Tainted Hearts (11 page)

“Hostile raids?” Marc scoffed.

She laid her hand on his forearm. “Just let
him in.”

Tucking his pistol into the back of his
pants and quickly covering it with his shirt, Marc opened the door.
The general walked into the lodge, his four subordinates a step
behind. How had they found her? What did they know and what did
they only suspect?

The general gave a subtle hand signal and
his men jumped Marc. With quick, efficient movements, they threw
him to the floor, disarmed him and secured his arms at the small of
his back.

“Stop it!” She tugged on one soldier’s
brawny arm, but he hardly noticed her. “What are you doing?”

“We know this man abducted you, Ms.
Fitzpatrick.” General Bettencourt pulled her back from the
struggling men. “You needn’t be afraid. We’re here to protect
you.”

“Sure you are.” She snatched her arm out of
his grasp. “Let him up. He didn’t abduct me. At least not in the
way you mean.”

Bettencourt’s complexion deepened from
florid to crimson. “You wish your kidnapper released?”

“He didn’t…that is…”

“Yes?”

“It was a surprise.” She did her best to
look embarrassed. Oh, to be able to blush on command. “He kidnapped
me; it’s true, but only to bring me to this romantic getaway. Do
you understand, now?”

“You’re Sinclair’s lover?”

She thought of the countless nights she’d
spent with her imaginary Mr. Sinclair and felt her cheeks heat.
Better late than never. “Yes. Now, call off your men.”

“Release him,” Bettencourt grumbled. “Secure
a perimeter outside.”

Marc scrambled to his feet, rolling his
shoulders and rubbing his wrists. “Give me back my pistol.”

“It will be returned to you in Baltimore if
you behave yourself.”

His condescending tone made Tuesday cringe.
Marc wasn’t foolish enough to attack an armed man, was he? The fury
burning in his gaze wasn’t reassuring.

“I thought Special Forces had us surrounded.
Why send your men outside?”

Ignoring the question, the general assessed
Marc’s features. “You’ve had your face altered.”

“It was part of the surprise. Tuesday didn’t
know I was having it done.”

“You were at our meeting, dressed as a
courtesy attendant. Do you often play these little games?”

“Why are you here?” Tuesday demanded.

“To rescue you.” He curved his thin lips in
a frigid excuse for a smile. “But now that I know you don’t need
rescuing—”

“You’ll get the hell off my property,” Marc
suggested.

“Shall we sit?” The general motioned toward
the table near the windows.

“You won’t be here that long.”

Hands clasped behind his back, Bettencourt
scowled at Marc and rocked subtly on the balls of his feet. “Fine.
I’ll come right to the point. You aren’t the only one capable of
recording conversations.”

“Meaning?” Tuesday prompted.

“Meaning, your recording of my conversation
with Ms. Lucero is nullified by my recording of your conversation
with Ms. Lucero.”

She hid her shock behind a forced laugh.
“Vonne needs an exterminator. Her office is just crawling with
bugs.”

“I’m glad you find it amusing. Although our
recordings negate one another, I happen to know the identity of
little Subject A, which gives me a slight—”

Marc flew at the general, tangled his fists
in the older man’s jacket and slammed him against the wall.
Bettencourt’s hat toppled to the floor and his gun remained in its
holster. Red dots suddenly identified Marc’s vital organs.

“Marc, I like your shirt.” No wonder
Bettencourt had wanted them near the windows.

With a parting shove, Marc stepped back. The
red dots blinked out.

Tuesday released a shaky breath. Were
threats the only strategy Bettencourt knew? If the general actually
went public with Elise’s identity, he’d no longer have any power
over them. Apparently, he wasn’t thinking that far ahead. “General
Bettencourt, CPT has been licensed to install the SP-65 in ten test
subjects. Subject A has nothing to do with you.”

The general remained near the wall, his
resentful gaze seldom straying from Marc. “Despite what you may
think, Ms. Fitzpatrick, I’m not a stupid man. I know you and Mr.
Sinclair had never been in the same room together before
yesterday.”

“Better check the accuracy of your sources.
We’ve known each other for years.” She crossed her arms, rubbing
her hands briskly against her bare skin.

“I’ve a sad story too, and a girl who needs
your help. Sound familiar?” He paused to pick up his hat. “I want
the same thing he wants, Ms. Fitzpatrick. I’m just not willing to
sleep with you to get it.”

Tuesday’s hand flew fast and hard, jerking
the general’s head to the side. She didn’t need to look down to
know she sported the red dots. “If President Rawsen needs my help,
he can ask for it. I find you completely objectionable!”

She turned and took one purposeful step
before the general grabbed her by the throat and jerked her back
against his chest. She heard Marc’s angry curse, but Bettencourt
held her immobilized against him. “Go ahead, Sinclair, try it. I’ll
crush her throat before you ever touch me, and if I don’t, the
snipers will take you out before I hit the floor.”

“You’re a fabulous negotiator,” Marc
snarled. “Must be the president’s pride and joy.”

“I’ve never found pleasure in pain, but
there are those in my company who would be happy to arrange a
demonstration. They could torture Ms. Fitzpatrick while we watch
and—”

“How is this helping Raeanne?” Tuesday
rasped out.

The hand against her throat eased. “You’re
going to help Raeanne. You’re going to meet with Job and
you’re—”

“No! Job is a lunatic and you know it,” Marc
objected. “How many agents from how many agencies have attempted to
infiltrate PURE? How many have you lost?”

“Why would you fight me on this, Sinclair?
You want him stopped as much as we do. What’s the current bounty to
PUREify you?”

Tuesday gasped softly, her gaze colliding
with Marc’s. “PURE wants you dead?”

“Badly,” he admitted.

“Was that the real reason for your face job?
Does PURE finally have you on the run?” He pushed Tuesday away and
straightened his uniform jacket. “We want the same thing, and we’re
all willing to push certain boundaries to get it. You want your
daughter restored to health. President Rawsen wants his daughter
returned to safety. We all want PURE dismantled permanently.”

“And I’m the price that must be paid for
everyone to get what they want.” Tuesday shuddered.

“I’m not recruiting a sacrificial lamb, more
like a Trojan horse.”

“Oh, thank you very much!” Tuesday felt her
face burn and wanted to crawl under the nearest piece of furniture.
Marc’s soft chuckle didn’t help the situation.

“I simply meant we need a means by which to
transport the real threat. You will not be expected to put yourself
in harm’s way.”

“You’re full of shit,” Marc said calmly. “If
she goes near the PURE stronghold, she’s in harm’s way.”

“Why don’t we head back to Baltimore? We can
compare notes on the way.” With a tight, humorless smile, he put on
his hat. “Isn’t Ms. Lucero expecting you?”

“Is it true that you’re sleeping with your
wife’s sister?”

If Marc hadn’t been securely fastened into
the transport’s seat for takeoff he would have punched the
obnoxious old windbag in the face. No doubt that was the reason
General Bettencourt had waited until this moment to ask the
question.

“Do they teach you how to push people’s
buttons or does it come naturally?” Tuesday countered from beside
him, her tone light, her green eyes sparkling with amusement.

Maybe she was right. The general’s tactless
provocations were only effective if he reacted to them. “Laura Finn
is my sister-in-law. She is also a nurse, but I’m not sleeping with
her. Thanks for asking.”

“She lives in your house, has since before
your wife overdosed on a drug you created. Are you sure the message
Emma released to the media told the whole story? Maybe she found
out you were—”

“Stop provoking him or I won’t go near
Job!”

Marc had been about to make a far less
polite threat. Why would she defend him? Why had she protected him
in the lodge? And why had her face turned the most fascinating
shade of red when she said he was her lover?

“We need your cooperation,” the general told
her. “I don’t give a damn about him. I thought they should have let
him fry a long time ago.”

Marc had learned to ignore this sort of
resentment over the years. He didn’t give a damn what Bettencourt
thought. His gaze drifted toward Tuesday and uncertainty tightened
his gut. He knew she didn’t think Elise deserved to be punished for
his role in the catastrophe. But what about him?

The transport vibrated, the G-force stealing
Marc’s breath. It took almost three hours to reach Baltimore in his
solar shuttle. The military transport would cut that time in
half.

“Why don’t you go after Raeanne?” Marc
asked. “Seems to me you’re ripe for conversion to PURE’s
philosophies.”

The transport stabilized and Bettencourt
unfastened his safety restraints with a menacing clatter. Leaning
forward, he rested a forearm on his knee. “I watched Methuselah
Syndrome reduce my wife of twenty years to a gasping, frail shell
of a human being before it snuffed her life out completely. She
died two years before Ms. Fitzpatrick released the SP-64.”

“Did you take it, General Bettencourt?”
Tuesday asked.

Marc glanced at her. She was staring at
Bettencourt, her expression composed, nonconfrontational.

“Did I take Methuselah?” he asked and she
nodded. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Why? What made you first decide to take
it?”

He sat back in the seat, adjusting his tie.
“I saw how it worked with my wife Eleanor and couldn’t believe my
own eyes. It was as if she were frozen in time. She remained the
young, vibrant woman I’d fallen in love with, while I looked older
and more worn-out every year.”

Marc’s throat tightened, his chest burned.
What the general described had happened across the country—then
across the globe. Methuselah had been dubbed the most significant
medical discovery since antibiotics. He shuddered. Until his
brainchild turned out to be the most virulent killer since the
plague.

“So you took it too,” Tuesday went on. “Your
wife wouldn’t grow old with you, so you decided to stay young with
her.”

“But we didn’t stay young, now did we?
Eleanor died of heart failure directly related to Methuselah
Syndrome at fifty-three.”

“It wasn’t Mr. Sinclair’s fault.” Her tone
was soft yet definitive. “They didn’t even set out to find a cure
for aging. It was our obsession with youth, our fixation on
superficial beauty that brought about this tragedy.
Sinclair-Dietrich inadvertently discovered the formula, developed
the perfect combination of chemicals, but the discovery only had
significance because of our vanity.”

“Thank you, Job!” Bettencourt spat. “Talk
about PUREist propaganda. But then you never took Methuselah, did
you? You’re a 0.0, a true PURE, exalted and privileged in Job’s new
world order.”

Tuesday refused to dignify his outburst with
a response. If Bettencourt thought she wanted anything to do with
PURE, he was deluded. Unfastening her safety restraints, she
crossed her legs and changed the subject. “Tell me about Ms.
Rawsen. How was she recruited by PURE? How long has she been inside
the stronghold?”

“You aren’t actually thinking about doing
this, are you?”

She shot Marc an impatient glance. “You had
no problem manipulating me to get what you wanted.”

Her scathing glare cut short the general’s
laughter. She was tired of being a pawn, tired of playing by their
rules. Scooting to the edge of the seat, she straightened her back
and determined to gain some control over the situation. If she were
only a pawn, why were they so desperate for her to play?

Understanding, tranquil and sweet, unfurled
within her. Oh, she was no pawn; she was the queen, the most mobile
piece on the board. Not the most powerful, just the most useful.
Well this queen was finished being manipulated by men!

“There’s a small miscalculation in your
threat, General Bettencourt,” she began. “Revealing the identity of
Subject A might cast a shadow of doubt over the SP-65 Project, but
there will be nine more studies anyway. The only person you really
hurt by following through with your threat is Mr. Sinclair, and of
course, his daughter.”

“You don’t care what happens to the child?”
The general’s tone was provoking.

“You know I do. That’s why she was admitted
to the program. It certainly wasn’t her father’s charming
manner.”

“You’re getting at something,” Bettencourt
said.

“If you reveal the identity of Subject A,
I’ll reveal the identity of Rahab. What a scandal that would cause.
Not to mention what Job would do to her.”

“What do you want?”

“Blackmail isn’t so pleasant when you’re on
the receiving end. I wonder how the public would respond if they
learned—”

“I said what do you want!”

“I want Mr. Sinclair.”

“Anytime. Anywhere,” Marc drawled. “Thought
we’d established that already.”

Despite the seductive taunt in his words,
his gaze was angry and cold. Tuesday swallowed hard. She had to
protect herself and she didn’t know where else to turn. If PURE was
trying to kill him, then surely she could trust him where they were
concerned. Having a mutual enemy wasn’t much on which to base an
alliance but she couldn’t do this alone.

“What exactly do you want Sinclair to do?”
the general asked.