by Jade Kerrion
Reilly nodded. “It’s a shame. We shielded Joyce from Sharma’s disgrace. He was her protégé for many years. It would break her heart if she knew the path he’d taken.”
“Joyce knew Sharma?” Zara asked.
“Oh yes, of course. Joyce was the chairwoman of A*STAR for many years. She stepped down twelve years ago, withdrawing from the research community, though she did maintain personal friendships with many of her former colleagues.”
“Including Sharma?”
“Yes, most especially Sharma. Joyce was the only one who came to Sharma’s defense when his unauthorized research came to light; she pleaded for leniency and insisted that the work he was doing was critical. She never explained why though, and neither did Sharma.” Reilly shook his head and sighed heavily. “I guess we’ll never know now.”
~*~
“I am going to kill Xin.”
Danyael shot Zara a glance as their chauffeured car accelerated away from the curb. The assassin’s voice was a low and silky purr. She was not just angry; she had stepped beyond furious into incensed.
“She knew,” Zara continued. “She must have known, but she chose not to tell us something as basic as the fact that Joyce was the former chairwoman of A*STAR?”
“Zara—”
“This isn’t a goddamned mystery novel. I don’t have time to pick apart the puzzle pieces here. I just need someone to tell me where to go and what to kill.”
Danyael chuckled.
Zara glowered at him. “You’re laughing at me?”
“At us.” And at the fact that he was in love with a woman so diametrically different from him.
He paused when Amanda’s voice whispered through his mind. Danyael?
Yes.
Xin’s been stingy with her facts. We found out that Joyce used to lead A*STAR.
We did too. Joyce’s protégé at A*STAR, Suresh Sharma, apparently dabbled in unauthorized research, including the acquisition of Galahad’s genome, and age-acceleration cloning techniques. We’re on our way to the safe house now. I need to talk to Joyce about him.
Good luck. She’s a sweetie, but I gather she’s not entirely all there.
Danyael’s brow furrowed. How so?
Age and the onset of senility. She’s ninety-two, Danyael.
Amanda, did Xin tell you anything else at all that you’re holding back from us?
Why do you ask?
Zara’s furious that we had to find out about Joyce’s connection with A*STAR from other people.
Amanda huffed. I am too. We’re going to need to talk to Xin. I’m tired of being led around by the nose. It’s probably a good thing we have Chloe doing our research as well. I’m going to pass the information on to her, see what she can dig up on Suresh Sharma.
Danyael nodded. We’ll be at the safe house in about a half hour.
“Was that Amanda?” Zara asked.
“Yes, she found out about Joyce’s connection with A*STAR too. She’s going to have Chloe track Sharma down.”
“Good.” Zara folded her arms across her chest. “Xin’s turning unreliable on us.”
“She’s always been selective about the distribution of information.”
“She’s a paranoid bitch. We’re on the same side, damn it.”
“Are we?”
Zara shot him a sharp glance. “You think Xin’s playing us for fools.”
“Why would she care who Galahad, or his clones, kill?”
“Because the next target after Joyce Ong is the secretary of state?”
Danyael shook his head. “One death, even if it is the secretary of state, won’t derail our country. Our government isn’t anchored around a single person; we’ve lost presidents to assassins before, and it has never particularly fazed us. Xin’s not going to extend herself to save one life. She doesn’t think that way. The games she plays have national and international repercussions. So, what is she doing, and why is she sending us to do it for her?”
“You don’t trust her, do you?” Zara asked.
“No more than I trust Alex Saunders.”
Zara snorted. “That’s not a whole lot of trust.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You’ve been short on trust lately, haven’t you?” She shrugged. “I can’t blame you.” Zara reached for his hand, her fingers entwining with his, the motion familiar.
Danyael brought her hand up to his lips and brushed a kiss against her knuckles, all the while fighting the dread that churned in the pit of his stomach. Xin, what are you up to, and what will it cost me this time?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The large safe house, gracefully proportioned, was set back from the road and surrounded by lush foliage. Danyael’s dark eyes gleamed with appreciation as he surveyed his surroundings. “A country estate in the heart of a city. It’s amazing.”
Zara frowned. “It’s not much of a safe house, though the small neighborhood plays in its favor. I suppose not too many people pass through this neighborhood unless they live there, or have a legitimate reason to be here.”
“No, they don’t,” Amanda said from the entryway. She propped the door open with her shoulder. “Come on in. Joyce just woke from her nap, and lunch won’t be ready for another half hour. You might as well chat with her.”
Danyael had seen pictures of Joyce Ong, but nothing could have prepared him for the joy radiating from her. From her recliner, she held out her hands to him as he limped into her room. “Dr. Danyael Sabre! How wonderful to finally meet you.”
The warmth and sincerity of her emotions won a rare smile from him. “Hello, Dr. Ong.”
“Call me Joyce; I’m too old for titles. Sit, sit, please.” She gestured to the chair across from her, and then looked up at Zara who had entered quietly behind Danyael. “And you must be Zara Itani. How splendid you look in person. So much better than I ever imagined.”
Joyce’s charm was infectious. Even Zara, always suspicious of compliments, relaxed into a genuine smile.
The old woman sat back in her chair and folded her hands on her lap. She beamed with satisfaction. “What a beautiful couple you make.” Her gaze shuttled between Danyael and Zara, and finally settled on Danyael. The delightful gleam in Joyce’s brown eyes flashed into wistfulness for a fraction of a second. The change in her expression would have happened much too quickly for Danyael to notice if her emotions had not also wavered, flickering between joy and sorrow.
Zara prowled the room, obviously searching for weaknesses in its defense, though Danyael was grateful that she managed to make her exploration seem casual. The dress, he had to admit, helped. Most people saw only an extremely attractive woman instead of a world-class assassin.
“And how are you doing, my dear?” Joyce asked. She nodded at the crutch and the crippled leg that Danyael stretched out in front of him. “What happened to your leg?”
“An accident.”
She huffed. “No such thing as an accident, dear. You must tell me everything. I’ve waited so long to meet you.”
“Why?”
“You are a marvel, my dear. You are an alpha empath, and you have a brilliant mind, yet your father chose only to incorporate your looks into Galahad. Oh, don’t get me wrong, you are wickedly handsome, but your looks are the least of your attributes. Everything else about you is so much more compelling.”
“You knew Roland Rakehell?”
“Oh, I know everybody who is somebody in biogenetic engineering, and your father is very much a somebody, even now. No one else had the audacity, the arrogance to design the perfect human being; only your father.” She smiled, her eyes dreamy. “Ah, your father. He was never content with halfhearted measures. All he wanted was perfection.”
“Did you ever work with him?”
“Not directly, no.”
“What about your colleagues at A*STAR? Did Suresh Sharma work with Rakehell?”
“Oh, Suresh.” Her smile turned affectionate. “That one was a dreamer, like your father, always challenging th
e boundaries of what was possible. He envied your father, you know. Suresh was on track to create his version of the perfect human being when your father announced Galahad’s creation twenty-eight years ago. I don’t think Suresh ever got over his disappointment. He was so certain that your father had taken the wrong approach by mixing and matching genomes—as if the result would be less perfect somehow.” Joyce chuckled. “Suresh is such a purist. Your father wanted perfection, but he was practical too.” She shook her head. “It’s a shame your father did not choose to incorporate more of you into Galahad.” Her hand trembled as she reached out and laid it on his chest. “Your courage. Your heart. Your soul.”
Danyael chuckled. “Are there genes that code for the heart and soul?”
“Of course.” Joyce’s eyes twinkled. She did not seem ninety-two, not with her effusive good humor and vibrant charm. “We haven’t precisely identified them, but it does not mean they do not exist. There is so much we still don’t know about individual genes or the compounding effect of genes as they interact with each other. Suresh wanted to do the responsible thing—he wanted to understand the effects of the entirety of the genetic code before combining them into the perfect human being. It was something of a pipe dream. It is foolish to imagine that we could ever understand everything, though it is important to try. Your father, on the other hand, would not be delayed by the trivial.”
“Was it trivial, Joyce?” Danyael glanced up as a shadow fell across the doorway. Galahad. How long had he been listening to the conversation?
Joyce’s eyes, clouded by cataracts, met Danyael’s, and despite her milky gaze, he sensed that she saw everything. For the first time, her smile slipped from her face. “Of course not. Nothing about genetics is trivial. Your father’s greatest mistake was believing he could somehow extract the perfect from the imperfect, and combine it to create a whole that was greater than its parts.”
“Isn’t it?” Galahad was the perfect human being, after all.
Joyce shook her head. “Far from it.”
~*~
A half hour later, lunch, a simple meal of rice stir-fried with thinly sliced chicken, egg, and mixed vegetables, was served on the shaded patio The light breeze that swept through the garden carried with it the fragrance of frangipani and jasmine. Danyael, Zara, Amanda, and Galahad occupied four of the six seats around the table. Tseng emerged from the house and claimed one of the remaining seats. He looked across the table at Danyael. “What did you do to Joyce?”
Danyael looked up. “What?”
Tseng chuckled. “I’ve never seen her this animated. Lena can’t get her to settle down long enough to take a bite. Joyce keeps going on about how excited she is to have met you and how wonderful you are. What did you say to her?”
Danyael shrugged. “Not much. I asked about Suresh Sharma. Joyce did most of the talking.”
“Well, she’s still doing most of the talking.” Tseng filled his empty plate with fried rice, and nodded his thanks to Amanda when she slid a glass of cold limeade across to him.
“She’s empathic,” Danyael said quietly, almost to himself.
Zara looked up. “What? Joyce is an empath?”
“No, she’s not an empath, but everyone’s empathic, to some extent, and Joyce is highly empathic, like celebrities, religious leaders—”
“On that scale?” Amanda asked. “That’s not lightweight.”
“You’ve seen her. She’s charming.”
“She’s a sweet old lady.”
Danyael shook his head. “She wears the sweet old lady façade like a familiar cloak, but she’s a great deal more than that. Her charm is calculated; it’s disarming and effective.” He glanced at Amanda. “Did you pick up anything from her?”
“Beyond sweet old lady? No. Her psychic shields are quite strong.”
“Exactly. She’s ninety-two years old. Can you imagine the will and concentration she must be exerting to maintain those psychic shields?”
Amanda shrugged. “Someone else could be protecting her mind. After decades as the chairwoman of A*STAR, I imagine she must know a fair deal that the government doesn’t want to become public information.”
Danyael nodded, conceding the point.
“Did you ask her where Sharma is?” Galahad asked.
Danyael retraced the conversation that had ensured after her critical assessment of Galahad. “I tried, but couldn’t get a straight answer out of her. I don’t think she knows.”
Amanda snorted. “If I’d been there, I could have probed her mind.”
“If you were there, I don’t think she would have said as much as she did.” His brow furrowed. “She’s trying to get something out of me.”
“What?”
“Probably information of some sort, though I’m not sure what it could be.”
Amanda shot him a disbelieving look. “You sensed all that in the half hour you spent with Joyce?”
Danyael set down his fork. “It’s hard to explain what I sensed. It’s like seeing two images, imperfectly aligned…a three-dimensional hologram that’s not quite focused.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “I sensed nothing of the sort. She’s old, Danyael. What you’re sensing is probably the natural result of aging—senility, dementia, that kind of thing.”
“Maybe.” Danyael turned to Zara. “What did you think about her room and the rest of the house?”
The assassin snorted. “Completely indefensible.” She looked across the table at Tseng. “You have to move her to a more secure location.”
“She won’t go,” Tseng said.
“Would she rather be dead?” Zara asked pointedly.
“At ninety-two, I think comfort trumps celebrating her ninety-third birthday. Joyce is not afraid of dying. I don’t think there’s anything we can say or do to get her out of here.”
Zara looked at Danyael. “She likes you. You’re an alpha empath; you can convince anyone of anything. Can you get her to leave?”
“Yes, of course,” Danyael said.
Galahad interjected. “I don’t think we should. We’re laying a trap; we want the assassins to come for her. This place is perfect because it’s indefensible.” He waved his hand to encompass his surroundings. His hazel eyes gleamed. “They will come, and we’ll be waiting.”
Danyael looked away. Galahad was as cold as Zara, or worse. Alex’s words echoed through Danyael’s mind. Is Galahad fit to live?
Galahad turned to him. “Do you disapprove, Danyael?”
“I don’t like using people as bait.”
“You don’t seem to have any objection to using yourself as bait.”
“That’s because I know what I’m getting into. Joyce is ninety-two. She has lived long and contributed much. To be reduced to a pawn in her final days—”
Galahad’s emotions flared. “She is a pawn. She and every one of the other twenty-nine people your father used as templates for my genome, including you, are nothing more than pawns in a larger game that mad scientists play.” He slammed his glass down. “Do you know what it’s like to question your own genes, to wonder where you came from, and what lies under the supposedly perfect façade? Everyone else has flaws. What are mine? What good is this perfect genome if I daren’t bequeath it on anyone else, if no one else will carry my genetic code into the future?”
Zara’s violet eyes flicked to Galahad for the briefest moment before she averted her face.
Amanda gasped. “Laura?” She blinked hard, as if suddenly recalling herself, and her mouth snapped shut. She too looked away.
Galahad’s incredulous gaze flashed between Zara and Danyael.
A muscle in Danyael’s smooth cheek twitched as he struggled to absorb and contain Galahad’s whiplash of shock and the ensuring tidal wave of anger.
Galahad pushed slowly to his feet. His voice was pitched low, an illusion of self-control. “Laura? Is Laura my daughter?”
No one answered him.
He leaned over the table, his nose an inch from Zara’s.
“Is she?”
Her eyes met his. “She is not your daughter, and you will stay the hell away from her.”
“You lie!” Galahad punched his fist down on the table, rattling the dishes and upsetting the glasses. Limeade spilled across the table. A glass rolled off the table and shattered into fragments on the patio tiles.
Zara pushed to her feet and shoved Galahad away. “Laura is my daughter, and I will choose her father.”
Galahad turned on Danyael, his eyes glittering. The alpha empath reeled from the explosion of Galahad’s emotions; Galahad’s hate flashed into focus, its edge sharper than a sword. A deep chasm of loss yawned beneath him. “I wanted a place to belong. More than anything, I wanted a family. You stole her from me!” He reached into his jacket and swung his arm out. Sunlight glinted off the barrel of the handgun he aimed at Danyael.
Zara threw herself across the table. The momentum launched her between Danyael and Galahad. Her Glock swung up at Galahad, spitting bullets.
Danyael shot to his feet, scarcely feeling pain scream down the length of his leg. He grabbed Zara around her waist and yanked her off the table. Throwing his weight against her, he rolled her to the ground and covered her with his body.
Snarling a curse, Zara scrambled out from under Danyael and brought her gun up as Galahad raced around the table, but Danyael was faster. Adrenaline dulled the screaming pain in his crippled leg as he pushed to his feet. He swung out. Galahad dodged the first blow, but not the second.
Danyael’s hand closed around Galahad’s wrist. His empathic powers blasted out.
Galahad recoiled, curling in upon himself as if shot. His mouth opened in a scream, but no sound emerged. His eyes flared wide and then glazed over, as if stunned by intense pain.
Reeling, Galahad slumped forward, but Danyael clenched his fists into Galahad’s shirt and slammed Galahad against the table. Danyael stared into a face that was, at that moment, nothing like his own. Fury pounded against his psychic shields, and for once, he did not restrain the emotion. His fury drove fear before him and left terror in its wake. Danyael scalded the emotions into Galahad’s psyche, burning them deep with the lethal power of an alpha empath.
