Skin Tight (23 page)

The nurse laughed. “When you put it that way—hold still. This will only take a second.”

“If you say so.”

With competent hands she tapped a vein and then deftly connected the shunt. Since they only needed one sample, she removed the needle, gave him a cotton pad to press over the site, and then labeled the vial with a tracking number. It would go to the lab to check for cholesterol, any indication of illness, and probably drugs as well, though if they were only testing for that, he could’ve peed in a cup.

“There, we’re all done. The doctor will be in shortly to complete the process and sign your work forms, but everything looks good so far.” Her saucy look said more, but he didn’t bite.

Before she could take the sample away, he said, “Did you hear that?” And donned a concerned look.

His gift would do that rest.

“Crud,” she said, manufacturing a convenient emergency. “I’ll be right back.”

The vial lay forgotten on the counter as she hurried out. He sprang into motion, and within a couple of minutes, he’d substituted the donor blood for his own and tagged it appropriately. His own went into his pocket. By the time the doctor came in, he was sitting on the exam table, studying a poster of the human circulatory system.

Dr. Moss was on the verge of retirement, and he didn’t move too fast anymore. He ambled toward Søren with a vague smile, his chart nowhere in sight. “Let’s get you out of here as fast we can, shall we?”

“Sounds good to me.”

The doctor listened to Søren’s heart, checked reflexes, and peered into various orifices before saying, “You appear to be in excellent health, young man. Do you have something for me to sign?”

He produced the form and Dr. Moss scrawled his name at the bottom. “The receptionist can fill in the rest. See you next time!”

Søren hopped off the table and threaded his way through the hallway crowded with the nurse in pink, an ineffectual woman, and a little girl, who was crying so hard her nose had gone red and her cheeks were blotchy. He paused, thinking of Lexie.

“Shots?” he asked the nurse, who confirmed with a nod. “Has she had a lolli yet?”

The child peered up at him through wet, sticky lashes, her sobs dialing back to a snuffle so she could speak. “Do they have cherry?”

“I’m pretty sure we do,” Nurse Pink said. “I’ll get you a red one. But you have to stop crying or you might choke on your sucker.”

The mother gave him a grateful smile. “You’re good with kids.” Her gaze went to his left hand. “Do you have any of your own?”

“No,” he said.

Søren headed for the reception area, where he handed over his form. It didn’t take long to wrap things up, and soon he had charged the copay and escaped the cloying warmth of the office. After checking his watch, he determined there was no point in going back to Micor today, as he’d predicted to Glenna.

Outside, the wind cut up rough, presaging rain. He tugged the collar of his coat up and sprinted for his car, hoping to outrun the storm.

Rowan looked at
the data in disbelief. One of the lab techs must have contaminated the samples. Sometimes he swore he could make more competent help out of monkey parts.

Still, he was nothing if not cautious, so he ran the tests himself. The results rocked him; the blood was definitely a positive match, as his own work was flawless.

They had been relying on regular infusions of AB-negative from the local blood bank, but it appeared they had the donor on staff in the surface facility. That was a stroke of luck. Test subject I-53 would soon need another transfusion; she was running through the stock much quicker than they’d anticipated. If they could avoid using the blood bank again this early, it would be best.

He pondered. Though it was unprecedented, he could send a request for one of the techs in the dummy lab to approach the employee with a sob story about a dying relative. That should motivate the man to give blood. Rowan checked the name on the sample.

Strong. Thomas Strong. He worked in Human Resources. Despite himself, Rowan chuckled. That seemed particularly apropos.

Before he could dispatch the necessary instruction, his computer beeped. It could be only one person, and it must be important, so he opened his e-mail.
Trouble. Forwarding you the pertinent logs.

There was only one person who had any contact with what went on down below: their chief of security. He was grim-faced ex-military; he would do anything to keep his comfortable income and understood the necessity of loyalty and silence. And even the security chief didn’t know the extent of the work. He had just been instructed to attach anything out of the ordinary. Generally, he did a good job of monitoring and not bothering Rowan more than necessary. But recently, he’d brought a disgruntled employee to their attention, and her behavior at work had become sufficiently alarming to prompt Rowan to bug her home as a precaution. People were never as clever or as careful as they thought.

This was the first time the chief had sent anything in a while, since the unpleasantness in the upstairs lab. They’d taken care of the girl quietly and left nothing to worry about. Her body would be nothing but ash by now. So why did he have a bad feeling about playing this message?

Frowning, he dismissed the foreboding. There was no logical reason for it. Rowan clicked on the file. His frown turned into a thundercloud scowl.
Not another one.
Only that wasn’t precisely accurate; this time, there were two, acting in concert. He studied the information the security chief had included.

He typed a terse reply:
You did well. I’ll take it from here.
Though he loathed the diversion from his work, he had to nip this in the bud. With a faint sigh, he tapped out another message.
New external complication. Proceed as usual?

He’d never met the person on the other end; he only knew that the individual served as a liaison between the board of directors and him.

He wanted to get back to work, but this required resolution. So instead he sat at his computer awaiting a reply. That necessity chafed at him a bit. He knew perfectly what the liaison would say.

Within fifteen minutes, he was proved correct.

Just one word. But he knew what to do next. Rowan sent another e-mail, bounced through four different servers. The message contained an encrypted work order. Kelly Clark and Mia Sauter would be dealt with soon.

Next, he sent a worm that would gobble up any traces of the security chief’s message. The other man would open it, knowing it would purge his system but not harm his files. They’d perfected the process over the years.

This mess tidied to his satisfaction, Rowan was able to return to his real work. There was only one person he could trust to carry out his instructions, so he e-mailed the security chief once more.
If financial incentive is required to secure the donation, offer it,
he concluded. His man would filter the matter through the lab director, providing layers of screen.

Satisfied he’d done everything possible to prevent the loss of I-53, he focused on his next concern. T-89 was spending too much time with Gillie. If Rowan didn’t need the subject, he’d dispose of him. Unfortunately, he was the first real success, and Rowan couldn’t afford to lose him. Yet.

Once he documented the case fully and had digital recordings of all applications of T-89’s power, then he could get rid of him. The subject was too volatile ever to release, and too expensive to keep long term. T-89 required too much medication and too much food to make him a viable permanent part of Rowan’s ultimate plan.

Unlike Gillie. She was a pleasure to work with. That jogged his memory, so he checked the time. Ah, she should be awake. He knew she looked forward to his morning visits, just before he went off shift. Rowan put aside his research, checked his reflection in the mirror above the lab sink, and went in search of Gillie.

She answered the door on the first knock, proving her eagerness. Rowan let himself soak in the sight of her. Each time, her beauty struck him anew, from her slight, delicate figure to her tousled red gold curls. Her skin was pale as cream, her eyes a sparkling blue, and her nose had an impish tilt.
Classic Irish loveliness,
Rowan thought.

He greeted her with a smile. “Is that breakfast I smell?” Bobbing her head, she stepped back so he could enter. The table was set with French toast and a dish of scrambled eggs, enough for two. “Are you sure you’re not a mind reader, too?”

Her brow crinkled. “God, I hope not. Why?”

“You seem to have anticipated my arrival.”

“Ah. Yes.” She added another plate to the table.

He sat down and let her serve him. Gillie obviously enjoyed the chance to show her affection in small ways, though a deeper liaison was out of the question. For now. A small tub of butter joined the syrup; she added forks and then sat down across from him.

Her hands trembled a little as she reached for the dish of eggs. Rowan smiled; he found it quite flattering that he could affect her like this, make her all shy and fluttery. Warmth swelled within him.

For a while, there was only the clink of silver against plates. She was quite a good cook, though her French toast had too much cinnamon. He decided against commenting. After all, criticism from him would crush her.

At length he asked, gentle and sympathetic, “How are you getting on with T-89? He hasn’t inconvenienced you? I had no choice but to permit his visits. I’m sorry, Gillie.”

“It’s all right. I don’t mind.” She sounded subdued, as well she might, discussing that animal. But she was a saint, making such sacrifices for his work.

Rowan dared to be candid this once. “I promise, all of this will be worth it someday. I’m going to take you away from here when I’ve finished. Things will be different.”

“Really,” she said quietly.

He couldn’t blame her for doubting her good fortune. “Yes. Amid all my other research, I’m working on synthesizing a compound that will mimic what your blood does. Once that’s possible, we can cure any disease known to man. Imagine it, Gillie: a universal medicine, all because of you. You’ll be lauded all over the world.” He smiled at her. “And so will I. Together, we can do anything.”

“I hardly know what to say. I can’t believe my luck.”

That was what he loved best about her. She wasn’t exuberant even during her greatest joys. Gillie understood the value of decorum; she was a lady down to the tips of her toes. She didn’t curse, and she never raised her voice. A woman like that made a man better, stronger; she knew her place and she did her best to help him shine.

“Understandable. Just know you have my abject apologies for subjecting you to that cretin. I will not allow it to go on any longer than it must.”

“It’s all right,” she said, eating some eggs before adding, “I can bear anything.”

Rowan heard the unspoken subtext:
She can bear anything, as long as she has the promise of a future with me.
His heart swelled. Overcome by emotion, he plucked her left hand from where it rested on the table’s edge and sealed a kiss into her palm.

“You are an angel,” he murmured huskily.

She inhaled sharply and tugged away, curling her fingers as if to save the sensation. Her subtlety aroused him. Gillie wasn’t
playing
the coy virgin; she was innocence personified. When he made love to her for the first time, she would never have known a man’s mouth on hers.

He finished his breakfast in silence while she ate almost nothing, another sign of her elegance. “Thank you. That was wonderful.”

Gillie nodded and started clearing the table, the model of demure femininity.

“Well, I’m off for the day. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Again, she didn’t trust herself to speak, so she contented herself with a wave. It was probably hard for her to see him leave. Rowan realized he must present an unbearable temptation, which only reinforced his good opinion of her. He would respect her less if she clung and cried and begged him not to leave her. She was a woman of indomitable strength and impeccable refinement.

He went contented to his rest.

 

 

Taye stepped out
of the bathroom. “Christ almighty, I thought he’d never leave.”

Gillie slumped, bowing her head over the sink. “You can’t keep sneaking around like this. They’ll kill you if they catch you.”

“If. Don’t worry about me.” He offered a cocky grin.

“I have to. You’re the only friend I have.”

“C’mon, sweetheart. You have to admit, you like the adrenaline. You kept Tightass happy by feeding him my breakfast, and then sent him on his way thinking you can’t wait to run off with him. That’s genius.”

Her lips curved into a half smile, despite the fear-induced nausea. “It was kind of funny listening to him talk about you, knowing you could hear every word. Do they know you can leave magnetic impressions on digital recordings?”

Taye shook his head, sitting down at the table. “No, and they won’t until it’s too late, either.”

“So they don’t realize you’re manipulating all the cameras down here.” She cracked some more eggs, scrambling them deftly in the skillet. “Or that you have a third power.”

“That’s me.” Bitterness tainted his voice. “The biggest freak in the sideshow.”

Gillie aimed her spatula at him. “At least you’re not the freak who laid the golden egg, nor does the chief torturer want to bang you silly.”

He widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Your language is appalling.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with Rowan.”

“Ya think?”

“I mean it. He doesn’t want a real woman. He wants one that doesn’t argue, doesn’t eat, doesn’t have bodily functions . . . just lives to gratify him.”