Recombinant

by Shannon Mayer

  Victor seemed to regain his composure, remembering that I’d asked him a question. “Told me what?”

  I waved a hand as if to encompass the whole room. “I helped him design this place. It was part of the deal we made. Part of my end of it, anyway.” I took two steps forward and dropped into the only other seat in the room, a lovely overstuffed chair that allowed me to lean back. As if we were having a chat instead of a deadly repertoire that would likely end with Victor dead.

  His green eyes, cold as ice, raked over me. “I want far more from you than my father did. This silly game of yours, hunting your own kind, needs to stop. You do realize that you will never wipe them out? I want to be like you, Lea. And one way or another, you will give me what I want.”

  I stayed where I was, breathing slowly, but my eyes fastened onto his. “Really? Is that how you seduce women now? Demand they give in?”

  He strolled toward me, circling to the back of my chair. There was a moment of hesitation, and then he slid his hands onto my shoulders, up my neck, and into my hair, massaging my scalp. “Is this more to your liking?”

  “Hmm.” The sound came out like a purr. How long had it been since someone had touched me like this? Knowing what I was, and still wanting me?

  Since Calvin and I had our single night together.

  I leaned back into Victor’s hands. The idea of fucking him was not so repulsive. He was handsome, and if the massage along my neck and scalp was any indication, he had some skills with his hands.

  And he wanted me. More than any other man I’d ever known.

  I leaned my head back and he dropped his lips to mine. Skilled, indeed. He slanted his mouth, his tongue darting in and out in a rhythm that hinted at other things. His one hand slid over my collarbone and down the front of my shirt while the other—

  A knife sliced across the side of my neck, the sudden pain snapping me out of the sexual daze I’d stupidly allowed myself to tumble into. The two bodyguards rushed forward, moving with a speed that almost matched mine.

  Almost.

  I pushed off the floor, tipping the chair backward and smashing against Victor, who struggled not to stab himself with his own knife. “You fucking dog,” I snarled, kicking out at him as my knees hit the floor, making contact with his ankle.

  He crashed down with a cry and I scooped up his knife. Slashing upward as I stood, I took out the first bodyguard’s stomach with a single slice. His guts spilled out and he tried to catch them, but they slid through his fingers to the floor in a slippery mess. His buddy hit the brakes and tried to backpedal, but he hit the blood and gore next and went down beside his buddy.

  Flipping the knife over in my hand, I threw it at bodyguard number two, driving the blade into his throat.

  That left only Victor.

  I turned and scooped him up as he tried to get away, his blond hair pink in places from the blood.

  Holding him by the jaw with one hand, I raised him over my head. His feet dangled and his face went white, red, and purple.

  I gave him a slow smile, showing him my fangs. “One way or another, Victor, you are going to tell me what I want to know. Every. Last. Thing.”

  CHAPTER 18

  RACHEL

  I took a shower and washed off the last remnants of blood and grime. Even after a year of being back in the States, showers still felt like a luxury. With my schedule, I had few luxuries in my life, so I refused to let myself feel guilty about taking long showers. Besides, I did my best brainstorming in the shower, and I definitely needed some major brainpower to sort through the crazy puzzle that had become my life.

  I grabbed a bath crayon I kept in my shower caddy and wrote what I knew on the shower door—the occult-like murders, the Asclepius Project, the U.S. government’s involvement, and bioterrorism. And what about the pile of ash in the alley behind the last murder victim’s place? What did that have to do with it all?

  And, of course, there was the most bizarre piece of all. Vampires.

  Had Caine been the murderer responsible for the six strange deaths or was it someone—or something—else?

  And if I let my mind accept the possibility, which I was coming around to, like it or not, it wasn’t a leap to think the pile of ashes in the alley might have been the remains of a vampire. But I realized I really didn’t know anything about vampires other than what I’d learned from horror movies and books. I suspected Lea didn’t sparkle in sunlight, which meant my information was sadly lacking. Why hadn’t I thought to quiz Lea?

  Maybe because I was still in shock.

  Unfortunately, I had no way of contacting her, and I had a couple of hours to kill before I could drop by the bar Morrison worked at without looking suspicious. It was a long shot that he was even working today, but I was determined to make an effort.

  After my shower, I pulled out all the contents of Derrick’s bag, going through everything again, then going through files in his computer, which was frustratingly bare. But there was a file, buried within the applications folder, that turned out to be a journal. While he hadn’t given details about what he’d found, he recorded his concerns about the things he was finding.

  The first was dated two days after our huge fight two years ago.

  All my life I’ve struggled with the concept of fate. I felt the undeniable pull to investigate these medical experimentation rumors, but if this turns out to be as deadly as I suspect, my life and anyone close to me will be in danger.

  I knew it was a stupid move to tell Rachel how I felt, especially on the heels of her finding out about Sean’s cheating. But I had to go into the investigation with no regrets, knowing that I wasn’t giving up a chance with the one person who could make me feel complete.

  But it’s better this way. Was it my fate to investigate these rumors and save the world? Or was it my choice to walk away from the only woman I’ve ever loved?

  Tears stung my eyes. Had I been the one to condemn Derrick to his fate? If I’d only loved him, he wouldn’t have chased this story.

  I scanned further into the document, finding vague notes about how he felt about what he’d discovered, although no facts. He’d been to Syria, Iraq, Pakistan, even Iceland. But he’d been in the States for six months.

  I walked past Rachel’s apartment today. I almost pressed the buzzer to see if she’d let me up. She walked by the window, her hair up in the messy ponytail she always wore when she was hard at work on a story. She stopped and looked outside and for one brief moment, I thought she’d seen me. My heart stopped and I waited for recognition to spread across her face, but she turned and walked away.

  Then so did I.

  I couldn’t bring her into this madness, for that is surely what this is, madness.

  I’ll protect her at any cost.

  I continued to scan the journal, the words blurry through my tears. Until I reached the end, my breath catching.

  Rachel,

  If you’re reading this, then I’ve failed. I wish you hadn’t found me. I wish I could have protected you from this. But now you must protect the world. I need you to go back to the place you found me, where we found the pile of ashes. Right before you showed up, I was looking for a glass vial. Its contents, or more likely what it contained before the ashes, is important. Find someone you trust to test the contents. I’m sure it’s key. I would have gone back earlier but the alley was being watched. Be careful.

  And yes, I knew you’d figure out my password—I created it with you in mind.

  I had to get back to that alley. And I had to ignore all the emotions bubbling up inside me. I didn’t have time to cry. I had to make sure that Derrick hadn’t wasted two years of his life.

  I stored his bag under the floorboard again, then headed back toward the crime scene. The fall air had a bite to it as I walked around the corner to the alley, making sure I stayed aware of my surroundings. It was a fairly good neighborhood, being on the Upper East Side, but there was no sense being stupid. Especially since Derrick was sure it had been w
atched, but today the only threatening thing was a three-legged dog being walked by its owner.

  I wasn’t surprised to find no sign of those strange ashes, but there was a faint outline of what appeared to be a human body. Since the body had been ash, I would have expected the pavement to be blackened from the intense heat. But it was a pale gray, almost the same color the ash had been, if memory served me right. I squatted to examine it more closely, then looked around the area, even holding my nose to look under the Dumpster. That’s where I saw a tiny glass vial with a red capsule inside.

  Derrick was right.

  I tried to temper my excitement as I knelt and reached under the trash bin to grab the bottle at the top with my gloved hand. It was about two inches tall and less than one inch wide. It was missing its screw cap, but the red capsule seemed to be wedged against the sides of the bottle.

  As I examined the vial, I wondered why Sean and his crew hadn’t found it while searching the crime scene. But it had been dark and the vial was a couple of feet under the trash bin. When I held it up for closer inspection, I saw gray ashy fingerprints on the glass. I stood and stepped back several feet as I studied the outline of the body. The arm on the right was raised; it was conceivable that the person could have been holding the bottle in his hand when he turned into ash.

  I pulled a tissue from my messenger bag and rolled it around the bottle. To give it more padding, I added my glove around it and packed it inside my bag. Then I pulled out my phone and called Tom, my friend at the coroner’s department.

  “I don’t have any new information, Rachel,” he said, sounding irritated.

  “I might have some information for you, actually. On the last occult murders.”

  “That might have been helpful yesterday. Before the Feds took it over.”

  “Well, shit.” But the news didn’t actually surprise me.

  Tom laughed. “That was our thought, too.”

  Since I didn’t trust Sean, I had no plans to hand this vial over to him. And if Sean was watching me, he was probably listening, too. I couldn’t tell Tom anything over the phone. “Say, Tom. Can we meet in person?”

  “Sure...” His voice shook a little when he made his response.

  “I’m headed your way now. How about I take you out to a late lunch and we’ll discuss it.”

  He groaned. “I can’t leave for lunch. We’re backed up today. But I can get a quick cup of coffee. The shop around the corner from my office.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Tom was already sitting at a table when I walked into the shop, his face red and his hands trembling as they gripped his cup. Another cup sat in front of him.

  The first time I’d met Tom was at a party soon after I arrived in the city. I was going out with a cop at the time—a very brief fling—but I flirted with Tom enough to convince him to exchange professional information.

  The second time was when I “accidently” ran into him at a bar. I bought him several drinks and convinced him to give me inside information on a case I was writing about. We’d worked out a deal. He gave me inside info on cases and I occasionally appeared as his date at social functions. But this was the first time I’d ever given him physical evidence.

  “Sorry I couldn’t meet you at my office,” he apologized, looking embarrassed. “Too much going on today.”

  He was lying, but that was okay. It was better that very few people knew about our working relationship. We weren’t seen in public enough for me to casually drop by his office. In fact, I probably should have waited until tonight to contact him, but I was anxious for information.

  I ordered a muffin since I hadn’t eaten yet and then sat myself in the chair in front of the waiting coffee cup. Tom looked down at his hands. “So what’s this about?” Then he looked up at me with wide puppy-dog eyes that made me instantly feel like a bitch. I hated manipulating people, especially people I actually liked. Like Tom. And I knew that before this conversation was done I was going to get my way, one way or another.

  “I have some information about the case.”

  He grimaced. “Like I told you, the Feds took it over.”

  “You might not still be working on it, but I am. And I think I found evidence they missed.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I told him what I’d found—the ash and the vial—and I mentioned seeing Sean on the scene the other night. But I kept everything else to myself.

  “So you want me to do something with the vial?”

  I took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. “Can you run the print? I have a feeling it was the murderer.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Call it a hunch. Can you run the prints?”

  “No.” Then he grimaced. “But I have a friend who can.”

  I leaned forward, looking into his eyes. “So will you?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe you should just give it to your boyfriend.” I wasn’t surprised to hear a hint of jealousy.

  “He’s not my boyfriend. And there’s no way in hell I’m giving it to him.” I tried to curb my frustration. “Tom, I’m on the cusp of breaking a huge government cover-up. I have a gut feeling this could be a huge break in the case.” Then I added, “Please.”

  He didn’t answer, which I took as a good sign.

  “Look at it this way, this could be a big ‘fuck you’ to the Feds.”

  He laughed and then took a sip of his coffee. I used the opportunity to pinch a piece off my muffin and stuff it into my mouth.

  “So, is that a yes?”

  “It won’t be easy,” he warned. “I can handle the print, but the pill…” He sighed. “I might know a guy in toxicology who will run it for me, but it’ll cost.”

  I tried to hide my grimace. “How much?”

  “Not money. He’ll want an invite to my D&D tournament next weekend.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  He grinned and made a face. “He’s annoying as hell.”

  “So you want something from me?”

  “How bad do you want it?”

  How bad indeed. “What do you want?”

  He blushed. “There’s a work thing.”

  “You need a date.” He’d never been nervous about asking before, so I had to wonder what was so heinous about this one. Not that it mattered. I’d agree. “Okay. Where and when?”

  “Next Friday. One of my coworkers is getting married. We’ll go to the wedding and the reception. Semi-formal.”

  Work? He’d always kept it to dinner and drinks with his friends and his fraternity brothers who came in from out of town. But he’d never crossed the work line. It was dangerous to start now. But who was I kidding? “Will we play it off as a first date or pretend to be an established couple?

  “First date. Everyone I work with would know I couldn’t keep it a secret.”

  “Okay. It’s a deal.”

  “So let’s see it.”

  I opened my bag and carefully pulled out the glove and set it on the table. “It’s in here. I wrapped it in a tissue. I hope I didn’t screw it up.”

  He picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket as he stood. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  I picked up my to-go cup and walked out with him. He stopped outside the door and turned to me, catching me off guard when he stooped to plant a kiss on my lips.

  He grinned when he pulled back. “I figured we should make our date look legit.” Then he walked away, whistling a happy tune.

  At least somebody was happy.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t like Tom. I just didn’t like him like that. But leading him on made me feel like scum. Then again, after everything I’d done over the last seven years, maybe I was scum. But I had a feeling my last shred of humanity was about to be ripped away with this story.

  Figuring it was still too early to check out the bar, I headed out to look at the alleys behind two of the other murders, but there was nothing. No gray figures
on the pavement. It only corroborated what I had begun to suspect: The murderer was a vampire who had been interrupted during his last kill, and was murdered himself as he tried to get away.

  It was five o’clock when I walked into the One Toed Monkey bar. There were a few patrons at tables and an old guy sitting at the counter. I picked a seat on the opposite end, relieved when I saw a guy working behind the counter. Chances were better that Brian was a guy’s name, though you never know in Manhattan.

  He walked over with a towel over his shoulder. No nametag, of course—it couldn’t be that easy. I had to figure out how to play this.

  “What can I get you?”

  I sniffed and pretended like I was about to cry. “A glass of wine.”

  His expression softened. “What kind, honey?”

  I waved my hand. “Oh, I don’t know. Something white.”

  He pulled down a wine glass and began to pour. “Want to talk about it?”

  I took a sip, then set the glass down and purposely toppled it over, making it look like an accident. “Oh,” I whined. “He’s right. I can’t do anything right.”

  He yanked the towel off his shoulder and started to mop up the mess. “It’s just a glass of wine. No harm done. I’ll pour you another. On the house.”

  “Thank you,” I said, grateful for the three seasons of summer theater I had done in college. “You’re so nice… What’s your name?”

  “Brian.”

  Bingo. “Thank you for being so nice, Brian. I’m Larissa and I seem to have the crappiest taste in men. You’ve given me hope.”

  “I can’t imagine a pretty girl like you having problem with men.”

  “You’d be surprised.” I spent the next ten minutes making up a bullshit story, trying to figure out how to lead this fluff into the kind of questions Derrick wanted to ask this guy.

  “And to make matters worse, my boyfriend is a conspiracy nut.”

  His smile froze. “What kind of conspiracy?”

  I shrugged and picked up my glass. “Something about the government, but don’t most conspiracy theories involve the government? It had some funny name that started with an A.”