by Cara Bristol
“Yes.” She shifted in the chair.
Ah. He’d intended to press for information about who might have sent her, but the sister angle appeared to be the weak link. “Liza is short for?”
“Elizabeth.”
“Your parents named you both Elizabeth?”
“Yes.”
He arched his eyebrows with exaggerated skepticism.
“I didn’t choose the name.”
“Your parents named both twins Elizabeth, but called one Liza and the other Beth,” he repeated.
She bit her lip. “That’s right.”
“Didn’t that get confusing?”
“No, it was perfectly clear,” she replied with an undertone of bitterness.
“You and Liza didn’t get along.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“Yes, you did,” he reminded her. “At the spaceport. You said you and she didn’t always get along, and you hadn’t spoken for a while.” He cocked his head. “Were you lying then—or are you lying now?”
She opened her mouth then closed it and pressed her lips together. “I’m not lying. You’re twisting what I said.” She winced, blinking as if the light pained her, and massaged circles against her temple. This wouldn’t be the first time a suspect faked illness or disability, except she paled, and his cybervision detected a faint sheen of perspiration.
“Are you all right?” he asked, kicking himself for his sympathy and for not using her discomfort to press his advantage.
“J-just a headache. I get them sometimes.”
The door whooshed open to admit a medtech.
“I need a complete analysis as fast as you can get it,” Carter instructed.
“Should take the computer fifteen minutes tops, depending on what we have.” The tech removed an extractor from his case and approached Beth. She squinted at him, her forehead still furrowed with pain.
“She’s having headaches. Do a bioscan, too,” he said.
“Excuse me, but I need to get a DNA sample,” the tech said.
“What?” She jerked away. “No! I won’t agree to that.”
The tech hesitated.
“Do it,” Carter ordered.
The tech pressed the extractor to her neck and withdrew a blood sample before she could react. The extractor had both a pain inhibitor and a coagulator, so she didn’t feel more than a slight pinch, but she twisted in the chair, her face darkening with a scowl. “You can’t do that. That’s a violation of my rights!”
She was at Cy-Ops headquarters. The instant she’d crossed the threshold, she’d lost all rights.
The tech continued to perform his job. He packed the blood sample in his case and scanned her with a handheld. After a beep signaled the data had been collected, he stowed the device. “I’ll forward the medreport with the DNA analysis.”
The door opened for the tech to exit, and Beth catapulted out of her seat. Carter dashed around the table to grab her.
“You can’t keep me here!” She fought him.
“Go,” he ordered the tech.
The man slipped out, and the door closed.
Carter released her but did not move away. Cybersenses recorded the flare of her nostrils, heightening color, rising body temperature—and, dammit, his growing libidinous response. Memories of him and Liza rolling in a tumble of twisted sheets rushed through his brain, transmitting unwanted signals to his cock. Double dammit, she would probably turn out to be an infiltrator, a spy, or an enemy combatant, and she was not Liza.
“You have no right to steal my medical information! It’s against the law!”
“Around here, I am the law.”
Her chin jutted out. “When I leave here, I’ll report you to the Terran United authorities.” She bumped up against the table.
He closed the space to hem her in. “Well, that’s the thing,” he drawled. “You’re assuming you’re going to leave.”
The fear skittering across her face pricked his conscience, but he had to get answers. He couldn’t allow himself to be seduced by her vulnerable, little-girl-lost act. The lives of his Aym-Sec officers and Cyber Operations field agents depended on the secrecy and security she’d come close to breaching—which meant she was very, very good at what she did. Determination sliced through sympathy.
“Y-y-you can’t keep me here. That’s kidnapping.”
Grudgingly, he admired her bravado in standing up for herself when he was at his most intimidating. Remember what she is. What she might be. His hardening body had already forgotten or didn’t care.
“People know where I am!”
“What people?”
“Like, like, the O’Sheas!”
Since the couple ranked among the wealthiest people in the galaxy, and money went hand in hand with power, theoretically, they could pose a threat, but his own wealth, which few knew about, rivaled, if not exceeded the O’Sheas’, and he had connections and capabilities they didn’t. They couldn’t touch him.
How interesting she referred to them by name and not relationship. His dad had been as strict as parents got, but never would Carter have called him Mr. Aymes. “You mean, your parents?” he probed.
“Yes! A-and…other people, too!”
Carter folded his arms. Anyone not on the payroll who had cause to visit headquarters arrived under blackout. “Well, that might help you if anyone knew the location of Aym-Sec, and if you are, in fact, at Aym-Sec,” he added to generate doubt.
“You said I was at Aym-Sec. Were you lying then, or are you lying now?” She lobbed his words back at him.
“Take a seat.” He spun her chair around. She glared, but sat. He sauntered to the other side of the table. Being close to her affected him physically, and he wasn’t sure how long his nanos would be able to control his body’s reaction.
Why her? Why now?
He’d never been attracted to a person of interest before.
Because we had a prior sexual relationship?
Except, until running into her at the spaceport, he hadn’t thought about Liza in years. And, most importantly, instinct insisted she wasn’t Liza. On the surface, she resembled her, but more significant differences discounted the similarities.
Ping! A message from medical shot into his processing unit.
Ping! On its heels, a communique from Brock followed.
He’d get to Brock in a sec. He accessed the medical report. Markers confirm subject’s genotype as Elizabeth Ann O’Shea with 100 percent accuracy. Race: Terran. Ethic/national origin: 23.4 percent Irish, 22.4 percent Czech, 16.3 percent African, 37.9 percent Hispanic. DOB 10172449 to father: Reuben Marcus O’Shea, mother: Georgetta Elizabeth O’Shea nee Hartwell. Known aliases: Liza O’Shea.
According to infallible DNA evidence, Liza sat across the table from him.
He was stunned. He’d been so sure.
Why hadn’t she acknowledged their prior relationship? They’d slept together for two years. Why had she pretended to be someone else? Why apply for a job with Aym-Sec? Unless…she had encountered an Obliviscatorian on the safari, and her memory had been wiped?
Carter scanned the rest of the report. Medical had detected no anomalies to account for her headaches. So stress, maybe? Or a ruse. She’d faked an entire identity, why not a headache?
He tightened his lips and responded to Brock’s hail. What do you have? he asked via his wireless.
Prior to scheduling Beth’s interview, I had investigated the O’Sheas, but after I left your office, I ran a more comprehensive audit including finances. Initially, I detected nothing out of the ordinary, other than the fact that they are filthy rich. However, about fourteen and a half years ago, they purchased a cryo unit at ReGenCo.
So? What’s significant about that? Many rich people left instructions for their bodies to be placed in cold storage post mortem, in hopes scientific advancement would one day allow them to be revived. Dead was dead, so companies like ReGenCo were scamming the gul
lible. However, selling cryo storage units wasn’t illegal.
Well, those units have a two-tiered fee schedule. There’s a reservation fee, and then a maintenance fee when it’s put into use. The O’Sheas have been paying maintenance fees since they reserved the unit.
The unit is occupied?
Affirmative. ReGenCo notates the genetics of each body placed in its facility. Records are confidential, but Illumina accessed the database without any trouble. Elizabeth Ann “Liza” O’Shea died fourteen and a half years ago, and her body was placed in a ReGenCo cryo unit on Dorsus 9. Whoever our interviewee is, she is not Liza O’Shea.
Thanks for the info, he said, and disconnected.
DNA said Liza was dead, and DNA said she was alive and sitting in this room.
“Who the hell are you?” Carter said.
Chapter Five
“I’ve already answered that question.” Beth laced her fingers to quell the trembling. She was in trouble—what kind or why, she didn’t know. However, from the way Aymes kept badgering her about her identity, she suspected that was the sticking point.
“Answer it again. With the truth this time.”
“I’m Beth O’Shea.”
Aymes pinned her to the chair with his stare, creating the uncomfortable sense he saw right through her.
Then he should know I’ve done nothing wrong. Well, nothing to warrant this degree of interrogation. He might have discovered her records had been forged—and she’d signed an affidavit certifying their accuracy—but surely, that would mean she’d only lose out on the job.
“I received the results of the DNA analysis.”
“You mean the DNA you illegally took from me?”
“According to the report, you’re Liza O’Shea. Can you explain that?”
Fear, like jabs from an ice pick, poked around inside her skull. She knotted her hands tighter, resisting the urge to rub her temples. He would pounce on the weakness. “I told you. Liza and I are identical twins. I’m sure you know that monozygotic twins are produced when a single fertilized ovum splits into two,” she said in a sarcasm-laced tone. “We have the same genome.”
“Twins have a similar genome. Due to copy number variations, identical twins do not share the exact same DNA. So how do you explain that your DNA matches Liza’s?”
She swallowed. “I-I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t.”
Aymes got to his feet, overwhelming her with his towering height and musculature. He had to be the biggest, most powerfully built man she’d ever seen. Shoulders widened over a barrel chest ready to burst his uniform seams. His biceps were larger than her thighs, and his legs? Tree trunks. He was suspicious of her identity, but whoever Carter Aymes was now, he had changed since dating Liza. Human men did not come as large as he without some sort of genetic re-engineering.
He wouldn’t harm her physically—she sensed he was not that sort of man—but his suspicions could prove fatal to her anyway.
He stalked around the table to place his palms on its top and lean over her. Inscrutable blue eyes fixed on her face. Chiseled cheekbones, a pugnacious chin, and a full mouth slashed into a stern line carved a fierce scowl into his handsome features. How stupid would it be to kiss that mouth to see if she could make it soften?
Was this how Liza felt?
I’m not Liza. Her heart thudded, and heat flooded her cheeks as disturbing sensations assaulted her.
His nostrils flared.
He’s trying to intimidate me—and it’s working.
As a matter of pride, she held his gaze, but she pushed with her feet to scoot her chair back, to edge some distance between them without him noticing. But, of course, he did. She saw it in the quirk of his mouth.
He leaned in, so close their breaths mingled. “Perhaps, then, you could explain how Liza could be both dead and alive?”
“I can’t explain that, either…please.” Please don’t ask. Aymes had the answer—he just didn’t realize it, and if he guessed, her life could be imperiled.
She wanted to leap up and flee, but her extremities felt like they were made of lead. The air thinned; her lungs spasmed. Someone had dimmed the lights so that the room grayed. Spots exploded in little bursts in front of her eyes, and as Aymes’s face wavered, she realized the lighting hadn’t changed—her vision had.
She felt herself fall.
The room went black.
* * * *
An antiseptic smell wormed up her nose and into her sinuses. Something beeped close to her ear. She shied away from the annoying sound and realized a firm, but comfortable surface pressed against her spine with a smaller pad cradling her head and neck. She squeezed her eyelids tighter against the light creeping at the edges.
“I can tell you’re conscious now. Open your eyes.” The brusque command demanded compliance.
Carter Aymes peered down at her. He always seemed to be towering over her. Relief, or maybe a glint of light, flickered in his gaze before evaporating into a flinty expression.
Memories rushed in…the interrogation, her fear, the blackness…
“You fainted,” Aymes said. “The medtech said you had a panic attack, and you passed out.”
She registered pale-green walls, high-tech equipment, an antiseptic smell—“I’m in an infirmary?”
“At Aym-Sec.” He nodded.
“H-how long was I out?”
“About fifteen minutes.” He straddled the stool beside the bed. No longer towering, now he was too close. His hooded gaze fixed on her face, as if zeroing in on a target. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” he persisted.
“Nothing’s going on. What do you mean?” She forced a steady tone. A machine beeped.
He chuckled. “Before you lie, you should know your heart rate, blood pressure, and respiration are being monitored.
She lifted her arms, searching for the electrodes, but saw none.
“The bed has sensors,” he said.
The hell! She sprang to a seated position.
He pressed a palm against her shoulder. “Not so fast. I want you right where you are.”
“In bed?” She arched her eyebrows.
To her astonishment, a blush crept across his cheekbones, and he jerked his hand away. She flung her legs over the side and stood up.
He recovered his equilibrium. “What are you afraid of?” he demanded.
“Nothing.”
“Something scared you so badly, you passed out.”
“Maybe it was you interrogating me.”
Consternation glinted before the calculating look returned. “Who are you afraid of? What hold do they have on you?”
“Nobody has anything on me,” she denied.
“You’re acting alone.” His tone conveyed his skepticism.
“Yes.” She scowled.
“So, what is it you want? Why are you here?”
“I came for the job—but I wouldn’t accept it now if you offered it to me at a million credits per year. You’re crazy.”
“Ensuring the safety of my people isn’t crazy.”
“I’m not a threat to your people.”
“Then, tell me who you are.”
“I told you! I am Elizabeth O’Shea. I go by Beth. My genetically identical twin sister—also named Elizabeth—went by Liza. I want to leave, now.” She inched toward the door.
He placed himself between her and the exit. “You’re not going anywhere, until you tell me the truth.”
“I am telling you the truth!” she lied.
“I can’t let you leave.”
“You can’t keep me here.”
“Yes, I can. I can keep you for as long as I want. You’ll”—he snapped his fingers—“disappear.”
She was a prisoner? Her chest tightened. How had this happened? All she’d desired was a life of her own—and a job. She could die here, and nobody would know—or care. The O’Sheas wou
ld eventually realize she’d fallen off the grid, but that would solve their problems.
The door slid open, and two mean-looking, beefy men strode in.
“Take her to a holding cell,” Carter barked. “She’s allowed food, water, and medical treatment—nothing else. When she’s ready to talk, let me know.” He stepped away.
“You can’t do this! Please, I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what you want!” The pain in her head spiked, graying the edges of the room. She swayed on her feet.
“I’m not falling for the fainting routine again.” Aymes jerked his head. “Take her away.”
The two men each grabbed an arm.
“No! You can’t do this.” She fought to break free.
They dragged her toward the door.
“Mr. Aymes, please,” she begged.
“Who are you?” he pressed.
Her head pounded. “If I tell you, and they find out—” She’d come too close to freedom to lose it now. She didn’t doubt Carter Aymes would keep her locked up until he got what he wanted. But wealth bought enormous power, and there would be no place she could hide from the O’Sheas. They’d hunt her down and make her pay. “They might kill me.” Beth began to cry.
Chapter Six
Kill her? Who the hell was she involved with? Carter motioned for the escorts to leave.
Tears streaming down her face, Beth hugged herself and rocked.
Self-loathing battered his conscience, but he had to get at the truth. “Who are you? Who’s threatening you? What are they forcing you to do? Tell me. I can help you.”
Her shoulders shook with her misery.
He would always remember how he’d browbeaten an already-frightened woman into a confession. In his line of work, he dealt with the lowest of the low—traffickers, slavers, despots, terrorists. He did what needed to be done, and if that required terminating a sentient life form, he carried it out without remorse or recrimination.
This was the first time he’d felt like the scum of the galaxy, but he couldn’t ignore the hunch that while Beth may not be a criminal, she was being used by someone who was—somebody who’d threatened to kill her to secure her compliance.