Dead Ringers

by Fossen, Delores

  “You tell me,” Dana fired back.

  “I don’t know,” Janski answered just as quickly. “But if she made more, there could be another Eric out there, too.”

  “If I’m to believe you, then Eric and I have the same DNA,” Jack pointed out.

  “Yes.” And that’s all Janski said for several long moments. “But I meant Eric. Layton could be an alpha male jerk, but he was sane. I can’t say the same for Eric.”

  Now, that was a chilling thought. Jack looked at Vince who only lifted an eyebrow. “Eric’s insanity could have been caused by the car accident,” Jack suggested.

  “Or by being raised by a crazy mother,” Dana pointed out. She winced a little and gaze an apologetic nod to Grace who just shrugged.

  “True,” Janski finally conceded. “Or maybe she didn’t need to clone Eric because he didn’t commit suicide. If so, I hope you’ve considered the likelihood that he would have had plastic surgery. He could be the person who’s trying to kill you.”

  “Who says anyone’s trying to kill us?” Jack asked.

  “Don’t insult me, and I won’t insult you.” Oh, that wasn’t a friendly tone. “Kirby Arrington called me yesterday.” And Janski let that hang in the air for a while. “I’ll ask the question you put to me--how many clones did Cornelia make of Layton? Because the man with the scar who visited Kirby wasn’t you.”

  “No,” and that was all Jack said.

  Janski’s huff was loud. “I don’t want to get pulled into this mess again. I have a reputation to consider.”

  “A reputation?” Dana repeated. “As you just said, my lookalike, Patricia Snyder, was murdered. I’d like to stop the same thing from happening to me.”

  “I don’t know how I can help. When Jack’s employee called me, I gave him the contact info for the people involved with the eugenics project.”

  “Rusty’s checking it out,” Jack mouthed to the others.

  “I need more,” Dana pressed. “I need you to tell me who killed Patricia.”

  “Why would I know that?” Janski snapped.

  “Because I believe you know a lot more than what you’re saying.” Dana moved closer to the phone, and her eyes narrowed. “You said you were in love with Alyssa. Then, why would you just stand by when someone’s killed her again?”

  Jack caught onto her arm, to stop her from pushing this, but the sound of outrage that Janski made had him rethinking it. Maybe this was what Janski needed. A hard push. Because Jack agreed with Dana about the man knowing more than he was telling them.

  “I’m not standing by!” Janski snapped. “I tried to stop this thirty years ago, and Cornelia said I wasn’t being a visionary. She called me provincial. Can you believe that bitch?”

  “If you couldn’t stop her, you should have told someone,” Dana insisted.

  “And make myself an embarrassment to the research community? No, thanks. I didn’t want to be a freak.”

  Dana moved even closer. “But--”

  “Alyssa, stop it!” Janski practically shouted. He stayed quiet for so long that Jack wonder if he’d just hang up. “Dana,” he corrected. But he didn’t sound pleased about the slip up.

  “Can you help me?” Dana asked. Her voice was eerily calm as if she were toying with Janski. Heck, maybe she was because she’d managed to press his hot button, that’s for sure. “I don’t want to die like Alyssa.”

  Janski cleared his throat. “I’ll ask around, discreetly, to see if anyone knows for certain if Eric’s really alive. In the meantime, you should look in Kirby Arrington’s direction. He’s convinced that Jack is trying to get revenge for Layton.”

  “Arrington said that?” Jack asked.

  “Oh, yes. He’s quite afraid of you. And the other one with the scar. Kirby believes Layton left some kind of instructions with you to collect all the money that was stolen.”

  Hell, maybe Arrington was nuts, too. Or maybe just afraid of losing some cash. “How much money did Arrington take from Layton?”

  “A million, maybe more. Kirby had a powerful motive for getting rid of Layton. Since there’s not a statute of limitations on murder, Kirby’s more than a little nervous.”

  Jack considered assuring Janski that he wasn’t out for Layton’s revenge, but there was no telling how that message would be relayed to Arrington. Or if it would do any good if Janski actually relayed it correctly. People hell-bent on murder didn’t always make logical decisions.

  “I want us to meet again,” Janski insisted. “With the others. The Layton lookalike with the scar. Alyssa’s lookalike, too.”

  “A meeting isn’t possible,” Jack insisted.

  “Maybe I can make it worth your time,” Janski countered.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Vince barked.

  “Ah, the scarred one,” Janski said, his tone much lighter now. “You sound like Layton. And the other Alyssa? Is she there, too?”

  “No,” Jack spoke up. He motioned for Grace to stay quiet. It wasn’t just for pettiness that Jack wanted her silence. The less Janski knew about their current situation, the better. “How can you make a meeting worth our time?”

  “My middle-aged mind is often jogged with visual cues,” Janski said. Jack thought the guy might be smirking.

  “I’ll send you a picture of Alyssa and Layton,” Jack said. “Maybe that’ll jog something.”

  “Nothing is ever as good as the real thing, is it? If you want to hear the rest of what I have to say, arrange another meeting. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” And with that, Janski hung up.

  Jack snared Vince’s gaze. “A bluff?” Vince suggested.

  “Could be. Unless he’s the killer and is trying to draw us out.”

  “Then, he’s stupid to think we’d fall for that.” Vince shrugged. “That doesn’t mean we can’t meet with him on our own terms.”

  “You mean like bait?” Grace asked, none too happily, either.

  Vince chuckled. “More like a trap for Janski.” But he shook his head. “The problem with that is we’d have to leave Dana and you. After the grenade launcher incident, I’m thinking that’s not a very good idea.”

  Jack was thinking the same thing. But there had to be a way to draw this person out--whether it was Janski or not. And that meant they needed a plan. To come up with one of those, he had to have more information.

  He went to the laptop that Vince had opened, and Jack looked through the most recent messages. There were dozens of them. Good. It meant his people were working hard to get those answers. The one with Samuel Wright’s name caught his eye. It must have caught Vince’s too because he clicked on it, and silently they read it together.

  Samuel Wright was fifty-eight and the owner and sole employee of the Wright PI Agency. Divorced, no kids. Everything looked normal except for the fact it was maybe too normal.

  “He could have planted this info,” Vince said, taking the words right out of Jack’s mouth.

  Jack looked at the bottom of the report where his people had used Eric’s photo to compare it to Wright’s. Because maybe Wright was really Eric after some cosmetic surgery.

  “It’s a possible match.” Vince looked up at Jack. “We need a DNA sample from this guy. If he’s Eric, then he’ll be a match to ours.”

  Jack nodded, sat down with the laptop and fired off an email requesting that one of his employees do just that. It’d be easier now that Jack’s own DNA was already on file.

  Dana walked closer and stared at the photos of Eric and Wright that were side by side. “If he’s Eric, he won’t be that hard to find. Well, he wouldn’t be if he still had a way to call me. My cell blew up at the house.”

  Jack slipped his arm around her, and she automatically leaned against him. It felt good. Right. But it didn’t go unnoticed. Both Grace and Vince glanced at the close contact, and then Vince’s glance turned to a stare.

  “Do we need an air clearing?” Jack asked. Or maybe a clarification. Except Jack didn’t know what could be cleared or clarified.
This soul mate situation was like walking on eggshells. Well, except for when Jack was alone with Dana because everything felt right then.

  Vince turned his stare to Dana and lifted his eyebrow before switching to Grace. “This is crazy shit,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what Layton pumped into our DNA, but it’s potent stuff.”

  “Yes,” Grace agreed. She fluttered her fingers toward the bedrooms. “I need a shower and some rest.” And she headed in that direction.

  Vince got up to go after her, but he stopped when there was a knock at the door.

  “It’s me, Rusty.”

  Jack still drew his gun. Vince, too. And Jack didn’t re-holster it until he looked out the window and made sure Rusty was alone.

  “The SUV’s been ditched,” Rusty updated them once he was inside. He turned to Jack who was already relocking the door and resetting the security system. He glanced at them--the women both in bathrobes and Vince without a shirt. “I’ll arrange to have some clothes delivered.”

  Good. Because even though Jack and Vince had nearly identical bodies and even though it was petty, he didn’t want the man walking around half naked.

  “I got an update about the surrogates that Dr. Hartwell used to carry the six of you,” Rusty continued. “They’re dead.”

  “All of them?” Dana asked.

  Rusty nodded, and his huff said it all. It probably wasn’t a coincidence. “You think Dr. Hartwell murdered them?” Jack wanted to know.

  “Maybe. Three died in car wrecks, another drowned, one slipped and hit her head on the kitchen floor. The other had complications from the delivery and died shortly thereafter.”

  “Maybe the doctor didn’t want to risk any of them trying to contact us,” Vince suggested. “She didn’t even contact us until after she was dead.”

  “There’s more,” Rusty said after a long breath. “Remember, I told you there’d been five children born as the second phase of the Zeus Project. Three males, two females. That doesn’t include Layton because he was born to replace Eric. So, we’ve been searching for the others. All but one of them is dead.”

  “But one’s alive?” Vince asked.

  Rusty nodded. “His name is Rory Sullivan, and if Eric is truly dead, then Rory is the sole survivor of phase two.” He paused. “And he’s very anxious to talk to all of you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Vince decided not to knock. Even though he didn’t really know Grace, he knew her. And he knew she wouldn’t answer if he knocked. Or that she would just tell him to go away. While he was predicting, he figured she was probably beating herself up about using the house phone that had ultimately led the killer to them.

  It’d been a simple mistake.

  But Vince frowned at that. He wasn’t a forgiving sort, and normally a mistake like that would put a person on his shit-list. But not Grace. He wanted her plenty of places but a shit-list wasn’t one of them.

  He tested the knob on the bedroom door where she’d disappeared ten minutes earlier with a mumbled comment about needing some rest. It was unlocked. And he shot Dana and Jack a look to let them know this was just a welfare check.

  Okay, it was more.

  He cared more than just about Grace’s welfare, but the primary purpose was to make sure she wasn't thinking about doing something crazy--like making herself bait for a killer so she could try to make right this accidental wrong.

  Vince threw open the door and saw Grace face down on the bed. And yeah, she was crying all right. Her head whipped up, her gaze shooting to him, and she gave him a warning to back off.

  He didn’t.

  Instead, Vince shut the door and walked toward her.

  “There’s nothing you say can to make me feel better,” she grumbled. She dropped back face-down on the bed.

  Vince took that as a challenge. “You have a great ass.”

  Her head came up again. Her eyes, narrowed. “You’re trying to seduce me at a time like this?”

  He shrugged, sank down on the bed. “That wasn’t a seduction attempt. It was more of an observation.”

  “Well, your timing sucks.” She swiped away her tears and maneuvered herself to a sitting position with her back against the headboard.

  Vince couldn’t argue with that. This raging heat in his body was definitely ill-timed. He probably should just head to the shower, turn the water on cold and take his erection into his own hand. Literally. But both him and his erection only wanted to be one place.

  With Grace.

  Grace probably had a different notion about that though.

  “I’m always screwing up,” she said, her voice filled with something more than pity.

  “Like what?” he asked.

  He saw the surprise rifle through her eyes. “Like my relationship with my mother. I should have gotten her the help she needed.”

  Vince disagreed. “She was crazy.” He only shrugged when Grace stared at him. “I read her background. She was crazy,” he repeated. “And crazy people aren’t very good at accepting help. That’s why she committed suicide.”

  Grace looked away. “Most think I killed her.”

  “You didn’t.” And there was no doubt in his voice or in his head. “Hell, you didn’t try to kill me when you thought I was kidnapping you at Dana’s apartment. So, I know you wouldn’t kill a middle-aged crazy woman.”

  “I wanted to kill her,” Grace mumbled.

  “Yeah. After you told me about the things she did to you, I wanted her dead, too. If we could wish someone to death, we’d all be screwed.” He leaned in, slid both his hands behind her waist. “For the record, I have killed.”

  “Bad guys,” she concluded.

  “You don’t know that. There could have been a good one or two in the mix.”

  “Then, it would have been a mistake. Maybe on your part, maybe on the part of the person giving you orders.” Her gaze came back to him. “You didn’t try to kill me when you found me at Dana’s apartment, even though your first thought had to be that I was there to murder her.”

  No. That wasn’t his first thought. Those first thoughts were of the same variety as the ones he was having now.

  Except the first first thought was that weird thing--It’s you.

  It’d quickly gotten overshadowed by the thoughts of fucking her. And rescuing her. Oh, and in the midst of that, there had been some doubt to her innocence even though that’d gotten cleared up with one whiff of her.

  Vince drew in her scent now. Still packed a punch. If he could bottle that, there’d be no need for CIA assassins. Or Viagra.

  He tried to nudge her closer. When she didn’t budge, Vince did. He dropped a kiss on her throat.

  “Nice neck, too.” He put another kiss slightly lower, in the veed opening of her thin white bathrobe. “Awesome tits.”

  That earned him a scowl. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, it won’t work. I nearly got us killed.”

  “No, the killer nearly got us killed. You were just one of the almost victims.”

  “If I hadn’t made that call--”

  He cut that off with a kiss, and since her mouth was already open, he made it French. It didn’t do a damn thing to help his erection, but he did like the little sound of surprise that Grace made.

  She didn’t push him away, exactly, but she pulled back and shook her head. “Remember, I’m bad news.”

  “Yeah. I’m kinda counting on that actually.” He kissed her again. And again. Then, eased open her robe.

  “I didn’t have time to dress,” she said like an apology.

  For the first time Vince was actually thankful they’d had to run like a bat out of hell to escape because beneath that robe was a bra-less woman.

  He’d been right about her having great tits.

  Vince heard himself groan, and he kissed her there, too. First the part between her breasts. Then, her left one. And the right. The nipples, too.

  “This will go nowhere,” she insisted.

  “So, you’ve said. But he
re’s the problem.” He took her hand and moved it over his hard dick. “Every time I see you, I get one of those, and it’s hard to walk, think or do pretty much anything else other than want you.”

  She stared at him. “This will go nowhere,” Grace firmly restated.

  “My dick doesn’t believe that.”

  She huffed. Glared. Huffed again. And she pushed him away so she could drag off her panties. “All right. Just fuck me then. Get it over and done. That way, you can walk and think.”

  She flopped back on the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, and she spread her legs for him.

  All in all, it was an incredible view. Her naked, spread eagle and waiting for him to give her what she was certain would be a forgettable fuck.

  Vince had other ideas.

  He stood, shucked off his jeans and put his phone on the nightstand. She glanced at his erection, mumbled something that didn’t sound pleasant, and Vince got back on the bed with her. He got between her legs all right but not with the bodies aligned for sex. Instead, he aligned his mouth with her stomach.

  And he kissed her there. On the soft, smooth skin of her belly. Around her navel. And he kissed her to the edge of her hip.

  “What'd you think about when you were fucking the football team?” he asked. He blew his breath over the damp places he’d left on her stomach.

  “What? Why the heck would you want to know that?”

  “Because I want your mind to be on something else. So, to help me out with this unfamiliar territory of your body, what you were thinking?” he pressed.

  Her glare got worse. “That they had surprisingly small dicks.”

  He had to admire her humor. Unless of course, they really did have small dicks. “And when you were with the cheerleader--what were you thinking?”

  “That she tasted like chicken.”

  Vince chuckled and kissed her other hipbone. “Chicken and small dicks don’t make for good sex. No wonder you didn’t cum.”