by Harper Allen
…whoever you’re working for will get tired of waiting for results, and he or she is probably going to blame their agent-in-place…
She hadn’t needed Asher to put that particular fear into words for her. It had been in the back of her mind from the start, and with each day that passed, the knot in her stomach got tighter. Peters didn’t countenance failure, even from a trusted employee, and from one on tenuous probation, as she was, he could well see it as deliberate disloyalty.
Unless I can convince him that I meant to screw up my first attempt at getting the notes, she thought with sudden hope. She swallowed her mouthful of cookie without chewing, her mind working overtime on the idea. It might work, she decided. It would take all her persuasive skills, but it just might work—if she could get to a phone and contact Lab 33.
“You. Me. Food. Hot damn, I think I finally got that date with you I was hoping for.”
Jerked from her thoughts by the voice coming from beside her, she looked up quickly to see Terry Reese, a corner of his delectable mouth lifted in a wry grin. He was carrying a cafeteria tray, and, seemingly oblivious to the unhappy glare Roger Poole was directing his way, he set it down on the table and took the seat across from her.
“This time if you skip out on me, I’ve got orders to follow you,” he informed her as he twisted the cap off a bottle of sports drink. He shrugged. “Hey, it’s not how I planned to get to know you, angel. But like you told me in Sir William’s study a few days ago, my supreme commander seems to have it in for you.”
“No, he doesn’t,” she lied swiftly. “At least, maybe he does, but he certainly isn’t having me guarded for any reason other than my own protection.” She gave him a prickly Dawn Swanson look from behind her glasses. “Don’t tell me you soldiers are under the ridiculous impression you’ve been assigned to watch me because I’m under suspicion.”
“Nope.” Terry Reese sank strong white teeth into his BLT. He chewed and swallowed. “Everyone else believes what you just said, because that’s the official line—the captain’s told us that since you’re pretty damn close to the old English guy, you could be in danger of being snatched for any information you might have. I’m the only one who thinks that’s a crock, if you’ll pardon my French.”
“Sometimes French is the only language that’ll do, especially when you’re discussing Mr. SAS,” Dawn muttered. The indigo eyes watching her lit up with quick humor, and she gave Terry a reluctant smile. “Okay, you’re right. For reasons only known to himself, Asher’s convinced I blew the power the other night after coldcocking some husky private, broke into Sir William’s study, cracked the safe and was about to take off with some research notes when he walked in on me. Apparently I then engaged him in hand-to-hand combat that only ended when he pulled his gun on me.”
Terry nodded, his manner perfectly serious. “Lucky for you those horn-rims you wear didn’t get lost during the fight. That’s something most lab assistants don’t consider when they’re planning a violent crime.” His smile broke out again. “Now you’re handing me a crock, right?”
“I wish I was.” Dawn sighed, but inwardly she felt a faint stirring of excitement. Reese had unwittingly helped her out twice before. There was no reason why the old adage of “three’s a charm” wouldn’t apply to her gorgeous guardian angel, was there?
“But that’s insane.” The humor had left his eyes. “It’s no secret that the thief Asher surprised in London’s study was shot and fell out of a second-story window. How does Asher explain away the fact that you’re all in one piece, for crying out loud?”
Dawn looked down at the tabletop. “It was pretty humiliating,” she said in a low tone. “He—he insisted on checking for himself. His realization that there wasn’t a scratch on me didn’t seem to make any difference to his opinion, which is why you’re here right now, I guess.” She raised a drawn face to Terry. “The thing is, I was offered another job at the same time I heard of this position, and there’s a chance I could still get it. I’d like to. As much of an honor as it is working with Sir William, his nephew’s attitude toward me has made it impossible for me to continue on here.”
“That’s pretty damn understandable,” Terry said, his anger apparent. “So where’s the problem—just leave. After the way you’ve been treated, you don’t owe anyone anything in the way of notice.”
“I said there was a chance the other job’s still available,” she reminded him. “If it’s not, I’ll have to stick this one out, because I can’t afford to be unemployed. But with all my calls being monitored, I can’t phone the other lab to find out if they’ve filled the post or not. Sir William’s going to know I’m looking elsewhere for a job, and he’ll see that as a breach of loyalty and give me my walking papers.”
“Which would be okay if you had somewhere else to go to, but not if the alternate job’s been taken in the meantime.” Reese frowned. “You asked me once why I wanted a date with you, honey, when I could have my pick of supermodels. I still say you were giving me too much credit, but are you interested in hearing my answer?”
Not really, Lover Boy. On pins and needles waiting to see if her ruse had worked, Dawn had a hard time keeping her tart reply to herself. You’re a babe and actually a really nice guy, but my main concern right now isn’t us making beautiful music together, it’s getting to a freakin’ pay phone and talking my way out of a world of trouble with my boss. Either you can help me with that, or I’ve got to find another solution to my problem.
Her smile was slightly strained. “I remind you of your sister? That’s what most men tell me just before they pull out a wallet photo of the gorgeous girl who broke their heart. Don’t worry, Terry, I’m used to—”
“Will you shut up and give me a chance here, honey?” There was sharp frustration in his tone. “You don’t remind me of my sister, because I don’t have one. You remind me of a girl I used to sit behind in biology class. Mandy was the smartest kid in school and she had a wicked sense of humor, but I was a jock and all I knew was she wore glasses and didn’t treat me like a god the way all the other girls did. I never dated her, but guess what? All these years later, she’s the only one I remember from my high-school days. She had pride and class and independence, just like you do, Dawn. I guess I’ve grown up a little, because that’s what I look for in a woman now.”
“Oh.” Her response was inadequate, she knew, but her throat had constricted so tightly that for the moment it was all she could manage. Terry Reese was a simple, decent human being and she was using him—just as she’d used Roger, just as she’d used Sir William, just as she’d used everyone else here who’d made the mistake of offering her friendship. About the only person I haven’t manipulated is Asher, Dawn thought bleakly, but that hasn’t been for lack of trying, it’s just because the man’s the male equivalent of me…so closed off from everyone that it’s impossible to slip under his guard. But even Asher’s held on to a faint connection to the world through his uncle.
Who was she connected to? Not Lee Craig—not anymore. He was dead, but the severance between them went far deeper than death. She didn’t know about the Cassandras. In the past they’d seen her as an enemy, and for all she knew their position hadn’t changed. Which left her with an unthinkable, undeniable conclusion.
Aldrich Peters had created her. Aldrich Peters was her sole chance of survival. The man she hated with every fiber of her being was the only person she had a link to.
Which didn’t alter in the least her intention of killing him as soon as—
Darkness. Coldness. A terrible sound filling her ears, like the rage-thickened snarls of a dozen dying men. And pain…pain that transcended pain, that went beyond agony, that escalated past the point of sensation and became an element around her and in her, as pervasive as air, as choking as water, as searing as fire.
“…guess what I’m trying to say is that I think you’re pretty special, Dawn, and if I can help you out in this situation, I will. There’s a pay phone just down the hall from the cafeteria,
isn’t there?”
She’d had another attack, Dawn thought dazedly. It was over now, and since Reese’s tone held no alarm it seemed apparent that he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary while it had taken her over, but it had been the worst yet. I survived it, she told herself fearfully, and I just might be able to survive another of this magnitude. But they’re tearing me apart a little more each time they occur. I can’t hold out much longer against them.
“Between here and the lab,” she said through lips so dry they felt cracked. She moistened them and tried to focus. “Why?”
“You need to make a private call. I need to find out why the joker who was supposed to relieve me at one o’clock hasn’t shown up yet.”
“Maybe he hasn’t shown because it’s only quarter-to,” she began, but Terry shook his head.
“Your watch must be wrong,” he said as he fiddled with the knob on his and then extended his wrist toward her with a frown. “See—ten past already. While you’re using the ladies’ room next to the phone, I’ll probably wander back this way, see if my relief’s looking for me here. God, the losers they let into the military these days!”
“I think they let some pretty great guys in,” Dawn said, comprehending what he’d just implied to her. “And Reese—I’m sorry.”
“For what, honey?” He gathered up their trays and stood from the table as she pushed her chair back.
For stealing your gun, for ambushing you on your Harley, for seeing you a couple of minutes ago as just a gorgeous guy with a killer smile whom I could use. She gave a shrug as they exited the cafeteria. “For standing you up last week. It wasn’t very nice of me.”
“Don’t apologize, I probably came on a little too strong anyway, hitting you up for a date just minutes after you’d fainted.” Reese suddenly patted his pockets. “Which reminds me, I meant to give you this when I saw you. I picked it up in the hallway outside Sir William’s study when I left and realized it had to be yours. Now, didn’t you say you needed to powder your nose before heading back to the lab?”
Looking up from the object Terry had pressed into her palm, she saw that they were standing directly outside the entrance to the women’s washroom. Beyond it was a small alcove with a pay phone. Dawn responded to his conspiratorial wink with a wooden smile, entered the washroom, turned around and came back out into the hall again.
Her gorgeous guardian angel was halfway down the corridor, heading for the cafeteria. She was alone. She walked to the alcove and picked up the telephone receiver, but her stunned attention was still on the small gold object Terry Reese had found in the hallway after an unknown killer had come far too close to assassinating Lab 33’s ex-assassin.
A lapel pin in the shape of a small shield, it bore the Latin motto Audent Fortuna Juvat, which she recognized as meaning Fortune Favors the Bold…and below the motto was written Athena Academy.
Had the assassin who’d shot her truly been Samantha St. John, and had she inadvertently left her calling card?
“I see.” Was it her imagination, or had the frost that had been in Aldrich Peters’s voice for the first minutes of their telephone conversation thawed slightly? Dawn wondered as she gripped the receiver with tense fingers. He went on, and this time his tone left no doubt that the cold fury he’d displayed moments ago had abated somewhat. “You should have alerted me to your plan. I’m willing to overlook your breach of protocol this time…but only this time. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, Doctor.” It wasn’t hard to keep her response subdued. She was on autopilot, Dawn thought as the sharp edges of the Athena Academy pin bit into the clenched palm of her free hand, but perhaps that was a good thing. She’d presented her case to Aldrich unemotionally, her earlier trepidation at his possible reaction no longer her prime concern, and apparently her cool manner had been more convincing than an impassioned explanation of her actions.
“Good. That being said, I commend you on a masterful strategy, Dawn, and one worthy of your late uncle. By deliberately aborting the first attempt to steal London’s papers—an attempt that as you say can hardly be laid at your door when Captain Asher is looking for a suspect with a gunshot wound—you’ve laid a highly pungent red herring across your trail. When you and the papers actually do disappear from the facility tonight, Dawn Swanson will be assumed to be a victim rather than the perpetrator. You’ve covered your tracks superbly.”
“I intend to spill enough of my own blood in my room to make it seem impossible for Swanson to have survived long after being forced to help her attackers locate the safe where the papers are now kept, and then apparently being taken as a hostage by them when they left,” she added tonelessly. “When the authorities don’t find her they’ll assume her body was dumped and buried somewhere in the surrounding desert. She’ll enter the books as missing, presumed dead.”
“And with a carefully chosen middleman brokering my deal to sell London’s research back to the government, my involvement in this mission never comes to light, Lab 33 receives a healthy influx of cash into its coffers and you escape the death sentence you’re living under,” Peters said thoughtfully. “All because Lee Craig taught his protégé how to play a double game so well.”
Dawn frowned. “I wouldn’t call it a double game, Doctor. That implies my loyalties are divided. It’s more accurate to say that I’m throwing up a smokescreen.”
“Which you’re also superb at,” he said without hesitation. “My apologies, Dawn, I’m afraid I have a shaky grasp of the terminology of your profession. Well, then, can I expect your arrival at Lab 33 within the next twenty-four hours, barring any unforeseen complications?”
“There won’t be any complications, unforeseen or otherwise,” she said with finality. “And if there are, I’ll take care of them the way Lee Craig taught me to.”
Even as Peters terminated his end of the call, Terry Reese rounded the corner from the cafeteria and began heading her way. Dawn raised her voice slightly. “I understand, Ms. McGrisken. I really couldn’t expect you to hold the position open indefinitely. Please keep me in mind if anything else comes up.” She hung up.
“I can see it wasn’t the news you were hoping for,” Terry said as he reached her. “I wish we had time to talk about what you’re going to do now, angel, but we’ve got to put some distance between us and this phone. I think I saw Mr. SAS in the cafeteria, and what’s worse, I’m pretty sure he saw me. Your next stop is the lab, right?”
“I’ll be there all afternoon.” She fell into step beside him, thankful for his assumption that her manner was due to disappointment over not getting the fictional job. When really I’m acting this way because I’m encased in ice, she thought with detachment. Except instead of feeling cold on the outside, the cold’s coming from deep inside me. I wonder if I’ll ever feel warm again…and I wonder if I’ll ever care whether I do or not.
Because right now she didn’t. Having ice in her veins meant she felt nothing over the Cassandras’ possible betrayal. It meant she could shut herself off from the events she would have to set in motion tonight. It numbed all feeling, gave her cold strength, turned her back into the woman she had been before her world had been ripped apart by an earlier betrayal.
You’ve been trying to be someone you weren’t, O’Shaughnessy, Dawn told herself, barely noticing Reese’s concerned glance as she left him and the soldier who had just arrived to relieve him at the door of the lab. She strode sightlessly past a group of scientists and technicians, coming to a halt at the back of the room where a row of wire cages lined the wall. You thought you could make amends for the things you did, maybe one day be accepted by the Cassandras as one of them. But you were raised to be the Cipher’s protégé, a genetically altered killing machine, Lab 33’s lab rat. You’ll never be able to put the past behind you, so you might as well accept what you are.
She unlatched the first wire door, lifting it open with one finger. The two creatures inside cowered momentarily at this unexpected interruption to the
ir routine but excitement overrode their caution. They scurried to the threshold of the cage, hesitated for a second and then ran out along the table. Dawn wasn’t watching them. She was already unlatching the second cage, and then the third and fourth ones. Only when the tenth cage had been opened and its occupants released did she stand back and look at them as they scurried down the table and across the floor.
“It feels like freedom, doesn’t it?” Raised voices and a few nervous shrieks came from the room behind her, but she kept her eyes on the excited ex-prisoners and addressed her low words to them. “You think if you run fast enough and far enough they’ll never catch you…but you’re wrong, little brothers and sisters. You’ll never be free. You’ll never escape. And just when you think you have, those bars will come slamming down again, stronger than ever.”
It would take the lab a long time to round up all those rats and get them back in their cages again.
“And I know how long,” she said aloud. “Nine months, fifteen days and fourteen hours. It doesn’t take much time at all to put a lab rat back into her cage.
“All you have to make her understand is that it’s the only place she belongs…the only place where she’ll ever belong.”
Chapter 13
Status: four days and counting
Time: 0001 hours
Dawn Swanson was dead. Dead, buried and never to be resurrected, Dawn thought as she stared at herself in the full-length mirror on her bathroom door. “Ain’t gonna miss you, babe, that’s for sure,” she said softly. “You cramped my style way too much. And I really, really hated wearing your clothes.”
Not that the ones she had on were what she would have chosen had she a choice, she told herself with a grimace. She’d soaked the stains from the skintight zipped top she’d been wearing the night she’d been shot, but there had been nothing she could do about the blasted-out hole in the fabric at the top of her rib cage and the exit hole at the back, and try as she might, she hadn’t been able to totally clean the blood from the left sleeve. The former two problems she could live with. The latter she’d solved by hacking off both sleeves with a pair of scissors. Her shoulders were now exposed in the cutaway garment, but the impromptu tailoring had given her greater ease of movement.
