BirthStone (9 page)

“And the problem is?”

“We won’t remove it if it endangers your
life. You are too valuable. I will find another way to access the
data if it comes down to that.”

“Do I have any say?”

Not really
. “Of course, but you
realize the final say comes from La Patron, and his mate is against
you being permanently harmed in any way. Just so you know, you have
a champion in her.”

“A champion?” She paused. “I…I’m
surprised.”

“Me too. But I’m a scientist and a doctor
first. You have opened up a whole new world in bio-mechanical
research.” Pausing, he shook his head, knowing how easily he went
off on tangents regarding his work. “So what do you have to say
about all of this?”

“I need to help defeat the people who are
trying to destroy my Alpha and his den.” Slowly, she sat up, and
pursed her lips. “It’s more than honoring La Patron, although I do
honor him and his mate. But as a full-blooded wolf, I’ve been
robbed and violated. My beast demands I never give up or those
bastards win, we would prefer death before that.” Her head tipped
in his direction when she spoke. “If there is anything within me
that will help the pack, take it. I am just one wolf. This war will
destroy millions if we do not step up to the plate and neutralize
their weapons. What they did a few weeks ago, ramming so much down
La Patron’s throat to see his response, was just the tip of the
iceberg. Multiply that week by hundreds of occurrences all over the
U.S.”

His throat tightened. “Hundreds of
undetected bombs? That would be…catastrophic. We are testing the
detectors now, we had to work fast, there are still a few bugs to
smooth out before we can meet the demand.” He wiped his brow. “The
virus…will they amp up more breeds?”

“They already have. Unfortunately, they
didn’t have Dr. Chism on their team, who would’ve told them
straight up the serum only increases performance of what’s already
in place. Right now, they have a lot of problems with
over-aggressive wolves, at least they did the last time I was— ow…”
Her hand flew to her head.

He moved so quickly, his chair overturned.
“What happened?” He knelt in front of her, holding her other
hand.

“When I talk about certain things, my head
hurts.” She rubbed her forehead.

He rubbed the back of her hand. “Okay, you
were saying what you saw the last time you were a certain place.”
He squeezed her hand in warning. “Don’t say anything, just listen
until the pain subsides.

She nodded.

Releasing her hand, he stood and backed up
to his chair. He sat and pondered what happened. “Amazing,” he
murmured.

“What?”

“The device latched into your brain keys
into not only your vision but also your speech. The pain comes when
you say certain words, which causes you to back off or… modify your
words. Have you done that? Instead of saying the lab or whatever
the building is where you were located, what if we called it red
site? Can you say that without pain? Red site.”

“Red site.” She straightened. “The red site
was surrounded by a lot of trees with…” she paused. “Give me
another word for below…” She pointed downward.

He grabbed his pad from his inner pocket and
a pen. “Below ground, like a bunker?” She shook her head.

“Not a basement, an underground facility
like this one?”

“Yes.”

He wrote red site in his pad, along with the
words, underground labs. With his other hand he pulled out his cell
and turned on the mini-recorder. “So the underground lab, red site,
is surrounded by a lot of trees. Was it near a main highway?”

“No.”

“Okay, to access it, you had to drive down a
long dirt road.”

“Yes.”

He wrote that information down. “The next
questions I want you to answer with numbers, hopefully none of
those will be a trigger.”

“I’d rather know now and avoid saying it
later. Let’s get on with it.”

He marveled at her eagerness to assist them
in this process. “There are three suns in the sky.”

“One.”

“A hybrid is made up of four beings.”

“Two.”

“You’ve had twenty surgeries.”

“Forty-seven.” Her mouth opened and then
snapped close. “That was good. Keep going.” She scooted closer to
the edge of the bed.

“How many fingers on your right hand?”

“Five.”

“How many pups does La Patron have?”

“Three.”

His brow rose at that, but he continued.
“What state does La Patron reside?”

“West Virginia.”

“And you were born in?”

“Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.” She gasped, and
swallowed hard. “Keep going.”

“Your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“The color of your eyes?”

“Dark brown, now reddish brown.”

He wondered if the camera lenses in her eyes
were the reason they had changed colors. “Your hair color?”

“Dark brown.”

“You are fifty years old?”

“One hundred and forty-four.” Her hand flew
to her mouth. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “Keep going.”

“Two brothers, two sisters?”

“Zero.”

“Father?”

“Don’t know.”

“Car color?”

“Silver.”

“Mother?”

“Roda-Mae.” Her breath hitched and she hung
her head.

Dr. Passen wiped his face as he processed
the information. After a few generic questions, he asked. “How many
doctors worked on you? Five? Ten? Fifteen?” There were only so many
men qualified to do the type of research and work that had been
done to her over the years. He’d run a check going back a hundred
years and ran the names by her.

“Over fifty. They never used names, only
codes. The codes were alphabet and numerical combinations. Like
ADJK0039.” She paused and then relaxed. “He worked the metal in my
leg. He’s foreign with a German accent. I remember he had thick
fingers and smelled like tobacco.”

“Okay.” He typed that information into his
phone and sent the email to his team so they could do a search.
“The metal was placed in your leg ten years ago.”

“Twelve. Twelve years.”

“You received a metal leg after falling from
a moving truck.”

“Airplane.” She winced.

His eyes widened, she had fallen from the
sky? No wonder she had a new leg and arm, her body should’ve
shattered. He glanced at her. She had placed her hands in her lap
as she sat perfectly still. Frowning he asked her, “Are you in
pain? Does your head hurt?”

“No. It works to empty myself and focus on
the questions so I can answer them succinctly.”

He nodded with approval. “Ten years ago the
first flesh-covered bomb was created.”

“Three. It came from another group.”

Good, they weren’t that far behind. “Five
years ago the serum to change wolves was created.”

“Eight. First shot.”

He glanced at his notes. “A lot of the
chemicals in the compound weren’t discovered eight years ago. That
means this formula has transitioned from the first batch.”

“Yes.”

He jotted down the information just as his
cell beeped. “Excuse me, I have to take this call.” He walked out
into the hall. “Sir?”

“I am on my way to the labs, I got a message
that it was time to approve the bomb detectors. Since the message
didn’t come from you, I'm calling to make sure you were ready.”

“Yes, Sir. I was interviewing Asia. We came
up with a way for her to answer questions without causing her
pain.”

“I want to hear all about it. I’ll meet you
in the demo area.” They clicked off.

Dr. Passen had just typed in the code to
open Asia’s door when Dr. Matt Chism rounded the corner. He had
been so engrossed with Asia, he had forgotten the doctor was on his
way. He waved Matt over. “Give me a minute to say good-bye and I’ll
bring you up to speed.”

Matt nodded and stayed next to the door as
Dr. Passen walked inside. “I have to meet La Patron, but I’d like
to finish this later.” He waited for her response, which was slow
in coming.

“Yes, but you should know I wasn’t in any
pain because I didn’t think. I just answered. That must mean the
lock is somehow connected to the cognitive processes in my brain.
Unfortunately, I don’t know if the answers are real or planted
memories.”

He nodded, remembered she couldn’t see him.
“You’re right, but there are ways to verify some things, and that’s
where we’ll begin. I really don’t want to do your forty-eighth
surgery unless it will give you peace without leaving you a
vegetable.”

She smiled. “I learned some things about
myself today. First off, if this thing in my brain could kill me,
I’d be dead already.”

Silently, he agreed with her.

“Second… dang, I’m old.”

He grinned and closed the door.

Chapter 7

Lt. Jennings checked the address in the
folder again, and then gazed at his GPS. According to his device,
the large colonial style home in front of him belonged to the
Merriweather’s. He pulled out his file. Supposedly this family was
one of the richest in the state, but judging by the unkempt
appearance of the estate, he wondered if that report was true. His
car idled at the turn off into the driveway while he worked out the
contradiction in his mind. The building looked abandoned, although
he saw lights.

Inhaling, he pulled onto the cracked
concrete masquerading as a driveway and inched slowly toward the
house. Overgrown grass and debris covered the front yard. He saw
loose boards on the wooden porch and wondered if it was safe. He
turned off his car, closed his eyes and inhaled, allowing his wolf
to check for danger. There was no response, which concerned
him.

He inhaled again, but there was no tingling
of danger, no whimpering or barking. No tenseness in his gut like
it had been earlier when he talked to Merriweather on the phone.
Concerned at the lack of response, he started a mental checklist to
determine the status of his beast just as Merriweather stepped out
onto the porch with a large smile of welcome.

Trapped, Jennings stepped out of the car and
put on his game face. “Mr. Merriweather, how’s it going?” He moved
closer but remained at the bottom of the steps, not trusting the
wood. His host was slightly under six feet, with a head full of
silver hair. The older man stared down at him with dark brown eyes
that in the waning sunlight appeared to have some sort of glow. Up
close, Jennings noted a thin metallic choker around the other man’s
neck, and the lower half of his face were filled with various sizes
of dark brown moles.

“Come on in, we were just having a drink.
Let me offer you something.” He waved and moved toward the
door.

“No, I have a date, I’m sorry. If you could
just give me the rest of the information, I’d appreciate it.” Even
with his wolf silent, the hair had risen on the back of his neck.
Going into that house was a bad idea.

Merriweather eyed him over his shoulder for
a moment. “You know, son, I’m not sure where you’re from. But here
in West Virginia, we believe in southern hospitality. A man comes
to my door, I invite him in and offer him a drink to wipe the dust
from his pipes before he gets back on the road again. Now for some
reason you’re being real un-neighborly. I want to know why? Has
Silas Knight gotten to you? Has he made you promises? Or did he
threaten you to make you close this investigation?” By the time
Merriweather asked the last question, he had walked down the steps
and was in Jennings' face.

“No and no. I told you I have something else
to do. That’s all. If you have the information ready, I’ll take it
with me.” He met the other man’s stare without backing down.

“Okay.” Merriweather nodded, his eyes
narrowed into slits. “I’ll get it for you.” Turning, he strode into
the house.

It was all Jennings could do to remain
composed. For a moment he thought the older man might hit him, the
anger had been wafting off him in waves. Surely his refusal to
share a drink with the man wasn’t enough to bring on that type of
anger.

The front door slammed. Merriweather held a
flat box straight out in front of him. When he reached Jennings, he
offered it to him.

“Here,” he said when Jennings didn’t remove
it from his hand. Jennings took the box and backed off, intending
to leave.

“Aren’t you going to look in it?”
Merriweather’s jovial voice had been replaced with one of
exasperation.

“When I get to the station.” He opened his
car door and prepared to toss the box in the back seat.

“You really need to look at it now. If you
have any questions, I can answer them for you,” Merriweather’s tone
had changed again, this time it was more conciliatory.

In the back of his mind he heard the captain
telling him to get this case closed. If looking into the box at the
so-called new evidence would hasten the process, he needed to do
it. Exhaling, and since there was no outcry from his wolf, Jennings
opened the box. Inside there was a lace satchel with some leaves
inside. He picked it up, turned it over, and saw the leaves were
dried with some powder. He inhaled “How is this relevant to the
case?” he asked glancing at Merriweather and then back at the
meager contents of the box.