Claimed

by Sarah Fine

  “It also happens to be correct,” she said with a laugh, putting her hand on her stomach. “And I’m starving.”

  He grinned, but Galena could have sworn his smile faltered before he turned away. She watched his broad hands as he used a spatula to scoop two fried eggs onto a plate. “Do you eat meat?” he asked.

  “When it seems safe,” she said. “It was pretty scarce and expensive in Pittsburgh, and most of what we got was canned.” She shuddered.

  “This is good stuff,” he said, arranging two sausage links next to her eggs. “I promise.”

  It was probably from some secret agri-lab and had cost a small fortune, but Dec didn’t brag about it. She’d noticed that about him, like last night with that guard at the convenience store. Dec had seemed loath to tell the guy who he was—just like he’d tried to be nice and appeal to his colleague’s generosity just now, and only after the guy had been a jerk had Dec pulled rank. He usually kept his Scope tucked into his collar, and even though he lived in this heavily guarded enclave belonging to his family, his apartment was relatively humble. Walking lightly on this earth, letting his actions define him.

  She smiled as she slid onto a barstool and Dec placed the plate in front of her. As he handed her a fork, she asked, “So, are you going to eat, too, or is that not a requirement for Ferrys either?”

  “Oh, we eat,” he said, pushing the box of croissants closer to her. “I think it’s one of the purer joys in life, actually.” He snagged one of the flaky-looking pastries and set it on a plate for himself. “Have you ever tasted real Irish butter?” He grabbed a dish from his fridge. “There are still a few functioning farms on some of the islands.”

  That was a miracle, considering that Ireland had lost nearly 40 percent of its land mass to the sea in the last hundred years, and what was left was a collection of semiautonomous islands fighting over resources. Dec leaned forward, offering her a croissant smeared with the pale-yellow substance. “Try it.”

  She obediently opened her mouth and then moaned when the salty richness hit her tongue. Her teeth clamped down on the soft layers of the pastry, and she closed her eyes while she chewed. She was overwhelmed for a moment by the velvety feel of it, the way it made the pleasure centers in her brain scream for more. Once she’d swallowed, she looked up to see Dec staring at her mouth.

  “I like how you look when you’re enjoying something,” he said quietly. “Now eat up. It’s brain food. Which means you need more than anyone, right?”

  She shook her head, laughing, and lost herself in the breakfast for a few minutes while Dec cleaned up. His bright mood seemed a little forced. “Is everything okay, Dec?”

  “Hmm?” he asked as he scrubbed the skillet. “Oh. How’s your shoulder?”

  Her brow furrowed. “It’s sore, but fine, really. Like the rest of me. But something tells me there’s more than that on your mind.” He wasn’t acting like himself, at least not the self she knew.

  He stopped scrubbing. “Finish your breakfast,” he said. “It’s not good for you to go so long without eating.”

  She obeyed, despite the twist of unease inside her. The food was so good that she managed to put away the entire croissant and gobble one of the eggs and both sausages before she sat back, completely full.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “Please.” But she touched his wrist as he set the mug down in front of her. “Now tell me what’s going on, because you’re starting to scare me.”

  He sighed, staring at her hands as she brought the mug to her lips.

  The coffee was like the food—a richer, overpoweringly better version of any coffee she’d had before. It was like she’d never had a sense of what it should taste like until now. She set the mug down. “Please, Dec. I can tell something’s up. I haven’t known you to be quite this cheerful. It looks like it’s taking a lot of effort.”

  “You’re way too observant.” He lifted his head. His gorgeous blue eyes settled on her. “You’ve been labeled as a person of interest in the bombing cases, Galena. They want you to go down to the police station and answer some questions.”

  Galena’s stomach turned. “I wish you’d told me before I ate all that food.”

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t eat if I did.”

  He was right. But now it felt like it was all about to come up. “When do I have to be there?” she asked, her voice tremulous.

  “Before noon.”

  “That’s why you took the day off.”

  Dec nodded.

  “I can do it by myself, Dec. I’m actually a pretty competent adult in most respects. You don’t have to babysit me.”

  He leaned on the counter, the muscles of his arms tense. “I’m a pretty competent adult in most respects, too. So when I tell you that babysitting doesn’t describe what I’m doing, you can believe me.” He looked away from her. “Unless you want to call Eli.”

  “No,” she said quickly. She couldn’t bear to burden him with yet another problem. “But Dec, seriously, this has nothing to do with you.”

  He moved slowly around the counter, and her heart sped as he reached her. Carefully, his fingers skimmed up under her tank, tracing the bumps of her spine, rising higher and higher. She shivered at the look in his eyes as his fingertips smoothed over the strap of her bra to touch the raven tattoo between her shoulder blades. She’d taken off the bandage early this morning when she showered, so there was nothing between his skin and hers as he traced the raven’s wings without even having to look. It was like he’d memorized that piece of her already. She felt a new sort of tingling between her legs at that thought, and when she glanced down, she was embarrassed to see that her nipples were hard against the front of her tank.

  “This,” he said quietly, still tracing the raven. “It might have been purely for your protection, but it connects us. It entitles me to a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like sticking by you when things are shitty,” he said. “Like going with you to the police station and making sure you’re okay.”

  His hypnotic caresses made her close her eyes. She would be very happy to let him do this all day—and it was certainly more fun than going to the police department.

  Maybe when they got back, though. Once she’d answered whatever questions they had, Galena was eager to see what else Dec thought he might be entitled to. It was no less scary than it had been last night, but she realized her trust in him had grown with every minute they’d spent together. “All right,” she said, leaning her head back on his shoulder and looking up at him. Her breath caught when his gaze slid from her throat to her breasts.

  His eyes squeezed shut, and he pulled his hand from beneath her tank. “Good,” he said, pivoting quickly to head back to his bedroom. “Leave in twenty?” He shut his door and left her sitting there, her heart racing, her nipples hard, the rest of her utterly confused.

  The Boston Police headquarters was in a canal zone southwest of Back Bay, in an area called Mission Hill. Galena stared out the window as their amphibious limo motored past rickety flat-bottomed boats and a few amphibious buses. What used to be a thriving residential area was now block upon block of abandoned, rotting flood-damaged homes mixed with the occasional rebuilt apartment building. A public park had been turned into a shantytown. The people on the sidewalks cast curious, mistrustful glances at the limo. Mud-brown canal water splashed onto the windows when speeding uniboats raced by.

  Galena stared at the droplets, thinking of Ankita, Luciana, and all the others who had died two nights ago. Dec sat quietly by her side, but she could tell he was tense. He was dressed in slacks and a navy-blue button-down shirt that looked tailored. She felt a little tattered and frumpy in her maxidress and cardigan, even though it was the nicest outfit she now owned. Her nerves were winding like snakes in her gut, and she absently twisted her fingers together—until Dec took one of her hands and laced his fingers with hers.

  They pulled up to the dock in front of the police station, and soon
their driver was opening the roof hatch. Dec pulled the ladder down and helped her up. As soon as she emerged into the heavy humid air, she saw a stern-looking police officer with a gun and an electroshock baton at his belt, his eyes riveted on her. “Dr. Galena Margolis?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said as he helped her onto the dock.

  “Come with me, please.”

  Dec was by her side a second later. The cop led them through the stone-floored lobby and down a few hallways, deeper and deeper into the building, before guiding them through a bustling room bounded by three videowalls, with desk screens displaying holographic projections of the city. They ended up in another hallway, this one long and sterile.

  The cop unlocked a metal door and waved her inside a small white-tiled room with a black videowall on one side and a table in the center. “You her lawyer?” he asked Dec.

  “No. Her husband.” He stuck out his hand. “Declan Ferry.”

  The cop’s mouth dropped open as they shook hands, but he recovered quickly. “Good to know. The detective will be here—oh, here we go.”

  A middle-aged man came into the room, his graying hair slicked back. His olive-skinned face could only be described as sad. His lips came to a peak in the center of his mouth, with both sides sloping downward, forming a natural frown. His eyes had a heavy look to them as well. It was like gravity worked a little harder on him than it did on other people. “Detective Amil Botros,” he said, nodding curtly. “How are you today, Dr. Margolis?”

  “It’s been a rough few days,” said Galena as she and Dec sat down in two chairs on one side of the table. The detective took one on the other. “For you, too, I imagine.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Three lethal stabbings, fifteen bombing deaths, one suicide, eight different crime scenes. Yeah, you could say that.”

  Fifteen bombing deaths? Galena felt sick. Aislin had said that several had died, but Galena had no idea it was that many. Eighteen people killed, plus Jian.

  Under the table, Dec nudged her knee, and Galena accepted the silent invitation with gratitude, entwining her fingers with his once more. She felt stronger holding his hand. “Do you have any leads?” she asked.

  “A few. Tell me about your relationship with Jian Lee.”

  “He was my lab assistant. One of two.”

  “Was he hired for you, or did you pick him?” asked the detective, who was now typing information onto a screen set into the tabletop.

  “I was told by my department chair that I needed to hire assistants, even though I prefer to work alone. She said I needed the help.” Dr. Cassidy had reminded her that she was one person, and there was no way she could get all the work done herself. “I chose Jian from a group of applicants.” There had been nearly a hundred of them, but Jian and Ankita had stood out.

  “And he worked for you for . . .”

  “Almost a month,” she said quietly.

  “Was he a good worker? Did you get along?” Botros glanced up at her.

  “We did,” Galena said. “He was fairly quiet, but his work was solid.”

  “You never had any occasion to discipline him, anything like that?”

  Galena shrugged. “I expect precision, because anything less could interfere with our research results, but generally Jian was very thorough in his work.” She leaned forward. “We had no problems, Detective. I liked him. But the night before the bombing, he was definitely off. Irritable and nervous. He was working on a sequencer—the one that turned out to be holding the bomb. And the day of the bombing, he left early, and Ankita said he’d seemed stressed. The sequencer began making noise after he worked on it, and I thought it was because he hadn’t fixed it yet, but now I believe it’s because he put something in it.”

  Botros tapped his screen, and it projected a three-dimensional image of a mangled piece of metal, speckled and pitted from the explosion. “That’s all that’s left of it.” He tapped the screen again, and the image disappeared. “He did precise work, that Jian. Not to mention we found receipts in his house for some of the material used to make the bombs.”

  There it was. Hard evidence Jian had been responsible. But it still didn’t explain why he had done it.

  “So, Doctor, talk to me about you,” Botros said, pulling her back. “Your boss, Dr. Cassidy, says you’ve put enormous pressure on yourself since arriving at Harvard. She said she was worried about your mental stability.”

  “What?” Galena whispered. Sure, Dr. Cassidy had expressed concern for her, but questioning her sanity?

  Botros nodded. “She said the pressure to come up with this vaccine you’re working on was too much. She said she was worried you were beginning to break down.”

  “As I told Dr. Cassidy, I have been under pressure,” snapped Galena, “but that’s no different than when I was at Pitt. I handle pressure well and have the record to prove it.”

  Botros’s eyes traced her face, settling on the swollen patch on her cheek that she’d tried to cover with makeup. “Yeah? You haven’t ever dreamed of just letting it all go? Maybe escaping from all that pressure and scrutiny? I hear academia can be tough. And for you?” He blew a breath from between pursed lips. “You’ve had quite the career so far. Every eye on you. I couldn’t blame you if you wanted to get out from under it.”

  Dec leveled a glacial stare at the detective. “How about you stop the fake-empathy game and just say what you think, Detective Botros?”

  The detective arched a thick black eyebrow and put his hands up. “Oh, Mr. Ferry, my apologies.” He didn’t look sorry. In fact, he looked a little amused and a little angry. Like he would love nothing more than to stick it to the Ferrys. “But since you insist, I’ll be honest here. See, Jian Lee left a suicide note. What do you think it said?”

  Galena felt a ball of ice grow inside her as she remembered Jian shouting in a guttural voice, Your fault! “I have no idea,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “Well, how about I show you?” Botros tapped his screen, and a typed message floated in front of them.

  Mei,

  I am so sorry for what I have done. I hope you will someday forgive me. Please know that I never wanted this to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt anyone. She forced me to do it. She gave me no other choice. I love you. It’s torture to leave you, but I cannot go on like this. Remember me, please.

  ~Jian

  Galena blinked back tears as she read his note, addressed to his wife of only a few months.

  “Sad, isn’t it? Now, who do you think ‘she’ is?” asked the detective. “The woman who he says forced him to do these bad things?”

  “Again, no idea,” whispered Galena.

  “And what would you say if I showed you this?” Botros tapped his screen again, and Galena shivered as she read the projected words, a chat message to Jian dated a few days before the bombings.

  I’m still waiting to hear from you. Confirm that you’re ready to move forward or I’ll be forced to follow through with my promise. As you know, the new mutation of the Marburg virus is particularly deadly, and there’s no vaccine yet.

  Galena’s stomach turned. Someone had been threatening Jian with disease? Her fingers locked around Dec’s as rage rushed through her. “Who sent that to him?”

  “Oh, whoever did it was very clever,” said the detective. “Probably thought she’d never get caught. All kinds of encryption and whatnot. Took us awhile to dig the answer up. But here it is.” He tapped the screen, so hard that his fingernail made a sharp snap against the surface. And up popped a little box containing an encoded string of information. He tapped another button, which decrypted the jumble of letters and symbols, revealing a system log, including a time stamp and authentication credentials. Her authentication credentials. “It came from the central computer in your lab, Dr. Margolis. The one only you had access to. And we cross-checked that time stamp with surveillance records. You were the only one in your lab when it was sent.”

  He stood up from behind his desk, gesturing at the closed metal d
oor. Two cops immediately came into the room—they must have been watching them on camera the whole time. “Galena Margolis,” said Detective Botros. “You’re under arrest for the murders of Ankita Bhasin, Nadya Odrova, Katsumi Phillips—”

  “What the fuck is this?” Dec shot up from his chair as the police approached Galena. “You sneaky bastards. You tell her you’re going to ask her a few questions, and instead you ambush her like this?”

  Botros glared at Dec. “I have no doubt you can get her a very good lawyer, Mr. Ferry, but the evidence is solid, and it’s my job to remove murderers from the streets. Are you going to obstruct me? Am I gonna have to arrest you, too?”

  A rough hand closed around Galena’s wrist, and she looked up to see a police officer, cuffs out. Too shocked to cry, she searched for Dec and noticed his clenched fist. He looked like he was ready to fight the detective like he had those Shades last night, just to keep her safe. “Dec,” she murmured. “Don’t.”

  He whirled around, rage and horror in his eyes. “This is bullshit.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m going to get you out of this.”

  She gave him the bravest smile she could muster. “I know.”

  Botros stepped between them. “We’re going to take you down to booking, Dr. Margolis, and get you settled into a nice cell.” He turned to Dec. “She’ll be available to meet with a lawyer in a few hours, son. Arraignment will be tomorrow.”

  “Galena,” Dec said.

  “Go, Dec,” she whispered, unable to force any volume into the words. “I’ll be fine. Take my . . . pendant, would you? I don’t want to lose it.” And they would confiscate it, she knew.

  As the cold metal of the cuffs bit into her skin, Dec mumbled something to the detective, who stepped out of the way. Dec came forward, his eyes on hers. “I’ll talk to you in a few hours,” he said, reaching around to unhook the clasp of her Scope. His fingers slipped along her neck, and she closed her eyes, wanting to cling to the comfort of that sensation for as long as she could.