No credit cards. Damn. She had already used her credit card at Jose’s grocery store. Would the IGEC and Rue Marcha use that information to track her down? Her hand trembled as she took the cash from his hand. She grabbed the vent cover he held up, fit it into place, and inched away from the opening. Her face vanished into darkness.
Kyle slumped into the chair, fixed a bored expression on his face, and waited.
Thirty seconds later, the door slid open.
He looked up. “This hospital food better be edible—” His eyes narrowed. He shot to his feet. “Hey, you’re not Sofia.”
Two white-shirted security guards exchanged nervous glances. “Dr. Henderson said he let two people into the room.”
“She went to grab lunch from the cafeteria. What’s wrong?”
A guard shook his head. “She must have walked out before the door locked down.”
“The door locked down?” Kyle echoed. “What the hell is going on here?”
“I don’t know, sir. We’ve just been told to escort you to our security office.”
Hasty footsteps echoed along the outside corridor. Moments later, Dr. Henderson looked into the room. “There you are. Where is she?”
“She went to the cafeteria,” Kyle said.
Henderson nodded to the security guards. “I’ll walk him to the security office. You two find her.”
“What does she look like?” the other guard asked.
“Uh…short-ish. Young, mid-twenties.”
“What was she wearing?”
The doctor hesitated. His eyes flicked from side to side.
Kyle jumped in with a lie. “Khaki pants. Gray sweatshirt.”
“Got it,” the security guard acknowledged. “We’ll find her.”
Kyle waited until the security guards walked away. Given their lack of urgency, they had clearly not been briefed on the situation. “What’s going on, doctor?”
Henderson shrugged. “I don’t know. The International Genomics Center called the security office—the center monitors all database activity—and said that someone was accessing secure information from this terminal. The security office tracked the terminal and then called me since it was my ID card that let you into the room. I told the center it couldn’t possibly be the case; this terminal doesn’t have access to the secure databases, but the guy on the phone insisted on speaking to you anyway. I believe he’s on his way over.”
The international agency was not tipping its hand. Well, as long as it played nice, Kyle was willing to play along. The International Genetics and Ethics Council, and its offshoot, the International Genomics Center, were like the FBI; its agents tended to play by the rule book in a plodding though persistent way that occasionally worked. They were not the bad guys, though he could not say the same for some of IGEC’s people.
But what was IGEC’s stake in Proficere Labs’ research?
The security office was clearly designed primarily for security personnel. A large sofa with faded floral print dominated the room, and the two wooden side tables were scuffed and thinly layered with dust. Apparently, the security office did not receive the same level of cleanliness scrutiny that the rest of the immaculate hospital endured.
Kyle settled on the sofa and stretched his legs out. He might as well conserve his energy. His upcoming encounter with the IGEC promised to be moderately unpleasant.
Sofia, though—
Would she be all right?
She was a nursing student. How could he shove her into an air vent and expect her to know what to do? She was skinny; he did not doubt her ability to wriggle through the narrow vent, but hell, she was so short, she would probably hurt herself when she jumped down from the ceiling.
The door opened.
He glanced up, unsurprised. Knocking was not part of the IGEC playbook.
A lean African-American man, not much older than he, entered the room. Like most G-men, the IGEC agent wore a dark gray suit of questionable fit. Kyle did not recognize him, but then again, he was much more familiar with west coast IGEC agents after spending the prior three years working on Three Fates cases in Seattle, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. He had had a few run-ins with the IGEC, though he certainly crossed the FBI far more often.
The IGEC agent flashed his identification. “I’m Agent Sinclair.” He set his electronic tablet facedown on the side table and adjusted the lapels of his suit. “Where were you last night, Mr. Norwood?”
“If you know my name, don’t you know where I was?”
A faint, unamused smile appeared on Sinclair’s face. “Answer the question.”
“Am I being charged with something, agent?”
“Accessing classified genetic information.”
“That would be hard to do from a research terminal that doesn’t have access to classified databases.”
Sinclair sighed. “Look, we know you have information you’re not supposed to have. Where did you get it?”
Kyle spread his hands. “The only reason I scraped through introductory biology in college was because I slept with the teaching assistant in exchange for private tutoring. What makes you think I know what to do with genetic information?”
“I didn’t say you knew what to do with it; only that you have it.”
Kyle shrugged. “Look, you’re going to have to be more specific. Not saying I did, but what information did you think I was accessing? Must have been bad to get the IGEC so riled up.”
The door flung open, and a slender woman walked in. She wore her long hair pulled back into a ponytail and a smirk on her face. “Considering you’re involved, it’s no surprise we’re so riled up.”
His heartbeat skipped, but he kept his expression bland. “Lydia, you’re a long way from Los Angeles.”
Her smile was thin. “That’s Agent Warner to you.” She sighed theatrically. “What trouble are you up to now, Kyle?”
“That would be Norwood to you, Agent Warner.”
Her response was a cold silence.
He knew how to push her buttons just as she knew how to push his. A heated fourteen-month love affair that had not ended well could do that to anyone. He sank into the sofa and hoped his shoulders did not betray the tension he felt. “So, no work to keep you occupied out west?”
“The action settled down after you left.”
“Double entendres, Agent Warner?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Norwood.” She paced the length of the small room, her stride graceful. “I want to know what information you were trying to analyze.”
“When is curiosity a crime?”
“When we have witnesses who might place you at a shootout between the IGEC and Proficere Labs employees yesterday.”
Might. That meant their witness was unreliable, or had disappeared. Like Sofia Rios, perhaps. He still had a shot at lying his way out of the situation. “Proficere Labs employees. You mean scientists, right? The brilliant geniuses who can explain the origin of all life in the universe but aren’t sure what day it is, or even what year? They were in a shootout with the IGEC? Did the scientists know which end of the gun to hold?”
“Were you there?”
He shrugged.
She leaned over and placed the palms of her hands on the side table.
Kyle snorted. He supposed she might have looked more intimidating if her stance were not cramped into twelve square inches of scuffed-up wood.
Her tone was quiet and cool. “A federal agent is dead, Norwood. Accessory to murder could get you twenty years.”
He relaxed into his seat and extended his arms over the back of the sofa. “If you’ve got a charge, bring it. Otherwise, you’re just probing, and we both know that won’t get you anywhere. I was trained in anti-interrogation techniques by the CIA, same as you.”
Irritation flashed across her face. She leaned back. “Who was the woman with you?”
“The one I started out the night with, the one I woke up next to, or the one in between?”
“Kyle—”
<
br /> “The middle one was almost as pretty as you.”
Lydia blinked. Her gaze flashed to her IGEC partner, and for a brief moment, she was once again the young and idealistic IGEC agent he had fallen in love with twenty-four months prior instead of the hard-ass she had become.
It sucked to be reminded exactly why he had broken up with her.
She had become like Zara—worse than Zara.
At least Zara had never betrayed him.
He drew in his breath and reflexively pressed a hand against his left side. The bullet wound no longer hurt physically, but he had a scar to remind him that Lydia had used him, their relationship, and his love for her to lead his best friend, Jake Kerrigan, unwittingly into a trap.
Kyle had been slightly injured in the firefight that exploded.
Jake, the target of the IGEC’s ire, had been badly hurt.
The last he had seen of his friend was as Jake, bleeding profusely and scarcely conscious, was cuffed and dragged away.
Stunned, Kyle had pressed a hand to his bleeding side and looked up at Lydia as she walked up to him. She commanded the team that had fired at him and brought Jake down.
With alarm, concern, and what he had once mistaken for love in her eyes, Lydia had knelt down to check on his injury. He pulled back when she touched him.
They did not touch again.
In the Hopkins security office, Lydia looked back at him, her sudden vulnerability buried behind the cold-as-ice federal agent facade. She reached for the electronic tablet, turned it on, and shoved it across the side table.
Sofia’s face, likely taken from a university enrollment photograph, smiled up at him.
“Ever seen her?” Lydia asked.
“Who’s she?” he asked.
She pulled the tablet away. “We think Proficere Labs has hired the Rue Marcha to provide muscle, and the girl’s involved somehow.”
Wrong on the first count. Right on the second.
Lydia sighed and sat down on the far side of the couch. She looked weary, as if she had been awake most of the night, which she probably had. “Vital genetic research is missing, and we’re trying to track it down. We traced it to the free clinic in Anacostia, but the Mutant Affairs Council won’t let us touch Danyael Sabre. Even if we could, we wouldn’t be able to get anything out of him; he has insanely strong psychic shields, bar none.” Her lips twisted into a scowl. “What doesn’t seem coincidental is the fact that he knows Zara Itani, and you work for her. If you’re involved in this, Kyle, I’d strongly suggest you cooperate. It won’t end well otherwise.”
“Is that a threat?”
She shook her head. “It’s a caution, for old time’s sake. We know the Rue Marcha is involved, and people who screw with them tend to end up dead.”
Oh, he knew that fact, better than most. Zara’s half-Venezuelan heritage gave her access to terrorists from that part of the world seeking a fresh start and a better life. Many of his colleagues in Three Fates were South American, and they tended to be as dangerous, or worse than the Middle Eastern ones.
He relaxed into his chair. “What kind of research is missing?”
Lydia’s face tightened.
“Look. Let’s both be professional about this,” Kyle said. “We know you have no case against me, and interrogation techniques won’t work either. Perhaps we can help each other.”
“You do know that Three Fates is on the IGEC’s blacklist, right?”
Kyle laughed. “Considering the amount of chaos Zara has single-handedly unleashed, I’d say it’s about time, but this isn’t about Zara’s tendency to get into trouble. What’s gotten the IGEC so riled up?”
Lydia bit down on her lower lip. A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. “Nice try, Norwood, but it’s not going to work. In fact, you and I are going to camp out in here while the rest of my team searches for the girl. We’ll find her, and then we’ll just see what she has to say about you.”
Chapter 9
Sofia cupped her nose and mouth with a hand as she crawled forward on her elbows and knees, but dust still tickled the back of her throat. She scrunched her nose in disgust. Good thing I’m not allergic to anything.
She shook her head and huffed out her breath. Why on earth was a nursing student crawling through the air ducts at a hospital? When she figured out the answer, she would have to give herself a hard kick in the rear end. It was embarrassing to realize that she had gotten herself into this fix. She could have turned the microchip over to Zara Itani and returned to Chapel Hill.
And miss out on all this fun?
The air duct twisted through turns, and at some point, she lost track of how many rights and lefts she had made. It did not matter, she supposed. She could hardly go back to the research station.
Her back ached from her crouched and cramped position as she inched forward. Her heartbeat still raced, but as countless minutes passed, she noticed it less. Up ahead, light beckoned through a panel. Sofia peered down into a nurses’ station. Nurses clad in a variety of pastel nursing scrubs bustled in and out, exchanging lively conversation as they passed each other.
Darn.
She had to get out of the air duct. Among other reasons, she really needed to pee.
Gritting her teeth, Sofia pushed forward. The next air vent overlooked a crowded waiting room; she huffed in quiet frustration.
Sofia crawled over the third air vent before realizing what it was. The room beneath was dark except for a faint sliver of light slipping through a crack in the heavy curtains drawn across the windows. For a moment, she paused to listen, but heard nothing. Sofia inhaled deeply, but her racing nerves did not settle. Her fingers worked at the panel and pried it loose. She had to take a chance and hope that she was not jumping down into the psychiatric ward.
She wriggled backward in the narrow shaft and swung her feet around so that she could leap down feetfirst. She was ready—no, heck, she could never be ready to jump into the darkness without knowing what awaited her, but she would do it anyway.
Biting back a shriek, she let herself fall.
And landed on something soft.
Something jerked beneath her. Someone screamed.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Sofia swung her feet to the side, scrambled off the bed, and dashed toward the door. Light burst into the room when she flung the door open. She flinched from the sudden glare but did not look back. Her feet thudded on linoleum tiles as she raced down the corridor. She skidded through blind turns around corners and almost ran into a passing orderly.
“Whoa, slow down, what’s the rush?” he demanded.
“Sorry.” A shaky grin accompanied the apology she tossed over her shoulder. She shook her head sharply and released her breath in an unsteady sigh. Blend in. And that meant not running as if she were pursued by the hounds of hell, or a South American drug cartel, or the International Genetics and Ethics Council.
Although, everything considered, she would settle for being pursued by the hounds of hell. Myth had nothing on reality.
She slowed her pace to a brisk walk and allowed herself to merge into the human traffic weaving through the crowded corridors. Blend in. Get out. Blend in. Get out. The quiet chatter of conversations around her blurred into white noise. She kept her gaze lowered and focused on the bustle of feet until the scent of flowers caused her to look up.
The hospital gift shop swarmed with customers. The garish metallic hues of “Get Well Soon” balloons outshone the sedate shades of pink roses and cream-colored lilies, but Sofia’s attention fixed on the T-shirts and sweaters that hung from hangers on a circular rack. Blend in. Blend in.
Ten minutes later and $39.99 poorer, Sofia walked out of the gift shop wearing a Johns Hopkins Hospital sweatshirt. She had tucked her brown hair into the baseball cap she wore backward on her head. Her backpack was concealed in the large plastic bag the gift shop cashier had given her.
A bustle of activity drew her attention to the central foyer. Two men in suits strode under the
marble statue, their sweeping gazes searching for something or someone.
Most likely her.
Her heart pounded, but she forced herself to adopt an impassive look. Her grip tightened on the handle of the plastic bag as she slipped into a group of young adults, apparently medical school hopefuls on a guided tour of the famous hospital.
The tour guide’s high-pitched voice chirped on about the hospital’s history. The two men in suits walked past the group after a cursory glance.
Sofia swallowed hard. Her pulse settled.
The group curved around the foyer and stopped next to the main entrance of the hospital.
A man in a suit stood by the massive double doors.
Another agent. Damn.
“And this concludes our tour,” the guide said to the polite applause of the group.
For a moment, the large group loitered in the foyer before breaking into smaller subsets of people who seemed to know each other.
“Lunch?” one of them asked another.
“Sure.” They both turned toward the corridor that would take them to the large cafeteria.
Sofia stepped forward. “You’re going to eat in here?”
The young man who had suggested lunch looked at her, confused as to who she was but apparently too polite to say so. “Why not?”
“Because if we’re lucky, we’ll be invited to spend the next four years here,” Sofia said with a laugh. “That’s four years of hospital food. The way I see it, there’s no reason to start on institutional food this early.”
The two men laughed with her. “Fair point,” one of them conceded. “So, did you see anything else to eat around here?”
She threw a quick glance over her shoulder at the main entrance. Her pulse skittered on a lie. “There’s a deli two blocks down that way. Looked like a mom and pop, not one of those big chains.”
The two men exchanged glances. “Works for me,” the other man agreed with a shrug. He looked at a few others in the larger group. “Sandwiches, soups, and salads?”
“Sure.” Several others broke off to join Sofia and the two men.
Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection Page 57
