"No," she said, backing him against the elevator wall before stabbing him in the chest with her finger. "Just remember that as soon as I step off this elevator, I don't know you." Seneca turned away from him, but then thought to add, "And don't you dare sit by us."
Ansel started to say something, but the elevator opened on the thirty-fifth floor and she walked off without a backward glance. Forcing himself to wait a few seconds, he took a deep breath before walking into the elegant restaurant.
Huge windows lined every wall, giving diners of stunning views of the Puget Sound lit up with different colored lights twinkling off the water. Tasteful piano music was being played softly in the corner, and he smiled as the host came back to the wooden podium after just having seated Seneca.
"Table for one, please," he said.
The statuesque woman looked at him with a fake smile. "Do you have a reservation, sir?"
"No." Her smile faded.
"If you will just have a seat," the woman said with utmost condescension. "I’ll see what’s available."
Ansel stepped to the side, looking for Seneca in the half empty dining room. He straightened the collar of the white button-down shirt he had borrowed from Dave. It was too tight, but at least it fit. Unlike his brother-in-law's slacks. So Ansel had dug out his nicest pair of jeans and slapped on some cologne, calling it a day.
He was severely underdressed.
"Fortunately, we've just had a cancellation." The host seemed surprised. "Right this way."
They walked through the restaurant, and Ansel was seated far away from the spectacular view that people came for, and nearer the well-stocked bar. But he did not mind, because he was seated facing Seneca and her date. Ben.
"Thank you," he said when the woman handed him an unnecessarily large menu backed with a mahogany board.
"Your waiter will be with you shortly."
The host left and Ansel immediately assessed Seneca's date, and he had to say that he was shocked. Ben was not the chubby, balding computer programmer he had imagined him to be.
This guy was good looking and in a lot better shape than was comfortable. He was tall, and wearing an expensive three-piece charcoal suit with a snug vest that was meant to show off his lean body.
His designer glasses were a mottled blue, and he was sporting a perfectly sculpted beard that he unconsciously stroked when he looked at Seneca.
Ansel clenched his jaw, surprised to find a waiter at his elbow, asking, "Can I get you something to drink, sir?" while pouring him a glass of sparkling water.
"I need a minute," Ansel said, having yet to look at the menu.
The waiter disappeared, and he glanced at his menu for the first time. Fuck! Large numbers appeared to the right of each description, sans the dollar sign. He could not believe the prices. A single appetizer was twice as expensive as the entrees in the restaurants he frequented.
The waiter came back so Ansel ordered, not really caring what he ate. "I'll have a glass of the house Cabernet Sauvignon with the quail egg salad, and the Porterhouse steak."
"Very good, sir," the man practically groveled.
He handed the guy his menu then looked over at Seneca. She was laughing as she sipped a glass of white wine. Ben was saying something. All smiles as he leaned toward her.
Ansel broke a piece of bread in half, wondering where it had come from. He slathered it with freshly churned butter and took a huge bite. It was delicious, but he forgot all about his food when Seneca touched Ben's arm. He watched as Ben tensed, smiling broadly.
The guy wanted her, probably as much as Ansel did. And as sexist as it sounded, Ansel wanted nothing more than to walk over and stamp his name on Seneca’s forehead. Mine. Touch her, and I will break your fucking arm.
It was taking all of his self-control just to sit here and watch this guy lust after her.
Fortunately, his Porterhouse arrived and it smelled unbelievable. Seneca glanced in his direction and he ignored her.
'I don't know you’.
He cut into his steak and it was a perfect medium rare. He put it in his mouth, and closed his eyes to better appreciate what he was tasting.
Damn, that’s a good steak.
The waiter was back with a whiskey sitting atop a silver tray. "Is the steak to your liking, sir?"
"It's perfect." Ansel's brows furrowed. "But I'm afraid I didn't order any whiskey."
"Compliments of the lady at the bar," the waiter held out his hand in that direction.
Ansel looked over at a pretty redhead in a low-cut green dress, toasting him with her own tumbler of whiskey. He gave her a polite nod of thanks and she took it as an invitation, walking over.
"May I join you?" she asked, all smiles.
"I'm gay," Ansel said, and her shoulders slumped.
"Of course you are," she sighed. "With a body like that, you'd have to be." That made him laugh. "Well, enjoy your whiskey," the woman said with no hard feelings, before wandering off and leaving him to eat in peace.
His steak was gone quickly so he ordered desert and coffee, more to kill time than anything. The desert was brought out by his ever attentive waiter and Ansel just looked at it for a minute.
He lifted one of three brightly colored balls of sugar strings, wondering how you were expected to eat it. He crushed the pink one. The ball turned into pretty shards over his fruit tartlet. Ansel sipped his quality coffee. He was just getting used to seeing Seneca with another man, when the guy reached out to put his hand on her forearm.
Ben was declaring himself to her. He could tell by the need written all over his face.
Too bad for him that Seneca was taken. Ansel felt for him. Ben had enough sense to fall in love with Seneca, and the guy did help find his sister, so he couldn’t be all bad.
Barely able to watch, Ansel waited for Seneca to deliver the crushing blow of rejection.
She removed Ben's hand from her arm and smiled, holding it. Ansel cocked his head to one side. He was further confused when Seneca continued to talk and the guy burst into a big smile, kissing the back of her hand.
Motherfucker.
Anger and pain where fighting for control of his unsettled mind and he slammed down his coffee, causing it to slosh onto the white table cloth.
The waiter came rushing to his aid and Ansel snapped, "Check, please," in a tone that indicated the man should do it quickly. He did, and Ansel skimmed over it then threw a ton of cash on the table, getting up.
Ansel walked to the restroom to calm down, and was in the middle of washing his hands when Ben walked in. Whistling. Ansel was still wringing his hands together below the stream of tepid water, the soap long gone. He watched the guy's back in the mirror. And when Ben joined him at the sink, Ansel grabbed a hand towel.
The guy looked over at him, all smiles. "It's an awesome view, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Ansel nodded, throwing the towel in the large basket on the floor. "Especially if you’re with someone."
"That's so true." A huge grin spread across Ben's face, and Ansel wanted to knock the guy's teeth out. "Well, I better get back to my someone."
"You do that," Ansel said, determined to find out what the hell was going on.
Was Seneca interested in Ben?
She said that Ansel scared her, and that she had ‘never wanted a man so much’. But what if she meant she only 'wanted' him sexually?
That had always been a problem for him. Women wanting to fuck him without knowing him at all. It was great when he was younger and not interested in a relationship. But now…
What if Seneca wanted Ben in other ways? Intellectually, for example. Ansel knew he could compete in that arena. The guy was college educated, smart, and had a lot more in common with Seneca than he did. The truth of it settled in his chest, weighing him down. He walked toward the elevator just in time to see Seneca kiss Ben on the cheek.
He must have offered to walk her out, because she was shaking her head, saying, "Oh, no. You stay and enjoy your coffee." Ansel walked pa
st them to push the down button.
"Are you sure?" Ben pressed her. "It's only ten o'clock, and I don't have any plans for the rest of the night."
Ansel's fists clenched.
"Yeah, sorry. I have an early day tomorrow, but thanks again for everything." She waved as they got on the elevator, and when the door closed, they were alone.
Seneca glanced at him a couple of times, but he didn't look at her. Couldn't look at her.
"Thank you for coming." She might as well have tipped him.
"It's a safety issue," Ansel said, as if that were his only reason for coming with her.
They rode the rest of the way down to the underground parking in silence, and Ansel didn't bother to wait for her as he walked to the car. He heard the passenger door close when she got in, and he turned the key to start the car. They pulled out of the garage without incident, but his mind was not on protecting her. It was on protecting himself.
"Why are you so mad at me?"
Ansel snorted. "Are you serious?" He looked over at her, and the pain dug deeper. "What the hell was that? Because it sure didn't look like you were 'letting the guy down easy’." He put one hand on the steering wheel, so he could make air quotes with the other. "It looked more like you want to see him again."
"I do." Ansel felt like he had been punched. "He's my friend, and when all of this is over," Seneca made a gesture that most definitely included him, "I do want to see Ben again. I saw no point in ending our friendship."
"Not only did you not end your 'friendship,’ you encouraged his pursuit of you, while you’re fucking me." Ansel wanted to hurt her, and he did.
Tears pooled in her eyes as she stared at him. "Well, as our relationship is purely recreational—" It was his turn to hurt. "—perhaps I should pursue someone a bit more substantial."
Ansel gripped the steering wheel so hard he thought he would rip it off the column.
"Perhaps you should." He smiled down at her, his eyes cold.
What did he care?
He hadn't known her that long, and any 'relationship' they had was built on the shaky ground of his sister's kidnapping, a mutual fear that had bonded them more quickly than he would have expected, but it made sense. It was just like combat in that everything you did was sharper, more vibrant, until you came down from the adrenaline rush.
And he was coming down. Hard.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Seneca was still asleep when they left for the University of Washington campus, and he was glad, because he didn't want to see her.
Honestly, Ansel wasn't sure he ever wanted to see her again. He had put his heart on his sleeve with this woman, and look what it had gotten him. Pain. It was a strange sort of hurt that he wasn't used to, because he'd never done it before. Never cared about a woman this much. Never wanted her to care about him.
Whatever. He couldn't think about Seneca right now. Couldn't think about why she had encouraged another man.
"I hope Cat’s feeling better," Gwen said, pulling his mind back to where it should be. On the lab and trying to save his sister.
"Me too."
The smell of bacon at breakfast seemed to have brought on a bout of morning sickness for Cat, so she’d decided to stay at the safe house, but it really did not matter, as long as one of them was at the lab to give samples or run errands for Gwen while she worked on the figuring out the anomaly.
At ten o'clock, he got bored and logged onto the university computer. He read the news, checked basketball scores that he did not care about. Watched a few cat videos, hoping it would cheer him up., then started playing a shooter video game, which was not easy with an obsolete mouse as your weapon.
Pretty soon, it was noon and he was hungry. He walked over to the closest cafe and got two of the daily specials. Penne pasta with a Caesar salad, and a soda.
The kid behind the counter had a mustache that was rather impressive for his age. He tipped the kid generously, and then shielded the biodegradable containers with his body so they did not dissolve in the rain before he got back to the lab.
They sat down to eat, and Gwen looked as frustrated as he felt. He was afraid to ask, "Any progress?"
"No." She shook her head. "Same results I got back in Utah. Your DNA is simply…different than everybody else's."
He thought about that. "How is it different?"
"What do you mean?"
"Chemically different, physically different?" He had seen drawings of DNA in textbooks, but he had never seen any real DNA under magnification. "Can you actually see my DNA? Like the…" He twisted his fingers. "Strands?"
"Under the electron microscope you can, sure." Gwen took a swig of soda and then stood up. "You want to see yours?"
"Yeah, that'd be awesome." Or at least distracting.
"I'm sorry, Ansel." Gwen shook her head. "I should have offered to show you sooner. I'm just so wrapped up in the puzzle of the thing that I lose track of time, and apparently my manners."
The older woman's practiced hand fiddled with the electron microscope, until a blur of shadows came into focus on the computer screen.
"There you go.” She stepped aside so he could see. “That's your DNA."
It was strange. Not the dark bumpy structure that looked like a pearl necklace dropped on the floor. What was strange was looking at the tiny structure that held all the information that made him…Well, him. He just stared at it, floating in what he assumed was a stabilizing liquid.
"Wow." He stared at the screen. "And all DNA looks like this?"
"Pretty much," she nodded. "Here, I'll show you." Gwen stepped over to the counter and picked up a syringe, drawing a blue substance into it. "This…" She touched the tip of the syringe to the dish containing his DNA, leaving the tiniest of drops. "Is my DNA."
She adjusted the electron microscope, and the samples came into view. They looked exactly the same to him. The only difference being that the strings were laying differently.
"I see what you mean,” he nodded.
"Now." Gwen pointed at her DNA on the computer screen. "If you were to break down my DNA, and chemically analyze the amino acids," she lectured as the two drops of stabilizing liquid touched, merging into one glob holding both strands of DNA. "You would find the similar chemical profile for other people descended from the British Isles, which happens to be my ancestry."
"Okay, so I understand that," Ansel said, looking at the screen. "So, that means my profile would be similar to people from France?"
"Yes, absolutely it should, if that's where your family migrated from," she nodded, sighing as they watched the strands float around together.
"We're French." he confirmed. Gwen's DNA bumped into his and broke in half. "So, why doesn’t my DNA look like other people form Fr—"
Gwen backed into the stool she had been sitting on, knocking it over.
"What’s the matter?" he asked, because Gwen looked like she was having a heart attack.
Her eyes went wide and she shook her head, stumbling to the nearest phone, saying, "Get me Dr. Park." The person on the other end of the line said something and Gwen’s face turned red. "I don't care if he's lecturing. You tell him it’s an emergency, and that Dr. Huber needs him in the lab. Now!" she yelled, hanging up.
Ansel helped her to the nearest chair. Gwen was so pale he was afraid she would faint. It worried him, because she was not the fainting type.
"Are you okay?"
She shook her head. "No." He waited for an explanation, but all she said was, "I need a minute." Gwen took several deep breaths until her color returned. "Can we just…" Shock made her inarticulate. "Can we just wait for John to get here?"
A few minutes passed in silence before they heard footsteps rushing down the hall.
"Gwen?" Dr. Park asked, before he had even gotten to the lab. He searched the room for her. And when Dr. Park saw the state she was in, he rushed to her side. "Oh my God. What happened?"
Gwen didn't say a word. She just pointed at the screen of the ele
ctron microscope. Dr. Park walked over to the computer screen to view the magnification.
"I don't underst-—"
"Keep watching," Gwen ordered, and Dr. Park leaned closer to the screen so he wouldn't miss a thing.
A few seconds passed and then he gasped, shock straightening his spine.
"That's not…" He covered his mouth with his hand. "That's not possible. I don't…I don't understand. How is that possible?"
"I don't know." Gwen shook her head and they just stared at each other, transferring thoughts.
Ansel walked to the computer screen, trying to figure out why they were so upset. Gwen's DNA strand was half the size it was before.
"Could one of you, please tell me what is happening?"
Gwen put her elbows on the lab table and rubbed the disbelief from her face, explaining as best she could, "There are eight blood types…" Her hand punctuated her words. “Of those eight types of blood, only one is a universal donor. Meaning, people with the O negative blood type are able to supply blood to all of the other blood types."
She looked at Ansel to make sure he was following, and with the amount of times he had been transfused after having been shot, he definitely was.
"Yes, I know."
"Well, what many people don’t know, is that AB positive people can receive blood from all blood types, making them the universal recipient."
"Okay," Ansel nodded, understanding. "So what does that have to do with—"
"Your DNA is absorbing mine."
His mouth fell open. "That's not possible."
"I know." Gwen said, and Dr. Park collapsed in the chair next to her.
"What does that mean?" Ansel looked down at her. "Like, if I want my kid to have blue eyes, I can just introduce the DNA of someone with blue eyes?"
"Sure," she nodded, adding, "or you could introduce a desired height, or muscle mass, or intelligence."
Ansel went cold. "You're making me sound like Frankenstein."
“Exactly. With your DNA as a foundation, we can essentially use gene therapy to build a person. A person with your body, Einstein's intelligence, with the compassion of Mother Teresa."
"Or Hitler's," Dr. Park chimed in. "You did say the military wants him."
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