by Julie Rowe
“Yeah, two feet thick, reinforced with steel beams and a new synthetic fiber webbing.” He grinned at her. “Bomb-proof.”
Their footfalls echoed as they walked, but it was otherwise quiet. Ruby looked around at everything, almost like she expected someone to jump out at them.
“Is there anyone working here right now?” she asked. “Or are we alone in the building?”
“We’re alone, but just for another couple of hours.” He took in her slightly worried expression. “You okay?”
“Tired. Let’s get to work,” she said, much too sweetly. She pulled out her work tablet and waggled it.
“Can’t take any outside objects besides your glasses into the lab.”
“Then how…?”
“There are tablets and computers inside the containment area to use. They’re linked to the CDC’s computer system and any files you might need. The fun part is physically locating each pathogen and confirming its status and stats.”
“How are they stored?”
“We want to maintain the best viability for our samples, so they’re stored in liquid nitrogen, but it’s a pain in the ass to work in. So, there’s a separate vapor section in the freezer for any sample needed for testing or research.”
“How many samples are here again?”
“Six hundred and eight.”
She blew out a breath. “That’s going to take me a while to do.”
“Since Halverson stole shit, and we don’t know what else besides measles he might have taken, I don’t expect you to fly through it. Be careful, cautious, and precise.”
“Yes, sir, Henry, sir.”
“Don’t call me ‘sir.’” It put all kinds of fantasy moments in his head of her calling him “sir” while taking her clothes off.
“Don’t give orders.” Her cell phone dinged and her smile dissolved, but she didn’t pull out her phone.
It dinged again.
She ignored it.
He was about to show her one of his favorite parts of the facility, but her phone dinged a third time.
“Maybe you should see who’s so hot to talk to you.”
Her smile was tight. Tense. Troubled. “It’s my personal phone.”
“It could be your brother. It’s okay to take a minute to see what’s up.”
“Thanks.” She looked anything but thankful as she pulled out her phone and looked at it.
He didn’t want to seem like he was intruding, so he pulled out his own phone and checked his messages and email. Nothing interesting.
One glance at Ruby told him something wasn’t right. She’d turned pale and sweaty—like she was a couple of seconds away from puking right there on the floor.
“Problem?” He managed to ask the question in an even tone, but she flinched anyway. That was unlike her, and it set off his bullshit meter.
She turned toward him, but her gaze didn’t get any higher than his chin. “The people my brother is staying with are turning out to be…not so nice.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
Her gaze finally met his. “Thank you, but it’s one of those lose-lose situations. I just have to ride it out.”
Lose-lose? What did that mean? “Did he break something and they’re threatening to sue?”
She shook her head. “Some people just want it all their way, you know? My brother has been known to be a little stubborn.”
“Nothing like his sister, then?”
“You think I’m agreeable?” She tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
What the hell was going on in her head? “So far, you have been.”
“I haven’t disagreed with you yet. Once I do, you probably won’t like me very much.”
He glanced at her with one eyebrow raised.
She coughed. “Um, not that you like me particularly much now.”
“I like you. You have many…sterling qualities.”
At her shocked expression, he explained, “You’re punctual, professional, and perform your work to a high standard.”
Hurt flashed across her face before she managed to hide it. “Thank you.”
Great going. Just what every girl wanted to hear. Not.
But if he told her she always seemed to know the right thing to say to give him the perspective he needed, and the sound of her voice could give him an erection in three seconds flat, she’d probably slap him and never work with him again.
He cleared his voice. “We’re going to start in the security heart of the building. I’m going to need your retina scan and a full palm print.”
“Will my retina and palm print be entered into a whole bunch of databases?”
“Ours and Homeland Security’s, since we come under their umbrella. From there, it may be made available to FBI and other law enforcement agencies as required.” He studied her face, where that furrow had only etched itself deeper. What the fuck was wrong?
“Will having this information in multiple systems mean there’s a target on my back?” she asked in a rush. “The FAFO seems to be really good at getting access to all kinds of restricted information.”
“That’s a good point.” He cocked his head. “How would you feel about carrying a weapon?”
“Something other than my mouth?”
Hers should be listed as a weapon of mass distraction. He couldn’t stop wondering how it would feel wrapped around his cock.
No, nope, nada, not going there.
“I was thinking…” of all the very dirty things she could do to him with her mouth “…about a Beretta, nine mil. Ever fire a handgun?” Fuck, he sounded like he was being squeezed in a vise.
“No, but I’m willing to learn.”
He had so much he’d like to teach her, but none of it had anything to do with work or safety.
He’d be lucky if he didn’t drive himself crazy with wanting a woman who was too innocent, too smart, and too damned good for a scarred-up, torn-down asshole like him. He also needed to figure out why she was acting so spooked about her brother. She wasn’t the type to overreact. Could the guy have gotten himself involved in something illegal?
As soon as he had a few minutes, he’d make some calls and find out.
Chapter Seven
5:24 a.m.
The security office looked like mission control. There was an entire wall of screens indicating the whole building was covered by at least one camera, and some areas by two or three.
Henry had scanned Ruby’s right eye for her retina print then her left palm and her right thumb. They already had her voice and face in the system. Once he issued her an eight-digit code to get into the first door, she had access to the entire facility.
She’d been so excited to see the high-containment lab, but now all she felt was sick to her stomach. The FAFO were going to force her to steal a pathogen. Force her to betray her personal code of ethics. Betray Henry.
While she’d been in the bathroom, she’d gotten a text from her brother’s phone.
A photo of him holding up his watch with the time and the message: The clock is ticking…
Her proof of life.
The sheer number of cameras and secure doors she had to go through told her there was no way she’d be able to take something out of the liquid nitrogen freezer without being observed. No way she could get it out of the building without being discovered and stopped.
Where the hell was she supposed to hide the sample? Her bra?
She’d been fighting down rage, regret, and wretchedness in a repeating wave since that first phone call. It left her exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically.
So, how was she going to get the smallpox out of this facility, keep it viable, and not infect herself?
Stupid terrorists hadn’t thought of that, had they?
Ruby leaned back and stre
tched. How long had she been working on the computer? She rubbed her eyes, exhaustion weighing down her limbs until she wondered if gravity had gotten stronger than normal or if she was just imagining it.
“Hey.”
She turned at the male voice. Henry was walking toward her, his slight limp reminding her of who and what he was. Not just a lab tech. Not just her mentor. He was also an army veteran. A Special Forces army veteran. Maybe he could help her.
But if she confided in him and the FAFO found out, her brother was a dead man and they’d kill Henry, too.
They’d kill Henry, too. The thought dipped her into liquid nitrogen, freezing her body solid. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything that wouldn’t shatter herself into a billion pieces.
How was she going to keep both of them and herself safe?
Was it even possible? The FAFO were always ahead of anything the CDC or Homeland Security did. How did they keep finding out stuff that no one outside the CDC or Homeland Security should know?
The thoughts circled her head so fast they were making her dizzy.
“Tired?” he asked.
She dragged her focus back to him. “Yeah, hungry, too.”
“Come on,” he said with a come-with-me gesture. “I can take care of both problems.”
She followed him back down the hall, then down a different side hallway and into a room. It was lined with boxes and crates, but there were two cots set up in the middle of the space with blankets on them. Sitting on the cots were a couple of granola bars each and a bottle of water.
“All the comforts of home,” Henry said in a wry tone.
“Nice.” It was all she could think of to say. “Thanks.”
“Crash for a few hours, then we’ll finish up and hopefully leave before midnight.”
“You plan to come and go under the shelter of darkness?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s very cloak-and-dagger of you.”
He shrugged. “Cuts down on the collateral damage if we’re attacked.”
She couldn’t help pursing her lips as if she’d sucked on a lime. “And reassuring.”
He went to the lights and shut them off. His footsteps made just the slightest noise on the floor, and only because with the lights turned off, she was listening for them.
The cot beside hers creaked a little as he settled on it.
Henry was a big man, his body heavily muscled. He had the strongest hands, yet she’d seen him adjust and fine-tune a microscope with a delicate touch.
His breathing evened out, and she closed her eyes, letting herself take respite in knowing he was only a few feet away. His scent teased her nose, a hint of spicy musk that made her want to follow it to its source.
If she asked, would he let her join him on his cot so she could bury her face against his naked skin?
Did he like kissing a woman over and over, driving her mindless with want before putting his hands on her?
Would he take his time or did he like it fast and hard?
Would he go down on her?
She pictured his cock. Imagined taking it into her mouth and sucking on it. Would he fuck her mouth, his hands on her head, his deep, rough voice telling her what he liked?
She shifted restlessly on the cot, and it squeaked.
Idiot, go to sleep.
…
2:05 p.m.
Nate woke with his face on a cold, hard, dirty surface. He tried to open his eyes, but only one of them cooperated; the other was mashed quite firmly against whatever he was lying on. He couldn’t see too clearly out of the eye that did work. Everything was so blurry.
He tried to sit up, but his body didn’t seem to understand what he wanted.
Wait a second. Parts of him were numb, like the circulation had been cut off. And where were his hands? He tried to bring his arms around, but a couple of tugs convinced him something else was going on. He managed to wiggle his fingers and discovered bracelets on his wrists.
He was handcuffed.
The last thing he remembered was posing while a guy with a beard and wearing sunglasses, like that was a good disguise, took his picture to send to his sister.
Had they drugged him?
Footsteps approached, and booted feet entered his hazy field of vision. Hands grabbed him under the arms and wrenched him up into a sitting position.
All the blood that had been in his head took a fast elevator down to his butt, and he had to focus on not passing out. The blurry vision persisted, making it hard to see the face of the man who crouched in front of him.
“The disorientation is a normal side effect of the drug,” a rough voice said. “It will pass.”
“Okay,” Nate said, his tongue mostly forming the word right.
“Tell me about your sister.” It was an order. One that sounded familiar. Had this guy questioned him before?
“She’s four minutes older than I am,” he said brightly. A few years ago, he’d had the opportunity to go through the navy’s Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape—SERE—school. Or as he liked to put it, how to survive fucking torture school. This wasn’t torture. They’d used some drug that probably made him susceptible to suggestion. But part of the SERE program involved practicing giving the same answer under duress. An answer that was truthful and of no use whatsoever.
Any time someone asked him a question about his sister, his response was the same: she’s four minutes older than I am.
“You’ve said that before.” The man’s face came into focus. Same beard, but no sunglasses now. Average face. “Is she good at following instructions?”
Nate nodded a little too hard. He couldn’t help it. “She’s a good sister.” Jeez, whatever drug they’d given him had put him in the stratosphere.
The man tilted his head to one side, studying Nate’s face. “Are you going to follow instructions?”
What kind of question was that? “Of course I am. I don’t want to die.”
The man didn’t say anything, but the smile on his face gave Nate no reassurance at all.
He should be afraid, but the drug had coated and confined him in a layer of false happy-go-lucky. Underneath the ill-fitting plastic wrap, however, was a furious desire to punch this asshole in the face. Could the asshole see the violence inside him waiting patiently for its chance to lash out? Nate dropped his gaze, and it landed on the man’s boots.
Black combat boots. Black camo pants. A knife and gun strapped to his thigh. This guy had all the hallmarks of a soldier, except for one thing—this bullshit had nothing to do with serving a country. Which most likely made him a mercenary.
He didn’t trust mercenaries. They worked for whoever paid the most and didn’t give a shit about what they were ordered to do. It was a dangerous job with no pension, and very few of them lived to old age.
The man crouched in front of him, pulled the knife from the sheath on his thigh, and put the tip under Nate’s chin, forcing his head up.
“What’s going through your head right now?” the man asked in a soft tone that told all manner of lies.
“How scary you are,” Nate answered without hesitation. “If I tried wearing your clothes, I’d look like a geek playing dress up, because that’s what I’d be. I’m also concerned that in my calculations for a weak stability boundary transfer trajectory for any spacecraft we send to Mars, I haven’t fully accounted for the effect of the sun’s gravitational field on—”
“Enough,” the man said, withdrawing the knife and getting to his feet.
“But—”
“Shut up.” Gone was the almost friendly tone; a snarl had replaced it.
Nate shut up.
After his captor walked away, Nate lay down and hoped the drug wore off faster than whatever that dude wanted to happen, happened.
…
4:58 p.m.
Ruby woke to smothering darkness. Thick and sticky, it pressed down on her chest, pushing the air out of her lungs, punishing her for crimes she had yet to commit. The absolute absence of light was alien to her bed at home. There, she had Christmas lights strung along the perimeter of the room where the ceiling and walls met. The multicolored light soothed her busy brain.
No, she was at the CDC’s high-containment lab on a cot about five feet away from the man she was about to betray.
She fished around near her head and finally found her phone. Hoping to see another picture of Nate from the kidnappers or word from her parents, she checked for messages. There was nothing. The time on the screen told her she’d slept about five hours. The kidnappers were late.
A cold wash of worry trickled down her back. They owed her a proof of life.
Ruby looked over at Henry, but the dim light from her phone didn’t show her much, just that he was there and still sleeping.
Shit. She needed to call her parents and check on Nate, and if Henry caught her at it, the jig was up.
Getting off the cot was more difficult than it should have been, and in her haste and panic, she nearly landed on her face.
“Ruby?” Henry’s voice was slurred with sleep.
“Sorry,” she said, wincing. “Bathroom.”
He mumbled something, then his breathing evened out.
She found her shoes and managed to get to the door without running into anything or tripping over her own feet.
The hallway was blindingly bright, but she blinked through it and stumbled to the women’s bathroom. She went into a stall, sat on the seat, and texted her father’s phone.
Anything?
The answer popped up in seconds. Nothing. Your mother found traffic light video of the kidnapping, but nothing after that. They were very careful.
They missed a check-in.
Demand another message from Nate.
Will do.
She texted the kidnapper’s number.
Where is Nate?
It took two minutes for the reply to arrive. Do you have the sample?
Oh no. They weren’t getting anything from her until they kept up their end of the bargain. Show me my brother.