Tainted Hearts

by Cyndi Friberg

  “You’re full of shit,” Marc said calmly. “If she goes near the PURE stronghold, she’s in harm’s way.”

  “Why don’t we head back to Baltimore? We can compare notes on the way.” With a tight, humorless smile, he put on his hat. “Isn’t Ms. Lucero expecting you?”

  Chapter Seven

  “Is it true that you’re sleeping with your wife’s sister?”

  If Marc hadn’t been securely fastened into the transport’s seat for takeoff he would have punched the obnoxious old windbag in the face. No doubt that was the reason General Bettencourt had waited until this moment to ask the question.

  “Do they teach you how to push people’s buttons or does it come naturally?” Tuesday countered from beside him, her tone light, her green eyes sparkling with amusement.

  Maybe she was right. The general’s tactless provocations were only effective if he reacted to them. “Laura Finn is my sister-in-law. She is also a nurse, but I’m not sleeping with her. Thanks for asking.”

  “She lives in your house, has since before your wife overdosed on a drug you created. Are you sure the message Emma released to the media told the whole story? Maybe she found out you were—”

  “Stop provoking him or I won’t go near Job!”

  Marc had been about to make a far less polite threat. Why would she defend him? Why had she protected him in the lodge? And why had her face turned the most fascinating shade of red when she said he was her lover?

  “We need your cooperation,” the general told her. “I don’t give a damn about him. I thought they should have let him fry a long time ago.”

  Marc had learned to ignore this sort of resentment over the years. He didn’t give a damn what Bettencourt thought. His gaze drifted toward Tuesday and uncertainty tightened his gut. He knew she didn’t think Elise deserved to be punished for his role in the catastrophe. But what about him?

  The transport vibrated, the G-force stealing Marc’s breath. It took almost three hours to reach Baltimore in his solar shuttle. The military transport would cut that time in half.

  “Why don’t you go after Raeanne?” Marc asked. “Seems to me you’re ripe for conversion to PURE’s philosophies.”

  The transport stabilized and Bettencourt unfastened his safety restraints with a menacing clatter. Leaning forward, he rested a forearm on his knee. “I watched Methuselah Syndrome reduce my wife of twenty years to a gasping, frail shell of a human being before it snuffed her life out completely. She died two years before Ms. Fitzpatrick released the SP-64.”

  “Did you take it, General Bettencourt?” Tuesday asked.

  Marc glanced at her. She was staring at Bettencourt, her expression composed, nonconfrontational.

  “Did I take Methuselah?” he asked and she nodded. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? What made you first decide to take it?”

  He sat back in the seat, adjusting his tie. “I saw how it worked with my wife Eleanor and couldn’t believe my own eyes. It was as if she were frozen in time. She remained the young, vibrant woman I’d fallen in love with, while I looked older and more worn-out every year.”

  Marc’s throat tightened, his chest burned. What the general described had happened across the country—then across the globe. Methuselah had been dubbed the most significant medical discovery since antibiotics. He shuddered. Until his brainchild turned out to be the most virulent killer since the plague.

  “So you took it too,” Tuesday went on. “Your wife wouldn’t grow old with you, so you decided to stay young with her.”

  “But we didn’t stay young, now did we? Eleanor died of heart failure directly related to Methuselah Syndrome at fifty-three.”

  “It wasn’t Mr. Sinclair’s fault.” Her tone was soft yet definitive. “They didn’t even set out to find a cure for aging. It was our obsession with youth, our fixation on superficial beauty that brought about this tragedy. Sinclair-Dietrich inadvertently discovered the formula, developed the perfect combination of chemicals, but the discovery only had significance because of our vanity.”

  “Thank you, Job!” Bettencourt spat. “Talk about PUREist propaganda. But then you never took Methuselah, did you? You’re a 0.0, a true PURE, exalted and privileged in Job’s new world order.”

  Tuesday refused to dignify his outburst with a response. If Bettencourt thought she wanted anything to do with PURE, he was deluded. Unfastening her safety restraints, she crossed her legs and changed the subject. “Tell me about Ms. Rawsen. How was she recruited by PURE? How long has she been inside the stronghold?”

  “You aren’t actually thinking about doing this, are you?”

  She shot Marc an impatient glance. “You had no problem manipulating me to get what you wanted.”

  Her scathing glare cut short the general’s laughter. She was tired of being a pawn, tired of playing by their rules. Scooting to the edge of the seat, she straightened her back and determined to gain some control over the situation. If she were only a pawn, why were they so desperate for her to play?

  Understanding, tranquil and sweet, unfurled within her. Oh, she was no pawn; she was the queen, the most mobile piece on the board. Not the most powerful, just the most useful. Well this queen was finished being manipulated by men!

  “There’s a small miscalculation in your threat, General Bettencourt,” she began. “Revealing the identity of Subject A might cast a shadow of doubt over the SP-65 Project, but there will be nine more studies anyway. The only person you really hurt by following through with your threat is Mr. Sinclair, and of course, his daughter.”

  “You don’t care what happens to the child?” The general’s tone was provoking.

  “You know I do. That’s why she was admitted to the program. It certainly wasn’t her father’s charming manner.”

  “You’re getting at something,” Bettencourt said.

  “If you reveal the identity of Subject A, I’ll reveal the identity of Rahab. What a scandal that would cause. Not to mention what Job would do to her.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Blackmail isn’t so pleasant when you’re on the receiving end. I wonder how the public would respond if they learned—”

  “I said what do you want!”

  “I want Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Anytime. Anywhere,” Marc drawled. “Thought we’d established that already.”

  Despite the seductive taunt in his words, his gaze was angry and cold. Tuesday swallowed hard. She had to protect herself and she didn’t know where else to turn. If PURE was trying to kill him, then surely she could trust him where they were concerned. Having a mutual enemy wasn’t much on which to base an alliance but she couldn’t do this alone.

  “What exactly do you want Sinclair to do?” the general asked.

  “Now that’s between the lady and—”

  “I want him to supervise my interaction with PURE. Knowing Mr. Sinclair, if they have him marked for death, then he knows more about them than Job himself.”

  “If he knows so much about them, why is he hiding? Why did he have his face enhanced rather than using this information you’re presuming he has?”

  “Remember that Trojan horse.” Marc laughed. “I’m hiding in plain sight.”

  “Subject A must take priority,” Tuesday said. “Her life is in imminent danger whereas Raeanne went to the PURE stronghold of her own free will. Besides, Raeanne is a grown woman. Subject A comes first.”

  Bettencourt shifted his angry gaze back to her. “Agreed. But once the child is stabilized, do we have a deal?”

  “If you keep your mouth shut and let me work with Marc,” she stressed equally, “I’ll take a daytrip to the PURE stronghold.”

  * * * * *

  Tears blurred Tuesday’s vision as she watched Marc Sinclair brush his daughter’s hair away from her face. He fussed with the covers and lifted her frail hand to his lips. Each touch was so careful, so tender. Devotion ra
diated from his expression and love burned in his tear-bright eyes.

  “I can’t believe that’s really you.” Elise’s voice sounded breathless and strained.

  “Close your eyes and listen to my voice. Only the outside has changed.”

  “Our eyes don’t match anymore. Can I have mine changed?”

  “Let’s get you well again then we’ll talk about it. How do you feel? I know traveling takes it out of you.”

  “I feel like I could fly,” Elise replied with a silly smile. “But you should have your mouth washed out with soap.”

  He kissed her forehead, scooting his chair closer to her bed. “And why is that? I haven’t said anything profane since I walked in the room.”

  “You lied to me,” the little girl reminded him. “Actually, you lied to Aunt Laura but it’s the same thing.”

  “What did I lie about?”

  She used her pointed chin to indicate Tuesday, who loitered in the doorway feeling intrusive.

  “Is that Tuesday Fitzpatrick or isn’t it?”

  He smiled. “Well, I doubt Ms. Fitzpatrick appreciates being referred to as an it, but yes.”

  “And is she or is not she the woman you were with when you called me?”

  Elise’s slightly scrambled grammar made Tuesday smile. The girl was trying so hard to sound grown-up.

  “Yes. Ms. Fitzpatrick was with me when I called. I was negotiating a deal for your heart and I didn’t know if I could pull it off or not. That’s why I lied to you. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up if I…”

  “We don’t have to worry about it anymore,” she told him. “Tuesday’s going to fix me.”

  A tear escaped the corner of Tuesday’s eye. She quickly brushed it away. “I don’t actually do the procedure, Elise. Trust me, you want a doctor for that. But my boss has arranged for our best, and only our best, to work on you.”

  “One was in already and she said two more would come.”

  Tuesday nodded. “That sounds about right. They’ll get you ready—they call that prepped—and then they’ll take you down to where they actually put the heart inside you. Then, you’ll be really sleepy for a while, but your dad will be there when you wake up so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

  “Ms. Tuesday, I’ve waited for this day my whole life long. I’m not afraid.”

  “Well, I need to check in with my boss so I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “Just rest for a minute, sweetheart,” Marc told Elise. “I’ll be right back.”

  He followed Tuesday into the corridor. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this emotional. Joy promised to chase away her tears but fear waited in the wings. As soon as Elise stabilized, Tuesday would be expected to face Job.

  They walked a few steps beyond Elise’s open doorway. Tuesday waited for him to speak. His gaze moved leisurely over her face then dipped lower. Definitely not professional!

  “What do you want?” she asked, when he just stared at her.

  “We’ll get to that in a minute.”

  Cool tiles pressed against her back as he stalked toward her. The urge to run unfurled with blinding speed. A smile curved the corners of her mouth. So much for the dominating queen.

  “Vonne really is waiting for me.”

  “This won’t take long. I just want to make a couple things clear, while there’s no audience.”

  She bristled. “I’m listening.”

  “That was quite a performance on the shuttle. Was it for his benefit or mine?”

  “I meant every word. I won’t be bullied by either of you and…”

  “And?”

  “And I need your help with PURE. I don’t trust Bettencourt.”

  “But you trust me?” She looked away. His hand caught her chin, bringing her gaze back to his. “Answer the question. Do you trust me?”

  “I shouldn’t. Lord knows you’ve given me every reason to mistrust you.”

  “But?”

  She shouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I trust you.”

  “Good. You’re going to have to trust me if you hope to stay alive inside the PURE stronghold. You’re going to have to do exactly what I tell you and not question my decisions.”

  “I said I trusted you. I didn’t say I’d be your slave.”

  “Women are treated like slaves inside PURE. They’re expected to be docile, obedient and submissive.”

  Tuesday laughed. “Then, why would any woman stay there? Why would Job think I would be interested in—”

  “This isn’t the time or place for this conversation. I just wanted to see if you were serious about what you started on the transport.”

  “I am. But you’re right. You need to concentrate on Elise right now.”

  He started to turn, then he put his hands on the wall, caging her with his arms. “I owe you my daughter’s life and I will not forget it, but I want you to know what ignited at the lodge has nothing to do with Elise.”

  Unsure what he expected her to say, she nodded.

  Leaning in close, he looked deep into her eyes and promised, “We will make love, and when we do, you’ll know the only reason I’m with you is because it’s what we both want.”

  With her pulse racing and tears blurring her vision, Tuesday watched him disappear back inside Elise’s room. He wanted her, cared for her, was willing to explore their attraction. Heat tingled through her abdomen. A silly grin parted her lips and she pressed her hand over her pounding heart.

  * * * * *

  “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said,” Vonne complained. “If I’m going to stand in a bathroom so we can talk, the least you can do is listen to me.”

  Tuesday smiled sheepishly. “Between the general and Marc, they’ve got this whole building bugged. I’m not even sure we’re safe here but the running water should help.”

  “This is quite a week you’re having and you’re only two days into it.” Vonne shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “You’re kidnapped by the CEO of Sinclair-Dietrich and blackmailed by The President of United North America. You’re moving up in the world.”

  “Can you accuse the president of blackmail, or is that treason?”

  “I think you can make the accusation.” Vonne smiled. “Just not to his face.”

  “And Edward Sinclair is still CEO of Sinclair-Dietrich.”

  “Details. Everyone knows where the real power lies. Marcus Sinclair.” She said his name on a sigh. “I still can’t believe you were with Marcus Sinclair. Do you intend to bring charges against him?”

  Tuesday’s brows scrunched up over her eyes. “Of course not. It wasn’t his fault he had to kidnap me.”

  Vonne laughed. She threw back her head and indulged in a very unladylike guffaw. The echoing stalls of their unconventional setting made her mirth more abrasive. “Did he brainwash you, darling? Feed you happy pills? Care to explain why he had to kidnap you?”

  “The Priority Matrix,” Tuesday said simply. “The committee classified Elise as a Triple Z.”

  “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

  “She’s needed this heart since birth. That’s eight years, Vonne. She’s waited eight years.”

  “The cafeteria.”

  Confused by her sudden topic change, Tuesday asked, “What about it?”

  “It’s noisy and huge. There’s no way they could bug every corner of the cafeteria.”

  Tuesday always ate lunch in her office, so there would have been no reason to plant surveillance equipment in the cafeteria. They found a table near the center of the room, ignoring the curious glances.

  “Are they staring at you or me?” Vonne asked quietly.

  “Well, you do own the company. When was the last time you were in here?”

  She shrugged. “Never. We should probably at least get drinks or they’ll really wonder why we’re here.”

  “Good point. What would you like? It will probably cause less of a stir if I go through the line.”

  “Hot tea, orange pekoe, but decaffeina
ted, or I guess just green tea if they don’t have anything civilized.”

  Laughing, Tuesday didn’t bother to point out the uselessness of the order. She’d be lucky if they had hot tea. After selecting their beverages, Tuesday returned to Vonne and placed a transparent tray in the center of the table.

  “So, tell me all about him,” Vonne prompted, as Tuesday returned to her seat.

  “Herbal tea was as close as I could come, but I brought six to choose from.”

  “You’re stalling. It’s not like you to be evasive.”

  She picked up a straw and pushed it into her cola. “There’s nothing much to tell. He ran out of options, so he took me to a place where I could help him think of a new plan.”

  One dark eyebrow shot up in silent challenge.

  “You should have seen how Bettencourt’s men treated him. As far as the world is concerned I was with Marc on a romantic getaway and we were rudely interrupted by unwanted guests.”

  “Were you?”

  “Were we what?”

  “Were you rudely interrupted by unwanted guests?” Vonne persisted. “Had this turned into a romantic getaway?”

  “No.” Tuesday glanced down at her soft drink, then back at her friend.

  Vonne’s dark gaze locked with hers. “But it might have? Is there something between you and Marc?”

  She’d known Vonne too long to lie. Somehow she always knew. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated how? He’s unmarried, unattached, richer than me and handsome as sin.”

  “I don’t like his new face,” Tuesday said too quickly.

  “He had his face changed?”

  That was right. Vonne hadn’t seen him yet. “Yes.”

  “Why? Never mind. I don’t need, or want, to be mixed up in all this. If no one recognizes her father, it will be that much easier to keep Subject A anonymous. She should be out of surgery in about six hours, then we’re home free. I’m glad this is over!”

  Tuesday cringed.

  “It is over, isn’t it?”