Perfection

by Larissa Emerald

  “I disagree,” said Dwight A-Isaac. The director of Seville was a good-looking man with blond hair, perfect white teeth and bronzed skin that practically glowed under the spotlight. “We’ve hired the best for a reason. We should listen to Dr. B-Zaika.”

  Despite the director’s smooth defense, York noticed a flash of irritation cross Kindra’s features. “Why, I ask the Committee, do we need echolocation? We’re not Microchiroptera.” She inclined her head to the sociologist, who wore a slightly confused expression. “Bats,” she clarified. “Our sensory development is already light years beyond what it was a century ago.”

  York swallowed a laugh. Kindra’s gaze darted in his direction. Her eyes widened, then flashed like blue diamonds caught in the light. She’d spotted him. Their exchange lasted less than a second, but it was long enough for him to feel her intensity. For some reason, it nudged a protective desire inside him. He smothered the impulse, along with any concern that others might notice him. The Committee members were too self-involved to ever note the presence of an unremarkable Coder police lieutenant in the back of the room.

  Everyone began speaking at once. Their voices rose to talk over one another. Kindra returned her attention to the quarreling group.

  “Silence.” The chairman stood to gain the members’ attention. “Dr. B-Zaika, please forward your report to the panel. We’ll take it under consideration at our leisure.”

  “But—”

  “Thank you for your concern.”

  And just like that, she was dismissed. York fought unexpected sympathy for her as she grabbed her computer key and gathered her pride. She bolted past him and exited the committee chamber. He followed her out.

  In the hallway, she leaned against the wall, drawing in rapid gulps of air. “Damn them. Damn them. Damn them.”

  “I second that,” York said, shoving his hands into his pockets. Had he misjudged her based on the speeches she’d given to the media? No, he didn’t think so. “You gave them a good one-two, though.”

  She squinted at him, puzzled, then shook her head. “They aren’t going to listen. And if they don’t rethink their direction, then we’re heading for a major social disaster.”

  He’d been saying that for years.

  The door opened, and the chairman of the Committee stepped into the hall. “It’s a good thing our judgment isn’t based on feelings,” B-Cobb said. Kindra sprang from the wall and straightened her spine as he narrowed his eyes at York. “What are you doing here, Lieutenant?”

  “Walk with us, Mr. Chairman, and I’ll explain.” York strode in the direction of Kindra’s office. Silence hung between them until they rounded the corner. In the empty hallway, he recounted the case to Chairman B-Cobb. Or what he knew of it, anyway. “The captain has ordered me to acquire Dr. B-Zaika to act as an advisor at the morgue.”

  B-Cobb stopped at a fork in the corridor. “Why? What for?”

  “It’s case-sensitive information, sir,” York said. At this point, the investigation was on a need-to-know basis.

  B-Cobb puckered his lips. “Why am I only just now hearing about this?”

  “Lieutenant Richmond arrived moments prior to my presentation,” Kindra explained. “I haven’t had the opportunity to get Director Isaac’s permission to assist.”

  Chairman B-Cobb said nothing as he considered the situation. York watched Kindra’s rising tension as she skipped nervous fingers over her forearm.

  Finally, B-Cobb said, “You may assist with the police investigation. I’ll inform the director. Please keep us plugged in, Doctor.”

  She nodded. “I will.”

  “Thank you, sir,” York said.

  B-Cobb angled his head, a frown producing a rare wrinkle of imperfection on his GEI features. He strolled toward the hallway to the left. York tracked Kindra to the right.

  “I need to gather some equipment before we leave,” she said, walking faster. The woman didn’t seem to slow down. He, on the other hand, was feeling the weight of being up all night.

  In the lab, he fell in alongside her to help load a blood analyzer and a host of other things he couldn’t identify onto an air-dolly.

  “I can’t stop thinking of the two-year-old.” She paused and swished a lock of hair behind her ear. “There has to be an explanation. Something specific to this child.”

  B-Gastion was very specific to the girl. He would check that lead out further to determine if anyone had a disagreement with the regional director, but there were other factors outside of his area of expertise. It was why he needed Kindra B-Zaika. But at the same time, he generally didn’t trust people to investigate and reveal their own mistakes.

  “I hope so. If not…” He drilled her with his gaze, unwilling at first to voice the possibility, but not bothering to stifle his accusing tone. “Could the girl have acquired a major flaw?”

  She gasped, stared right back at him, and straightened. “No. I can’t accept that.”

  The worried look in her eyes was far from convincing.

  He thumbed the raised insignia scar that ran along the pulse point of his left wrist. He’d had it etched into his skin on his son’s passing. He flicked a glance at her. Could he trust her opinion? Without a doubt, this case was different from his boy’s situation. It was GEI saving GEI—poles apart from his son’s circumstance. But something about her dignified authority inspired belief. Besides, taking action felt right. It sure as hell beat sitting on his ass behind a computer.

  As the pile of equipment climbed higher, his tension eased. He found he enjoyed watching her.

  “That will do,” she commented at last. Then she shot up an elegant finger. “Umm…one more item.” It was some sort of square box.

  She removed her lab coat and set it on a hook by the door. Her pink lips pursed, and her eyes danced. It was the first impromptu move she’d made since he’d spotted her across the lab. It grabbed him with the force of a powerful magnet. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He watched her bend to dig something from a bottom desk drawer. The magnet tugged harder. His vision hung for a long moment on the spot where the upper curve of her ass met her spine as her fitted shirt eased above dark-green leggings, revealing an inch of smooth honey-gold skin.

  Dimples? he wondered, then came to his senses, grudgingly acknowledging that a man shouldn’t consider certain things when working a case. Instincts, however, acted according to intrinsic rules. He forced a swallow, irked because this woman fell into that untouchable category of Gen-Fairs. No, the fair generation of GEIs were not for him, or any Coder. He needed to be done with this case at rocket speed.

  Her dazzling blue eyes flashed him a mischievous glance as she dropped a handheld scanner into a loaded bin. She tossed the air-dolly controller to him. “Here, be useful.”

  He thrust his hand sideways, catching the tiny box. “Your transporter, mine, or the company’s, Doctor?”

  “Yours. I don’t drive. And please, call me Kindra.”

  He lifted a shoulder. Many people in Chicago took public transportation. He surmised she was one of them. “Guess that settles it. Follow me.”

  Several minutes and multiple security checks later, they exited into the upper garage level. “Black. First one on the right,” he said.

  When they reached the air-car, she eyed the replica of an antique 2020 Lambo and gave a soft whistle that surprised him. “Nice ride. I hope my stuff will fit.”

  “No prob. It may look like a hundred-plus-year-old sports car, but it’s state of the art.” He issued a command on approach that activated the voice recognition sensor. “Unlock.”

  The scissor-action doors opened. After he watched her fold her long, shapely limbs into the passenger side, he moved to the trunk at the rear.

  What was he, paid labor? She hadn’t given him a second thought or even attempted to supervise the loading of Seville’s equipment. He sighed and punched figures into a keypad on the inside of the trunk. The interior shifted, increasing the space, expanding to accommodate her things an
d the dolly.

  When he slid into the cockpit, he noticed her palming the genuine leather seat he’d purchased out of Argentina as if she’d never felt anything so soft and luxurious—an extravagance he’d saved nearly half a year’s salary for.

  “Not bad,” she said, arching a brow.

  He unleashed a grudging grin. “I like the real thing.”

  “Which means ditch everything genetically engineered?”

  He raised a brow. She was exaggerating, of course. There’d be no way to get rid of gene alteration. “Not everything, but most things. I’m practical.”

  She shook her head, sending loose strands of blond hair rippling over her shoulders. “I doubt that. I’d guess you were eccentric.”

  He suppressed a laugh. Eccentric? He’d always considered himself conventional—solid and straightforward. She, on the other hand, exuded sophistication, confidence, fine breeding, and a cool aloofness he didn’t understand. And he had the crazy urge to knock her back on her heels.

  “Why’s that?”

  “You’re a law enforcement officer, yet you don’t obey the rules. You shouldn’t have entered the council room. You’re meticulously neat, down to your fingernails and polished shoes, yet you have a devil-may-care attitude. You like flashy toys, and at the same time, you’re an environmentalist, utilizing outdated things instead of adding to space trash.” With the last comment, she tapped her ear, indicating she’d noticed his old QuL.

  Damn. The new comm the captain had given him was still in his pocket. And shit, she was observant. No surprise there. Not really. She was designed to be smart.

  “You’ve only scratched the surface, sweetheart. Hold on.” He engaged the car and took off, slipping into traffic with expert timing, just inches from the surrounding vehicles.

  She clutched the door handle and braced her other hand on the dash. Nudging the throttle, he gunned it, taking secret enjoyment in her discomfort.

  Her chin lifted a notch, flawless nostrils flaring on her beautifully symmetrical face. Perfection. It must be one hell of a burden to have to live up to all the genetic hype.

  Minutes later, stuck in midafternoon traffic, they circled above Lake Michigan. Her anxiety seemed to climb with each transporter that shot by them. From the corner of his eye, he caught her flinch. She squirmed in her seat, tight as a spring. But he was ready to let go. The two hours spent inside the genetics building was more than enough plastic time with perfect people.

  “Will we get there before tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Ah,” he said, “it appears B Generation missed out on the patience quota.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Besides, we’re in rush hour,” he added.

  It was more than a lack of patience, he realized. It was fear, though she hid it behind a belligerent attitude. But he wasn’t about to say that.

  “Knock off the gene-i-bust comments. We’re different. Okay. No big deal.” She faced the window. “Let’s just concentrate on the girl.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” York hid a grin. Where was her sense of humor? He enjoyed watching her flash and burn, like when a candle flares brightly with a quick burst of air. Her face glowed, flushed.

  If she truly believed their eugenic distinctions inconsequential, well, she was wrong.

  With a sharp turn of the wheel, he departed the Loop, going rogue, then flew down over the old cryogenics lab and raced for the short, cylindrical building set among skyscrapers.

  She glared at him. “God, you’re impossible. Is everything you do so extreme?”

  Apparently, his driving didn’t impress her. “You bet.”

  He met her blue eyes and immediately thought of a few extreme things he could show her, GEI or not.

  Her hand shot out and she pointed a finger inches above the steering wheel. “There’s a spot. Pull in right there.”

  She’d issued a challenge he couldn’t resist. He punched it, skidded into the parking spot, then threw the thrusters into reverse, bringing the transporter to an abrupt halt. Sun-drenched dust particles swirled around them like a shaken snow globe as she pushed the button to raise the vertical door, jumping out of the vehicle the instant it was possible to do so.

  He exited the driver’s side, stood, and peered at her while the doors descended with a whisper-soft plunk. Dragging in heavy gulps of air, she glared at him. Perspiration dotted her forehead, and golden strands of hair stuck to one cheek.

  Maybe he’d stopped a tad too fast.

  He gave her a slow, unrepentant smile.

  * * *

  Kindra’s legs were rubber sticks that barely held her. Disoriented, she stood useless as York unloaded her equipment back onto the air-dolly. What’s more, it took the entire walk to the front door of the morgue for her pulse to return to normal. As the automatic doors opened for them, the reason she was there struck her with comprehensive force. She blinked. The distraction created by the wild drive from the center to the morgue had been almost a blessing. Almost.

  Her fear of flying was at least something she could control. Unlike the undisciplined Lieutenant York Richmond. And then she realized she’d have to make the return trip with him when their work was finished. Most GEIs didn’t show fear, but she was unable to hide it—a flaw that embarrassed her. He was bound to have noticed it.

  “Fooltar.” She hadn’t realized she’d said it aloud until York made a noise in his throat. She glanced sideways at him, wondering at how quickly he’d become York in her thoughts instead of Lieutenant Richmond.

  He raised that damn eyebrow again. “I always thought the GEI version for fuck a little odd. But when you say it, it’s sort of…charming.”

  She pressed her lips together and looked away from him.

  A robotic guide escorted them through the lobby and into the belly of the building. The place seemed ageless, all stainless steel from floor to ceiling and the whole space perfumed by disinfectant. Neat rows of drawers lined one wall, each boasting its own computer screen that showed the deceased’s statistics and information about their death. Nearby, diagnostic equipment and lasers were positioned above a large table.

  Kindra armed herself with her clinical persona just before a doctor approached. She didn’t need to read the name badge secured to one breast pocket of his a light-green tunic uniform to know who he was. “Hello, Dr. Finn. I haven’t seen you since the Genome Conference.” She couldn’t remember when she’d last attended the major gathering that included members of WHO, Seville, the Committee, and medical geniuses from outside the Chicago area.

  “That long?” Finn said, appearing weary.

  She smiled a little. “How’ve you been?”

  “Super, until now.” Overhead lights reflected off his dark hair as he gave a welcoming nod to Kindra, then York, who he obviously knew.

  Donning a take-control attitude, Kindra led the way deeper into the room. “Lieutenant Richmond informs me we have a situation. Fill me in, if you don’t mind, and then I’d like to run my own tests.”

  York stopped the air-dolly with the equipment. “I haven’t been here in a long time. Anything new?”

  Finn hesitated, then glanced at the floor and up again. He squinted as if trying to comprehend something beyond his grasp. The expression accentuated his distant Asian bloodline and Coder heritage. “Just this case. Things are moving fast. Senator Russ has jumped into the picture and is tying our hands, demanding we hush this up. Apparently, it won’t look good on the world scene.” He glanced to Kindra. “The girl is, after all, the daughter of the World Health Organization’s regional director.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “Isabelle?”

  “Yes,” Finn replied sadly.

  Kindra tensed, opened her mouth, closed it, and glared at York. She’d known the girl. The world had known the girl. “You didn’t tell me.”

  “It wasn’t relevant. Besides, given the relationship between Seville and World Health, I thought it was a conflict of interest.”

  “You thought?” Her
voice sounded thick and gravelly in her ears. “You can’t be serious. If you’d really believed it was a conflict of interest, how does it make the least bit of sense that I’d be called on to assist with your investigation?”

  “What difference does it make?” York asked.

  He was giving her empty excuses, but she didn’t have any other explanation for his vagueness. She clamped her lips tight, fearing she’d say something she’d regret. Dammit, he could have warned her, prepared her. An unfamiliar fire burned the back of her eyes. He was watching her. Waiting for her to spin out of control?

  No. Not going to happen.

  “There’s been a change,” Finn said. “My intel suggests a disagreement between government officials. It seems political undercurrents are getting more treacherous than usual, perhaps stirred by someone who doesn’t want B-Gastion in office much longer?”

  That drew the attention of both Kindra and Richmond. “How do you know any of this?” York asked.

  Finn shrugged. “I was a political science minor. I pay attention to what’s going on around me. Anyway, it’s just a guess. Perhaps someone who may have a connection with the murder.” The pathologist’s sigh was one of pure frustration. “I’ve been ordered to hold all tests until they assemble an independent investigation team. I’m told maybe tomorrow. Absurd.” His jaw clenched. “We could be losing evidence as we speak.”

  “And they’re proposing you wait?” York asked incredulously.

  The talk about evidence made her nervous. She inhaled a calming breath. “I’m the lead scientist and physician on the D Generation. I report directly to the Department of Genetics. If there’s a problem with Ds, we needed to know about it yesterday.”

  York looked ready to explode.

  “Lieutenant.” She placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, taking the news in stride. What else could she do in the midst of governmental red tape? “You’re snapping at the wrong person.”

  “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Finn glanced between the two of them.

  Things were getting worse by the minute. She was the one responsible for the creation of these children. She was the one who would have to stand before the Committee and answer for any devastating flaws. She was a mother…