by Regan Black
Here Kristoff's name was mentioned as a leader in the field. He'd built on the early work of DNA as it related to disease, progressing with extraordinary speed to leaving markers doctors could tap later, reducing death to cancers by more than ninety percent. He was a hero of the populace, noted specifically for helping infertile couples bring genetically healthier children into the world.
Petra continued to read through the display, noting how quiet her unwelcome guest had become. Could he also be a product of Kristoff's markers?
She studied the explanation of twins, fraternal and identical, and wondered about her own conception in that petri dish twenty-seven years ago.
Suddenly her vision filled with an image of a small clear dish being shot off the end of the stainless table by a pool cue. A bloodless bye-bye to baby.
A tormented laugh escaped her lips, making other visitors turn. "Yeah, well, he probably sprouted you from mold," she sniped. With no explanation for her outburst, Petra ignored the stares, sinking her focus into the next backlit panel of experiments, explanations, and outcomes. As the psychotic giggles continued in her head she realized a distinct preference for the annoying bells.
Lists of advances in DNA and the years each milestone was achieved claimed her attention. Here was Dr. Kristoff's name again, leading the team of scientists credited with extreme, miraculous accomplishments.
One exploit stood apart from the others. In the same year she'd been born, he'd successfully manipulated a single fertilized embryo to create fraternal twins. Cloning in dangerous disguise.
Petra shivered, knowing she and Nathan must be products of this research. Kelly could be right about her soul, but it didn't change how creepy the whole idea was. This time when visions of murder marched through her mind, she knew she'd initiated them.
Did her parents know? Did they authorize such drastic liberties? Or had they merely signed off to allow Dr. Kristoff to enhance their future generations?
So many questions, rattling around and bouncing off one another gave her a headache. Well, maybe the intrusive killer was doing that.
She pulled out her cell card, ready to call her father, but thought better of it at the last minute. He couldn't change the past and she didn't want him to. She liked who she was and how she used her skills and it didn't matter where they'd originated or who they disappointed.
Petra raised her chin and pushed her shoulders back. Self-acceptance felt good and she imagined it looked good on her, too. Dr. Mad Scientist Kristoff may have tweaked her DNA, but she'd made her life and she was happy with it.
Peals of scornful laughter filled her ears and followed her out of the gallery.
"Shut up," she said, rubbing at the sharp ache in her temples. "Your leash is short–he only lets you loose where and when he wants to. At least I'm free."
Locked away in her smallest, safest place, her true spirit pondered how she would stay free–and whole–when Kristoff made his next move in this dangerous game.
Chapter Twelve
The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen, nor touched but are felt in the heart. –Helen Keller
Cleveland looked at the two children he already considered his own. Quinn and Katie were orphans who'd been making their way on the hard streets of Chicago. The whole neighborhood knew them and tried to offer help without embarrassing them with too much pity. They'd done well for themselves, until one of Jaden's enemies targeted the kids to get to her.
Jaden evened that score, but Cleveland considered himself the true winner. Out of necessity he'd taken the kids in, but he was looking to make the situation permanent. If the kids agreed, of course.
Katie, the eldest at twelve, raised her hand solemnly. "We swear, Cleveland. On our honor, we'll stay put and behave." The subsequent eye rolling did nothing to assure him, but it made him laugh.
"What she said," Quinn, three years her junior agreed. "See ya! I've got a tracking device to monitor."
Cleveland opened his mouth to scold, but Katie interjected. "He put it on Mr. Caldwell's dog."
The deli owner down the street was a good-hearted man who'd often kept these two fed. "Did you get the dog to sign a privacy waiver?"
Quinn groaned. "Just hurry up and get back so I can show you the report."
"Like he really wants to see where a stray dog wandered all day."
"Keeping a tail on a dog is no small feat." Cleveland kept a straight face, enjoying the eye rolling that preceded the burst of laughter. Their laughter was his new favorite sound. "I can't wait to see your report. Maybe Jaden and the Chief will be able to use it."
He saw Quinn's eyes light and knew he'd said just the right thing. "I won't be out long, but if you need anything call Leigh. Her cell number's in the kitchen."
"On the etch-a-sketch thingy?"
"You got it," Cleveland said.
"Just don't shake it this time, dork," Katie chided.
"Hey I memorized it first." He tapped his temple. "Still got it, too."
It was great to see them settling in like real kids, but they shoved at each other enough to make Cleveland doubt the wisdom of leaving them alone. "I'll just call Leigh right now."
"We're fine," they said as one, turning their efforts to getting him out the door.
"I won't let him be too stupid," Katie promised.
"Like you'd recognize true genius if it bit you." Quinn growled and snapped his jaws at her.
Cleveland grinned. If fatherhood was going to be like this, he was guaranteed a fantastic time. "All right, Quinn has his distraction. Katie, hmm." He pretended to think. "Why don't you finish restoring that cash I found."
Her eyes lit up. "Really?"
"I'll check your work when I get home."
Katie turned, sprinting for his office and Quinn spun away, eager to see where the dog was. Cleveland left, securing both doors with the various locks on his way out and down four flights of stairs to his private garage.
There he donned his chauffeur's cap and urged the antique limo into another day of service.
On his way to the Lakeshore Towers, he reviewed Jaden's plan. Pick up the targets, get them talking and drop them for cocktails at the club that topped the Water Tower. Then go back, break in, and ransack their place, without disturbing anything. He grinned again. It was his favorite kind of night.
The dark suit of the driver's uniform got him back into the building and up the service elevator to the Burkhardt penthouse apartment.
Cleveland snickered in the face of the finest security measures available off market today. He knew how to get by them all. The tougher the system, the bigger the challenge and the happier he was.
Jaden had arranged this so he could find some deep dark secrets on the Burkhardts. Something, anything, to tie them to Kristoff and a possible motive.
Cleveland tossed the living space quickly and efficiently, and with complete stealth.
Nothing of value was hiding in any of the typical places. Burkhardt had an instinct for security–had made his fortune on it–and those habits made Cleveland's job more fun.
The floor safe was found and bypassed with a thumbprint he'd lifted from Burkhardt, but the papers inside were worthless to Jaden's cause.
A wall safe required the correct jingle from a cell card. Cleveland bypassed it and examined the jewelry inside. Most of it was fake and the two sapphires that weren't wouldn't interest Jaden.
The books were searched along with the cases. He knew this wasn't their only residence, but odds were still in favor of finding something here.
Cleveland thought back to the habits of people and thieves twenty years ago. They'd been a family in the height of its earning power. A family with two young children. A family that traveled. The most affordable and secure measures would likely be the habits they still relied on today.
Checking his theory, Cleveland entered their bedroom and examined the layout. Determining Mr. Burkhardt's side of the bed, he felt around the base of the frame and the two-drawer
table beside it. He grinned, finding the release for the false bottom of the second drawer and the matte finished semi-automatic pistol inside. A classic beauty of a weapon, Cleveland admired it before moving on.
Restoring order in the bedroom, he strolled to the kitchen, opened the freezer, and emptied it of reusable ice and several pints of top of the line sugar-free ice cream. Then he peeled back the freezer lining to reveal a square well about eight centimeters deep.
Withdrawing a bound stack of documents, he laid them on the counter. Privacy agreements, barter agreements, contracts, and pay scales. He scanned each one with his cell card, saving it all to a jump drive so he could send it to Jaden from the limo's computer.
Leaving the apartment just as he'd found it, Cleveland went to pick up the Burkhardts. While the files were crossing cyberspace to Jaden, he adjusted the placement of the bugs she'd given him and then tested the transmitters. Jaden should be able to hear everything clearly. Slipping back behind the wheel, he raised the panel between himself and the posh backseat of the limo.
"That was certainly a waste," Petra's mother said, sliding across the supple leather seat. "This car makes it worth the trip." She tapped on the glass for the driver to lower the privacy panel. "Is this the original leather?" she asked him.
"Yes, ma'am," Cleveland confirmed.
"Oh, Randall, how I miss the real thing."
"You've got plenty of the real thing in your closet," he replied.
"It's just awful to have to pretend it's that tacky cow-safe stuff."
"Always looked the same to me," he mumbled with a quick smirk for the driver.
Cleveland gave him the barest of nods. The chatter continued as he took the long way home, but they said nothing he thought could help Jaden. Hopefully, she'd be able to pick up whatever he was missing.
Petra headed down the stairs to the museum lobby. She felt almost sluggish with the extra burden of the killer fully entrenched inside her head. In the high gloss reflection of a membership display she caught her reflection and shuddered. It wasn't her face that looked back at her. The killer's features mingled just beneath the surface of her own, creating awkward shadows and an unsettling, violent edge.
Keeping her mind as still as possible, she withdrew the museum map from her pocket and began to sketch the sharp nose, gaunt cheeks and close-set eyes. Finished, she walked to the information desk and wrote a note, then passed both to the attendant.
The elderly man looked up, skepticism creasing his brow. She sent him a wobbly smile and used her eyes to plead for him to just follow the instructions and contact Kincaid.
"Have a lovely day, young lady."
Her smile shifted to gratitude and she walked out the doors to the street. The afternoon sun seemed to smile on her and she walked away from her original plans, determined and empowered. She couldn't meet Kelly and go back to Micky's. It would compromise the smuggler's operation and her new friends. They were all capable people, but she didn't like the idea of being the weak link. It had been her curse for far too long.
Crossing under the street, Petra moved away from Lake Michigan and the museum toward the relative silence falling over this part of the city. She sat in the evening quiet, picturing and discarding what Jaden, Gideon, or Nathan would do if faced with a similar dilemma.
They wouldn't lead the devil into the den that was certain.
They'd take the initiative and thereby claim an advantage.
Kristoff had drawn the battle lines and she had a much better idea of what she was up against. So where was the initiative? How could she gain an advantage without tipping off the killer floating around her consciousness?
She would have to fly. Without music, without backup, from a place where her friends could eventually find her.
Silly sniggering rattled between her ears.
"What now?" she asked.
"You come with me."
Petra whirled around, shocked to see the real, physical man who'd been sharing her mental space. Thank God she'd stayed away from Jaden and the others.
"Here to examine my intestines?"
He shook his head with a disappointment that terrified her. "No. But he promised me good hunting tonight." The man suddenly beamed with anticipation. "I'm here to bring you home." He extended a hand to help her up.
She rose quickly, moving just out of reach to keep him from intensifying their connection. "Lead the way."
As she fell into step behind him, Petra activated the record feature on the cell card in her pocket. If he noticed, he didn't say or do anything about it.
"What's your name?"
"I don't need one."
"How do people address you?"
He laughed, that sick little burble she'd come to hate immensely. "Most people don't talk to me."
"That's sad."
"No. It's right. What I have to say they don't understand. So I show them instead."
"What do you show them?"
"Their inner most desires," he said, sending her a pleased smile over his shoulder. "Didn't you get it when I shared it with you? He said you'd understand. That you would like me for my work."
"He who?"
"Dr. Leo." Again with that psychotic smile. "He likes you. He says you'll be a wonderful asset."
Petra didn't reply to that. "He helped you show me your work."
"Yes. He was right. It felt good to share."
"For a guy who doesn't talk, you're quite chatty."
"I like you. We're a lot alike. You have an interesting mind."
The giggle grated her ears like nails on stone. Hating a pawn was pointless and the hating itself would only harm her. She had to keep operating from the strength of her belief in good and right things.
"Is it much further?" she asked, infusing her voice with innocent curiosity.
"No. It's right there." He pointed to a tall building with as much character as a concrete block. Hardly the sort of place she'd expect to find an egomaniac like Kristoff. "It's very nice inside."
His direct answer to her stray thought reminded her to be careful until this connection was broken.
"Do you kill for him?"
"Just a few times." He wrinkled his nose as if the concept was distasteful. "He lets me kill my own way when I need to."
"A good arrangement," she said, forcing all judgment from her tone as he held the side door open for her.
"He is fair. He wants the best for all of his creations."
She blinked at the idea of a team of unnamed serial killers roaming the world. How did Kristoff maintain control of this loose cannon? The man didn't have the build of those who juiced but she wasn't sure that such blind devotion to evil could be achieved without some sort of mind controlling substance.
"No," he grinned, ushering into an old style gated elevator. "I don't juice." He pressed the button for the eighth floor, though Petra had counted at least fourteen floors from her street view of the building. "I don't need to because my victims don't fight back." Again with that damned giggle.
"What did you give the scientist at the lab?"
"His own medicine!" The giggle morphed into hideous hilarity and Petra shrank away from it.
The elevator stopped, he opened the gate and nudged her out. "I'll wait here. You have fun."
She glanced around the sterile white hallway and proceeded forward.
A thick, barrel-chested man with an unruly shock of white-blond hair stepped out in front of her. Leo Kristoff, MD, PhD. "Petra, my girl, you've arrived! Oh, and it does my heart glad."
She held her tongue until she had a better read on him. His aura was a white of illness, spiked with vicious intent. It surrounded him so completely she was forced to consider it might be the reflection of the stark environment. Realizing her extra senses weren't affected, it unnerved her to see something so seriously wrong with this man. Was he for real?
"Oh, several people think so, dear."
When she stared at him in silence, he elaborated. "Several people think I am
ill. Most of them come to know better, or come to know God!" His laughter was as deep as his pet killer's was shrill. She didn't want to know what defect caused them to find murder and mayhem so funny.
"No defect, I assure you. And it's not the killing I enjoy, so I contract that out."
Petra jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward the elevator. "My escort, the no-name murderer, took out officer Ferguson didn't he?"
"I'll trust you to know the names, but that job was different," he said with a shake of his head. "Tea?"
She silently refused, processing this detail.
"Anything?"
"You could get your contractor out of my head. He's got issues I'd rather not be forced to survey."
"You've become such a genteel and generous counselor." Kristoff smiled. "I can break the connection, if you're sure."
"I'm sure."
Kristoff acknowledged this with a slow nod, then walked to a silver hand bell under a crystal jar on a thoroughly modern black and stainless sideboard. "Simon, to give your friend a name, is a bit of a character. I thought you'd enjoy his company." He traced the curve of the glass with his fingertip.
"Not particularly."
"You felt what he felt, right? Isn't his perspective astounding?"
"Astounding? Oh sure." Petra's gaze fixed on the bell, willing Kristoff to sound it and rid her of Simon. When he continued to stall, she knew she'd have to elaborate or continue to suffer. "I felt his pride, his anticipation, and his twisted sense of pleasure."
"This did not excite you?"
She held her tongue, certain he knew the truth and unwilling to confirm it.
"Ah. It did." He stepped closer and began to circle her. "The darkness of unacceptable urges calls to even the most virtuous of people. When a lovely girl like you has been pre-programmed to respond...well, there is indeed fresh beauty in discovering one's destiny." His circling complete, he faced her again.
She fumed and wished for all the world that she'd mastered a poker face. Or telekinesis. That would've been useful, but no, she could only empathize. Always feeling with or without purpose and feelings wouldn't get her out of here.