by Jade Kerrion
For a moment, guilt pricked Danyael, but it vanished in the more critical need to protect the woman and child he loved. Galahad’s emotional scars would never heal, but perfection be damned. The perfect human being was a myth anyway. Danyael shook Galahad until the dazed hazel eyes opened and focused on him.
“You will stay the hell away Zara and Laura. If you ever pull a weapon on Zara again, I swear to God, I will kill you.”
Amanda spoke up, her voice quiet. “Technically, he pulled the gun on you. Zara got in the way, and she shot first. Galahad didn’t fire.”
“I always shoot first,” Zara said, no hint of apology in her voice. Apparently unhurt, she rose easily. Her long dark hair was disheveled, but even with the Glock in her hand, the illusion of the breathtaking woman in the short black dress and narrow stilettos held. Of course, the seductive purr of her voice only reinforced the image.
She placed the muzzle of the gun against Galahad’s temple. “This is the second time you’ve tried to kill Danyael. Tell me why I shouldn’t preempt your third attempt right now.”
“Because Xin would be furious?” Amanda ventured.
Zara shrugged. “She’ll have to find a way to live with the disappointment.”
Danyael shook his head. “That’s enough, Zara. Stand down.” He released his grip on Galahad’s shirt and took a single step back.
Galahad pushed upright, trembling visibly. The look he shot Danyael was full of fear that vibrated like a tuning fork, perfectly balanced on the twisted edge of terror. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, his eyes never leaving Danyael’s face. Galahad said nothing, but his hate-filled eyes swore vengeance.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The heat of the late afternoon gave way to the cool of the night, but Danyael did not leave the desk where he was working. Soft footsteps crossed the polished wooden floors, and adept hands landed on his shoulders, gently massaging and kneading the tension out of them.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Zara asked.
“In a while,” Danyael said. His eyes burned from reading through pages of text packed with scientific terms. George Reilly had come through, delivering electronic copies of Suresh Sharma’s research, both authorized and unauthorized, to Danyael, and Danyael had spent the past several hours cross-referencing Sharma’s work against other biomedical and genetic research publications.
“Did you find what you’re looking for?”
“Not entirely.” Danyael relaxed into the chair and raised his eyes. His gaze traveled over framed photographs, most of them black and white, on the wall of the guestroom in Joyce’s home. “Sharma did some work in age acceleration, but the results weren’t promising.”
“Could he have made progress since then?”
“Likely.” Danyael waved his hand over the tablets. “These reports are two…three years old. These days, three years is practically a lifetime given the rate of advancement in technology and science. Still, there isn’t any good research today on age acceleration, at least none that is publicly available. The International Genetics and Ethics Council decided that age acceleration is one of those gray areas, acceptable for animals intended for consumption, not so for human beings. I don’t think Sadgati fully explored the topic.”
“Sadgati?”
“Ehimaya Sadgati, creator of the super soldier program. She claimed that she age-accelerated the super soldiers too, but the super soldiers were human-animal hybrids to begin with, and animals mature faster than humans.”
“So the super soldiers weren’t actually age-accelerated?”
Danyael shrugged. “I don’t know. I understand the jargon but I’m not a scientist.” He sighed, a quiet sound of defeat. “Rakehell would know.”
Zara leaned in and pressed her cheek against his. “You don’t call him ‘father,’ do you?”
“He’s not much of a father.”
“No, he isn’t.” Zara wrapped her arms around Danyael’s shoulders and linked her fingers over his heart. “After my mother was killed in Lebanon, my father brought me to America, hoping to find a better life.”
“Did he? Did you?”
“We both did, in different ways. He was a scholar—a man who could recite the Quran from memory and cross-reference it to the Torah, the Talmud, and the Bible, in Hebrew and in Greek. He tried to teach me Latin too; I learned it well enough to curse—”
Danyael laughed. “You can curse in Latin?”
“Yes, but the words don’t roll off the tongue as easily as Spanish or Arabic curse words. Anyway, he eventually found a place for himself at Princeton University. He could lock himself away in that ivory tower and ignore the fact that his only child had chosen her mother’s path instead.”
Heartache roiled in her voice, and Danyael suppressed the need to ease it with his empathic powers. “Your parents sound like remarkable people.”
Zara nodded, the motion brushing her cheek against his. “They were. They were completely unsuited for each other—the Lebanese professor and the Venezuelan freedom fighter—but I think they loved each other.” Her tone gentled. “I haven’t seen my father in a long time, but when we get back to the U.S., I’d like you to meet him. I think he’d like you. Actually, I think he’ll be amused to see history repeat itself—the doctor and the assassin.”
Zara suddenly tensed against him, and a fraction of a second later, a shadow fell across the open door. Danyael glanced up and nodded to Amanda. “Where’s Galahad?”
“Back at the hotel,” Amanda said.
“How is he doing?” he asked.
She shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. “He’s been quiet. Twitchy too. I’d never noticed that about him before.”
Danyael looked away. “I’d be surprised if you had.”
“What did you do to him?” she asked.
“It’s not important. Has Chloe made progress?”
“Yes, some. You ought to hear it directly from her.” Amanda strode into the room and set her tablet down on the table. She tapped a few commands into the tablet, and the screen flashed to black for a moment, before resolving into Chloe’s face and a glimpse of the suite at the Marina Bay Sands Hotel.
Chloe smiled faintly. “Amanda tells me you’ve had an interesting day.”
“Trigger-happy people usually do,” Zara replied. “What did you find out?”
“Suresh Sharma’s unauthorized research never quite made the news. Singaporeans, in general, disapprove of scandalous behavior, and the government has much tighter control over the media. Sharma was quietly let go. I also confirmed that Sharma’s not Singaporean; he’s actually from India and has close ties to the research communities there, many of which fly under the radar.” Chloe’s lips pursed. “I don’t have evidence, but I suspect A*STAR might have outsourced some of its borderline ethical work to its Indian counterparts. It’s one way to pilot new ideas, and make sure they’re safe, before bringing them back into the country.”
“I could really grow to like these Singaporeans. They’re remarkably practical,” Zara said. “Did you manage to track Sharma down?”
“No. He more or less vanished after A*STAR let him go. He has a post office box in Newton, but it’s a big post office and Singapore is full of Indians; Sharma blends into the crowd. I showed his photograph to the employees, but no one recognized him, and they wouldn’t tell me how full or empty his post office box was. I’d have to come back with official paperwork to get more traction.”
Amanda chuckled. “If you had a telepath or an empath with you, you wouldn’t need official paperwork.”
Chloe shrugged. “Well, yeah, maybe you slackers could tag along with me the next time. I also chatted up some of his former colleagues. I didn’t get a whole lot more out of them, other than affirmations of his strong sense of ethics and morality.”
“Really?”
Chloe nodded. “Unauthorized research notwithstanding, apparently Sharma had strong views of not taking chances with anything he didn’t fully understand.”
Danyael nodded. “That would fit with what Joyce said about Sharma’s view on creating the perfect human being. He’s cautious.” He frowned. “Frankly, he doesn’t sound like someone who would attempt to age-accelerate the perfect human being. Could we be on the wrong track?”
“He paid for Galahad’s genetic code, and he’s done work on age acceleration,” Zara said. “He’s the best lead we’ve got at this point. I say we run with it. At some point, he’s going to have to collect his mail.”
Danyael looked at her. “At some point, sure, but a stakeout will take too long.”
Amanda shot Danyael a sideways glance. “What’s the hurry?”
Danyael shook his head. “Long story. Another day.”
Pressure pushed against his mind, first a light and fluttering touch, and then a sharp shove when his psychic shields did not falter. He threw the alpha telepath an amused, affectionate glance. Really, Amanda.
She snorted. It was worth a shot. Your shields can’t hold all the time, can they?
They had to; as long as Zara and he were lovers, his psychic shields had to hold, for her sake.
Amanda glanced at Zara.
A moment passed in silence.
Amanda’s eyes widened slowly, and her mouth dropped open. It shaped a single word, the sound stunned and pained. “No…” She looked back at Danyael, shaking her head. “No, it can’t be.”
“What can’t be?” Chloe chimed in from over the tablet.
Amanda’s expression flashed from incredulous to accusing. “You’re dying?”
“Who’s dying?” Chloe’s panicked gaze darted to Danyael. “You’re dying? Of what? What’s going on?” Her face appeared large on the screen as she leaned in, as if trying to see more of what was happening in the room.
Danyael’s breath tore out of him in a sigh. Damn it.
Zara had the audacity to shrug innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”
Danyael ground his teeth. He shot Amanda a glance. “Keep your probing telepathic fingers to yourself.”
Amanda glared at him. “What? You didn’t think this was important enough to share?” She turned to Zara. “And you…why didn’t you tell me?”
Zara shrugged again, her expression serene. “It was his decision.”
“This is personal,” Danyael interjected.
Amanda snapped. “No, it’s not. We’re in this together. We have a right to know.”
Danyael shook his head. “It’s not going to affect what we’re doing.”
Chloe screamed through the tablet. “What the hell is going on over there? Can someone speak in complete sentences for the sake of people who can’t read minds?”
Zara leaned closer to the screen. “Danyael has leukemia. The doctors have given him six to eight weeks to live, unless he finds a suitable donor for gene therapy.”
Chloe’s eyes went large. “You what? And you didn’t tell me? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?”
“I’m fine. I have medication, and the worst of the symptoms are under control.”
Amanda scowled. “This isn’t a joking matter.”
“What makes you think it is?” Danyael asked quietly.
“How can you take this so lightly?” Amanda demanded. Her voice quivered.
“I’m not, but there’s nothing I can do about it here or now. My brother may be a suitable donor for gene therapy; we’re waiting for the results to come back. Either way, it’s too early to give up. Besides, six to eight weeks is practically infinity compared to Galahad’s twenty-four-hour bio-tracker countdown.”
Amanda released her breath in a sigh that shook her body.
Danyael reached for Amanda’s hands. Her soldier hands were calloused, but they trembled, cold and fragile in his grasp.
Her voice whispered through his mind. You can’t die.
I don’t intend to, at least not without a fight.
Oh, God. Danyael. Her mental voice caught. I can’t believe…why you?
He pushed to his feet and drew Amanda into his arms. Her heart pounded against his chest, like a terrified bird struggling to break from a crushing grasp. Oddly, her pain lightened his despair. In spite of how strong, how solitary he imagined himself to be, it helped to know that others cared.
His empathic powers soothed her heartache as tenderly as he stroked her back. The narrow-eyed glance that Zara shot him was cool, but the assassin’s only reaction was to sit down in the chair he had vacated.
Chloe, her eyes glistening, managed a crooked smile. Her voice sounded muffled through the audio system, as if choked with tears. “I need a hug too.”
Amanda pulled away, and Danyael threw a glance at the tablet screen. “If you’ll take a rain check, I’ll be back at the hotel tomorrow.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Chloe said. “Does Galahad know?”
Danyael’s gaze flicked between Amanda and Chloe. “Galahad cannot find out that I’m sick. If he does, he’ll be more difficult to handle than he is now. I don’t have the time or energy to deal with the power play.”
“Yeah, I understand.” Amanda squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. “Damn it.”
Danyael released his breath slowly, willing his heartbeat to slow down. His empathic powers eased a thin layer of peace over the room. Zara stood and slid the chair back to Danyael. He gripped the side of the table, his knuckles white, as he lowered himself into the chair. “All right. Where were we?”
Amanda blinked back tears from her eyes. Her voice was unsteady. “Until we get stronger leads on Sharma’s location, I’ll stake out the post office, and I’ll take Galahad with me. His disguise is fairly convincing, and I can reinforce his psychic shields.”
“I’ll come too,” Zara offered.
“I don’t think so. You’re looking for an excuse to put a bullet through his brain. Besides, if Sharma’s responsible for the age-accelerated clones of you and Galahad, the last thing we’d want is to have Sharma catch a glimpse of you or a face that looks like Galahad’s. I don’t want Sharma to run. I want him to lead us back to wherever he’s hiding out.”
Zara straightened, chuckling. “You’ll call us though before you do something crazy, like break into a lab?”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we’ll try not to have any fun without you.”
“And if Galahad acts up—”
Amanda shook her head. “Galahad will be fine. I’ll keep an eye on him. So, you two will stay at the safe house and keep an eye on things here?”
Danyael nodded. “At least for tonight. Tomorrow night, you’re on call.”
“What should I do?” Chloe asked from over the open communication line. Her face was pale, and she darted anxious glances at Danyael. “I still have a couple of leads to track down.”
“Follow them and let us know what you find,” Zara said. “And you might as well stay at the hotel. Anyone at the safe house is, by default, in danger. There’s no point in adding you to the target list as well, unless you know how to handle a gun.”
“Um…” Chloe bit down on her lower lip. “Not really.”
“All right.” Zara nodded. “Keep in touch.” She tapped on the tablet screen and disconnected the video call. The screen faded to black.
Turning back to Danyael, Amanda sighed. “How are you doing, Danyael, really?”
“I’m fine.”
She sucked in a breath of air, the sound jagged, and looked at Zara, who stood behind Danyael’s chair. “You’ll take care of him?”
Zara nodded. “Always.”
Amanda offered a wobbly smile. “At least I know he’s in good hands. I’ll head back to the hotel and check in on Galahad before calling it a day.”
She left the room, her boots tapping against the wood floors.
In the silence that followed, Zara leaned down and wrapped her arms around Danyael’s neck. “Your secrets are out, both of them.”
He sighed. “You need stronger psychic shields.”
“Never had much lu
ck with psychic shields.” Zara trailed kisses along his jawline and smiled against his ear. “Come to bed.”
How could he resist? Danyael turned his face to claim the kiss. His empathic powers coiled like living vines along the psychic wall he had erected between them. Something in him ached to tear it down—he would have given anything to truly feel her love. If he destroyed the psychic barrier, he could understand and fulfill Zara’s every emotional need—
And no man would be able to satisfy her emotionally ever again. He could give her six weeks of utter joy for the price of a lifetime of discontent.
He released his breath in a quiet sigh. Too much lay unsettled between them, and he was dying.
“You’re brooding again,” she murmured. “Focus on me.”
Too much unsettled… He pulled back. “Laura…her father—”
“Shhh…” She silenced him with a kiss. “I want you to be her father.”
His startled gaze met hers. “You’re not angry?”
“Because you let me believe that you were her father?” Her lips curved into an amused smile. “Danyael, do you consider me a rational person?”
“Most of the time.”
She chuckled. “True, and don’t you think it would be hypocritical of me to be angry because a man wanted me and my daughter enough to let me believe a lie? That he loved us enough to shoulder the financial burden of a child who was not his?”
The fear lurking deep within—the fear that Zara, in the heat of her anger, would turn away—dissipated like mist in the sun. He inhaled, a jagged sound, and relaxed against her, his head falling against the tender juncture where her neck met her shoulder.
She stroked his hair, her touch gentle. “You were really afraid, weren’t you?”
He released his breath in a quiet sigh but said nothing. Zara had never told him she loved him, and he could no longer sense her emotions, but in rare moments such as these, he did not need her words or his empathic powers. He could almost believe that she loved him too.
She continued. “We’ll find a way, Danyael. We’ll find a way to get you the treatment you need to survive.”
