and small talk.

  Søren responded with noncommittal murmurs, which didn’t deter her from talking. He tensed when she went for the needle. That, she noticed.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid,” she said, teasing.

  He raised a brow. “You meet people who aren’t?”

  The nurse laughed. “When you put it that way—hold still. This will only take a second.”

  “If you say so.”

  With competent hands she tapped a vein and then deftly connected the shunt. Since they only needed one sample, she removed the needle, gave him a cotton pad to press over the site, and then labeled the vial with a tracking number. It would go to the lab to check for cholesterol, any indication of illness, and probably drugs as well, though if they were only testing for that, he could’ve peed in a cup.

  “There, we’re all done. The doctor will be in shortly to complete the process and sign your work forms, but everything looks good so far.” Her saucy look said more, but he didn’t bite.

  Before she could take the sample away, he said, “Did you hear that?” And donned a concerned look.

  His gift would do that rest.

  “Crud,” she said, manufacturing a convenient emergency. “I’ll be right back.”

  The vial lay forgotten on the counter as she hurried out. He sprang into motion, and within a couple of minutes, he’d substituted the donor blood for his own and tagged it appropriately. His own went into his pocket. By the time the doctor came in, he was sitting on the exam table, studying a poster of the human circulatory system.

  Dr. Moss was on the verge of retirement, and he didn’t move too fast anymore. He ambled toward Søren with a vague smile, his chart nowhere in sight. “Let’s get you out of here as fast we can, shall we?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  The doctor listened to Søren’s heart, checked reflexes, and peered into various orifices before saying, “You appear to be in excellent health, young man. Do you have something for me to sign?”

  He produced the form and Dr. Moss scrawled his name at the bottom. “The receptionist can fill in the rest. See you next time!”

  Not if I can help it.

  Søren hopped off the table and threaded his way through the hallway crowded with the nurse in pink, an ineffectual woman, and a little girl, who was crying so hard her nose had gone red and her cheeks were blotchy. He paused, thinking of Lexie.

  “Shots?” he asked the nurse, who confirmed with a nod. “Has she had a lolli yet?”

  The child peered up at him through wet, sticky lashes, her sobs dialing back to a snuffle so she could speak. “Do they have cherry?”

  “I’m pretty sure we do,” Nurse Pink said. “I’ll get you a red one. But you have to stop crying or you might choke on your sucker.”

  The mother gave him a grateful smile. “You’re good with kids.” Her gaze went to his left hand. “Do you have any of your own?”

  “No,” he said.

  Not anymore. Not really.

  Søren headed for the reception area, where he handed over his form. It didn’t take long to wrap things up, and soon he had charged the copay and escaped the cloying warmth of the office. After checking his watch, he determined there was no point in going back to Micor today, as he’d predicted to Glenna.

  Outside, the wind cut up rough, presaging rain. He tugged the collar of his coat up and sprinted for his car, hoping to outrun the storm.

  CHAPTER 17

  Rowan looked at the data in disbelief. One of the lab techs must have contaminated the samples. Sometimes he swore he could make more competent help out of monkey parts.

  Still, he was nothing if not cautious, so he ran the tests himself. The results rocked him; the blood was definitely a positive match, as his own work was flawless.

  They had been relying on regular infusions of AB-negative from the local blood bank, but it appeared they had the donor on staff in the surface facility. That was a stroke of luck. Test subject I-53 would soon need another transfusion; she was running through the stock much quicker than they’d anticipated. If they could avoid using the blood bank again this early, it would be best.

  He pondered. Though it was unprecedented, he could send a request for one of the techs in the dummy lab to approach the employee with a sob story about a dying relative. That should motivate the man to give blood. Rowan checked the name on the sample.

  Strong. Thomas Strong. He worked in Human Resources. Despite himself, Rowan chuckled. That seemed particularly apropos.

  Before he co
uld dispatch the necessary instruction, his computer beeped. It could be only one person, and it must be important, so he opened his e-mail. Trouble. Forwarding you the pertinent logs.

  There was only one person who had any contact with what went on down below: their chief of security. He was grim-faced ex-military; he would do anything to keep his comfortable income and understood the necessity of loyalty and silence. And even the security chief didn’t know the extent of the work. He had just been instructed to attach anything out of the ordinary. Generally, he did a good job of monitoring and not bothering Rowan more than necessary. But recently, he’d brought a disgruntled employee to their attention, and her behavior at work had become sufficiently alarming to prompt Rowan to bug her home as a precaution. People were never as clever or as careful as they thought.

  This was the first time the chief had sent anything in a while, since the unpleasantness in the upstairs lab. They’d taken care of the girl quietly and left nothing to worry about. Her body would be nothing but ash by now. So why did he have a bad feeling about playing this message?

  Frowning, he dismissed the foreboding. There was no logical reason for it. Rowan clicked on the file. His frown turned into a thundercloud scowl. Not another one. Only that wasn’t precisely accurate; this time, there were two, acting in concert. He studied the information the security chief had included.

  He typed a terse reply: You did well. I’ll take it from here. Though he loathed the diversion from his work, he had to nip this in the bud. With a faint sigh, he tapped out another message. New external complication. Proceed as usual?

  He’d never met the person on the other end; he only knew that the individual served as a liaison between the board of directors and him.

  He wanted to get back to work, but this required resolution. So instead he sat at his computer awaiting a reply. That necessity chafed at him a bit. He knew perfectly what the liaison would say.

  Within fifteen minutes, he was proved correct.

  Yes.

  Just one word. But he knew what to do next. Rowan sent another e-mail, bounced through four different servers. The message contained an encrypted work order. Kelly Clark and Mia Sauter would be dealt with soon.