He glared at her, demanding, “What do you want?”
“Answers. Answers about the mods that were murdered and the serum they were using.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Bullshit,” she said, borrowing from Seth’s vocabulary. “You were suspicious when I was asking about it last month. Tell me what you know.”
Crispin shook his head, and she caught a glimpse of fear in his eyes. “If I breathe a word of any of it, I’m a corpse. Do you understand that? Everyone else who used it is dead. I’m the only one left.”
Liane looked at him hard, asking, “What did you use?”
He shook his head, lips pressed together. “No, they’ll find out. These people . . . they’re not normal . . .”
Liane’s eyes narrowed, and she grasped his wrist with her free hand, bending it against a pressure point and shouting above the music, “Tell me what you know!”
“I’m next!” Crispin screamed, fear and pain mingling in his cry of, “I was the last to purchase from Banbridge, and they’re going to kill me next!”
Liane released the pressure on his wrist, shock filling her. “Banbridge? Nikolai Banbridge?”
Crispin nodded, his face crumpling. “He was the one who sold it. Said it was the real thing, the next step in genetic modification . . .”
Liane leaned back slightly, finishing for him, “The Titan Strain; that’s what he sold you, wasn’t it?”
“I didn’t know,” Crispin said. “He claimed it was safe, that no one would ever know it was missing. I didn’t know that people were going to die.”
“Did you know the other victims?” Liane demanded.
Crispin shook his head. “Just Jeanelle. I was the one who gave the sample to her.”
She leaned forward again, her voice hardening as she asked, “Where did Banbridge get the Titan Strain? Who made it?”
Suddenly there was a tremendous crash, and both Liane and Crispin turned to see police in riot gear pouring through the entrance of the club. The music skidded to a stop, and an amplified voice shouted, “This is a raid! Stay where you are!”
The nightclub erupted into chaos, mods running for the exits, women screaming and people trampling one another in attempt to get away. Crispin took advantage of Liane’s shock to throw her off of him, darting forward and vanishing into the crowd. Liane pushed herself up from the floor, stowing her gun and hurrying to the edge of the booth. The police were already swarming the lower level; she took a moment to glance around, then seized the metal supports holding up the balcony and climbed up to the second level. Flipping over the railing, she stood searching for the nearest exit.
“Liane!”
She turned to see Seth fighting his way towards her. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her along with the crowd, saying, “This way—there’s a staircase!”
They came to a door. Seth rattled the handle, shouting out in frustration when he realized it was locked. Pulling him away from it, Liane kicked the door so hard that the wood around the lock splintered. The door swung open to a dark, empty staircase, and the two of them raced down.
They had just reached the landing between the floors when Seth froze, hearing the sound of steel-toed boots on the stairs just below them. Liane was stepping forward, clearly ready to fight her way out, but Seth turned and pushed her against the wall, ordering urgently, “Kiss me.”
Liane stared at him, convinced for a moment that he had lost his mind. “Do what?”
The footsteps neared, and without bothering to explain Seth seized her face, kissing her full on the mouth. Liane’s senses reeled, fear and surprise mingling. Her instincts told her to pull away, to attack whoever was coming towards them, but instead she closed her eyes, fingers catching in his curly hair and pulling him even closer. Seth’s hands tilted her head, trailing down her neck. The buttery softness of his leather jacket was under her fingers, and she could taste the sweetness of cranberry juice on his lips . . .
The cop found them like that, raising his stun gun and shouting out, “Police! Turn around and present identification!”
Seth turned, wiping a smear of lip-gloss from his mouth as he grinned apologetically. “Didn’t know this sort of thing was illegal now.”
“Name and ID,” ordered the officer, not lowering his weapon.
Seth shrugged, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a narrow, folded badge. “Officer Seth Laski of the Genetic Modification Task Force. You from Specialist Operations?”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to come down and be detained,” the officer said, though slightly hesitant now that he knew he was talking to a fellow cop. “This is a raid to detect abuses of modding, and we’re under orders to question the patrons of this establishment.”
Seth laughed. “Well, I’m not a mod. Neither is she, at least from what I’ve seen.”
The officer’s eyes drifted to Liane, who was too confused to do anything but stand against the wall. Her white-blonde hair was mussed, her face red, and she was trying her best not to make eye contact.
Seth stepped towards the officer, saying softly, “Look, I know you’re just following orders, but I’ve been trying to catch this bird for weeks. I mean, look at her—who wouldn’t try, right? And if you ruin this night for me, she’s never going to give me a second chance.”
The officer hesitated before saying, “Sir—”
“Come on, I’m desperate here,” Seth pleaded. “You just continue upstairs and we’re out the door never to return; cop’s honor.”
The officer shook his head, then said tersely, “Hurry up and get out of here. There’s an emergency exit on the floor below.”
Seth grinned, clapping the officer affectionately on the shoulder before grabbing Liane’s hand and pulling her down the stairs.
Moments later they spilled out into the empty alleyway behind the nightclub. Liane kicked off her heels and left them behind, pulling Seth into a light run down the street to where they’d parked his car.
They slid inside, and only after Seth had peeled away did Liane let out a breath. She leaned back in the seat, admitting, “I thought we were in trouble there.”
Seth grinned, his eyes on the street as he drove. “Never say I don’t have my uses.”
“You weren’t bad,” she said, affording a small smile. “The trick with the free drinks worked well. And I got a little out of Crispin before he got away.”
As quickly as possible, she told him what Crispin had let slip. Seth’s smile faded, and by the end he was frowning. “Banbridge? Is that the guy you . . . ?”
Liane looked out the window, nodding. “The one I shot; yes. Crispin said he was the dealer selling the Titan Strain.”
“So all of the vics bought from Banbridge?”
“Or got it from the mods who did,” Liane said, thinking of Jeanelle. “But Banbridge was just the dealer. Someone else made it, someone who Banbridge didn’t think would notice if a little went missing. And whoever that is has killed every person to come in contact with this serum.”
Seth shook his head in disbelief. “What kind of serum is worth killing people over?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” she said firmly. “We’ll go back to your place and change, then go and stake out Crispin’s home. I have a few more questions for him.”
Seth nodded, glancing at her as he said, “Hey . . . thanks for playing along back there. We must have put on a convincing show.”
Liane felt her cheeks burn as she said lightly, “I could have gotten us past him.”
“Not without breaking bones. There is something to be said for thinking your way out of trouble rather than fighting.”
She raised her chin, her tone lofty as she said, “Well, don’t plan on getting into the habit of using me as your cover.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smiled. “I’ll save that tactic for special, life-threatening occasions.”
They arrived at Seth’s flat shortly, and Liane carried her bag into the bathroom to change. As she took off the lace dress she examined it, irritated to discover that she had torn the fabric in several places. She was about to toss it into the waste bin when she paused, hearing Seth’s voice in her mind; I mean, look at her—who wouldn’t try, right?
She looked up at the mirror, quietly considering her own reflection. It stared back at her, pale and familiar, and she wondered for a fleeting moment if Seth had actually meant it; if he truly found her beautiful. Even Damian had never called her that, at least not within earshot. She remembered asking him once if he thought she was, as well as his curt answer; “Physical beauty is of far less importance to an Agent than skill and strength.”
Seth probably doesn’t even think about me that way. What he said was only for the benefit of the officer, she thought firmly. But she ended up folding the dress and tucking it back into her bag. Without meaning to, she thought back to the moment in the stairwell, wondering what it would have been like if there had been no motive behind Seth’s kiss. What would it have felt like if he had kissed her solely because he had wanted to?
A strange, pleasant feeling spread through her, and Liane realized that she wished that had been the case. The realization seemed to take the bones from her knees, and she sat down on the lid of the closed toilet.
Looking up at the water-stained ceiling, Liane grimly understood just how much trouble she was in.
Chapter 13
By the time Liane had emerged from the bathroom, zipping up her asymmetrical black jacket, Seth had coffee ready for them and was itching to get back on the trail.
“I have his address,” he explained as they walked down to the street together. “Even if he’s not there now, he has to come home eventually.”
Liane nodded, downing the last of her coffee. She pulled up the cowl of her coat and drew out her facemask. “I’ll follow you. If Damian calls, I’ll need to get away quickly. Plus a cycle is faster if Crispin tries to run.”
Seth leaned on the hood of his car, scrutinizing her as he asked, “I know Damian is your Handler, but what is he to you, anyway? Is he your boss? Your minder? Something more?”
Liane looked down at the mask in her hands, saying quietly, “Damian is everything. There isn’t a part of my life that he doesn’t touch.”
Seth watched her closely as he noted, “So lying to him can’t be easy.”
“It isn’t,” she said with a shake of her head. “But it’s either that or confess to him what I’ve been doing. Lying is the better option.”
“I’d say so,” he said with a smile. “Especially seeing as how he won’t be pleased to hear about me.”
She slid her facemask on, saying, “To put it lightly. You lead the way; I’ll follow.”
Seth drove through the empty city, Liane keeping pace beside him on her cycle. Crispin’s rowhouse was near Egerton Crescent, and Liane wondered as they passed the Croft residence if that was the connection between them. Perhaps Rhys Croft had let slip to his affluent neighbor about a certain serum and dealer, and from there Crispin had led himself into ruin. Liane faced forward again; too late to wonder about it now, especially when they were so close to answers.
The street was quiet, the multi-million-pound homes silent and dark. Seth pulled his car to the curb a few metres away from Crispin’s corner house, and Liane did the same. She turned off her cycle, removing her facemask as she looked towards the residence. Far in the back of the house, a dim light shone through the windows. As she watched, it flickered slightly as someone walked between the light source and the window.
“Someone’s in there,” she murmured, handing her bag to Seth and discarding her jacket. Making sure that her gun was loaded and easily drawn from her holster, Liane walked quickly towards the back of the house.
“Don’t go in alone,” Seth whispered, throwing her things in his car.
She walked backwards a few steps, instructing, “You stay here and keep a lookout. I’ll be right back.”
Without waiting for a reply, she crouched and went running as fast as she could around the back of the house.
The small window was the first thing she reached, and she peered inside only to find that it had been covered in opaque plastic. Shadowy figures moved within, and she could make out muffled voices. Liane looked up to the upper levels of the house for a moment, then grasped the drain-spout and began to climb. She had to move slowly so as not to make a sound, but in a few minutes, she had reached one of the wide windows. She hung by one hand, drawing out a sensor from her pocket and passing it in front of the latch. Looking at the device screen, she found that the security alarm wasn’t active. After stowing the sensor, she pulled out a thin, silver instrument with a razor-sharp hook on one end. She used it to cut a hole in the glass, letting the glass circle fall into the room. It thunked almost noiselessly on the carpet while Liane reached a hand in and unlatched the window.
Within seconds she was crouching inside the bedroom, listening for sounds from below. After she made certain that the only voices came from the kitchen, she moved silently from the bedroom and down the staircase.
The ground floor was all open, allowing Liane a clear view of the kitchen when she crouched on the stairs. The entire space, from the cabinets to the floor, had been draped in the same thick plastic that covered the window. There were three people that she could see; one woman and two men. They were dressed in plastic clean-suits as well, surgical masks hiding their faces as they bent over something that was shielded from view by the kitchen island.
“That’s lungs,” said the woman, standing with a groan. She carried a large plastic tub around the island, stowing it inside an insulated black cooler. “How much is left?”
“Just the brain,” answered one of the men, picking up a circular bone saw and whirring it experimentally. “Then we’re to leave a leg in the river for the police.”
The man knelt, and the sickening sound of the saw against bone began to fill the room. The other man leaned against the plastic-covered fridge, asking, “Why does the doc want so many bits from this one? He’s asked for damn near everything.”
“This mod has been using the Strain the longest,” said the woman, bringing over another plastic container. “They want to test him, see how much has been altered.”
“Should have just brought them the entire body,” said the second man, a scowl in his voice. “Would have saved us a couple of hours.”
“Quit your whining,” snapped the first man, reaching for the container with bloody gloves. “He’s the last one, as far as we know, and we’re nearly done.”
There was thud of something wet and heavy falling into the container, and the woman snapped the lid on and carried it back to add to the cooler. The first man was standing, stripping off his gloves and putting on a fresh pair.
“Wrap the body?” asked the second man, stepping forward to help.
The first nodded, and they knelt together while the woman began to zip the coolers closed.
Liane moved soundlessly down the stairs, reaching back and drawing her gun. She raised it as she stepped into the light of the kitchen, ordering, “Hands up, slowly.”
The woman let out a shout, and the two men dropped what they were holding onto the ground and rushed at Liane instead. She shot the first man twice in the chest, and as he crumpled to the ground she got off another shot in the shoulder of the second.
The man slammed into Liane, knocking her to her back as the woman drew a gun and shouted, “Hold her still!”
Liane spotted the gun pointed at her head and pulled the man higher, shielding herself with his body as the woman emptied a clip at them both. Liane felt the man jerk with every bullet; one of them struck
her in the side, and she gave a grunt of pain. Still she waited, making certain that the gun clicked to an empty chamber before kicking the man’s body off of her and running at the woman. Liane grasped the woman’s chin with one hand, reaching around to the back of her head and twisting hard. The woman fell to the ground, dead.
Liane leaned against the counter, catching her breath and pressing a hand to the wound in her side. The bullet had passed through, but she was bleeding freely. Reaching around the plastic cover and grabbing a towel hanging from the stove, she shoved it against the wound. With her bleeding staunched, she moved past the corpses and the kitchen island. She knew what she would find, but it still came as a shock when she looked down at Crispin’s body. He was open from sternum to pelvis, and despite missing the upper half of his skull his face was frozen in an expression of shock.
Liane heard a distant, thunderous pounding on the front door, and mechanically went to unlock it. Seth went white as he saw the bloody towel at her side, demanding, “Jesus, what happened?”
“They’re dead,” she said shortly, turning back to the kitchen. “All of them.”
Seth walked back with her, briefly checking for the pulse on the three killers before looking behind the island. He looked nauseated, but kept it together to ask, “What did you learn from them?”
“I was right,” Liane said, growing dizzy from the loss of blood. “They’re harvesting organs, said that they were bringing them to a doctor for tests. They took all of Crispin’s because he’s the last victim, the one who has been using the Titan Strain the longest.”
“But why?” Seth asked, his face disbelieving as he looked at the loss of life around them. “So what if the serum is advanced? Is that worth killing those who use it? Who are these people?”
Liane adjusted the pressure on her wound, and then knelt by the body of the woman. She stripped off the surgical mask, and when she did she froze. Her voice came out barely above a whisper as she breathed, “Oh God . . .”
The Titan Strain Page 17
