Tainted Hearts (15 page)

“I slept for a couple hours,” he told her.
“Elise awoke a few minutes ago. Basically ordered me to go
home.”

“Smart girl.” Her gaze moved over his face
and she shook her head. “Your new look still creeps me out. I keep
waiting for the real Marc to walk through the door.”

“I paid extra for the creep factor.” He
chuckled.

“Will you listen to your daughter? You
certainly haven’t listened to me.”

Marc stood and made a sweeping gesture
toward the chair. “I know when I’m bested. I’ll be back—”

“I don’t want to see you until tomorrow.”
Her dark eyes flashed with warning. “Elise is doing remarkably
well. All of her vital signs are stable and have been since she
came out of surgery. I’m here, as is one of the most highly trained
staff on the planet. Go home! If you still remember where you
live.”

He laughed at her bossy tone. “Yes, ma’am.
I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

She shook her head and sat in the chair he’d
just vacated. “You’re impossible. Adorable, but impossible.”

The smile curving Marc’s lips disappeared
when he strode out of the room and nearly collided with General
Bettencourt. “You better be looking for me. I don’t want you near
my daughter.”

“Do all your employees find you
‘adorable’?”

Refusing to rise to the bait, Marc walked
farther down the hall, drawing the general away from Elise’s room.
“What do you want?”

“We made a deal. Subject A is well on her
way to recovery. My boss feels it’s time to move forward with the
mission.”

Marc wasn’t a violent person, but every time
Bettencourt was near him, he wanted to punch him. “Have you spoken
with Ms. Fitzpatrick?”

“She wants you to supervise her. I’m telling
her supervisor that we expect results and we expect them quickly.
Rahab has been subjected to PURE’s influence for nearly a month. My
boss is willing to do anything to get her back.”

Arguing with him was pointless. Bettencourt
might be obnoxious and powerless, but his “boss” was neither. “I’ll
either return Rahab to you within the week or report to you
regarding our progress.”

“You know General Bettencourt?” Marc
accepted the beer Phil handed him with a distracted smile.

The older man nodded and returned to his
chair behind the wide control console. Phil’s office was a more
elaborate version of Marc’s attic booth. Surveillance and recording
equipment surrounded them. How Phil survived in this underground
warren, for days on end, without going mad amazed Marc. Still he
was grateful for Phil’s insight and expertise.

“Glen Bettencourt and I go way back. People
like Bettencourt were the primary reasons I went into business for
myself.”

“Is he dirty? Can we trust him with
Tuesday’s safety?”

Phil stroked his close-trimmed beard, his
expression thoughtful. “That’s two different questions.
Bettencourt’s connection to the president is legitimate and he’s
damn good at what he does, but I wouldn’t turn my back on him. As
long as his interests correspond with yours, everything will be
fine. But Bettencourt considers everyone expendable.”

“He’s left the details to me. I just have to
keep him informed of my progress.”

“The ultimate objective is retrieval?”

Marc nodded. “President Rawsen wants his
daughter back. What father wouldn’t?”

“And if Raeanne Rawsen doesn’t want to be
rescued?”

“Has Elijah made contact with her? Do you
have reason to believe her conversion is legitimate?”

Phil shook his head and glanced away.
“Elijah’s made contact with a woman calling herself Rahab. Whether
or not his Rahab is the right Rahab has yet to be seen.”

“Why wouldn’t she want to be rescued from a
man like Job?”

“Job ordered the murder of her fiancé. If
Raeanne is out for blood, she’s not going to allow herself to be
rescued until she’s had her fill.”

“Do you know her?”

“I know of her.” He paused, giving his beard
one last scratch. “I was going to suggest we allow Elijah to
fulfill his mission and take Tuesday to Job.”

“And now?”

“It might seem more natural if she contacts
him on her own.”

Marc narrowed his gaze on Phil’s face. “Why
would she respond after all this time?”

“You’ve given her the perfect excuse. She
was so traumatized by your kidnapping that she’s having second
thoughts about everything.”

Marc chuckled. “I see where you’re going
with this. Can you get a message to Elijah, let him know what’s
going on?”

“I’ve pulled Elijah off the case for a few
days.”

Trepidation tightened Marc stomach.
“Why?”

“You can only be exposed to propaganda for
so long before you start to believe. He’ll be fine. He just needs a
few days to de-PUREify himself.”

Marc nodded again. He’d heard stories of how
easily Job bent others to his will with nothing more than the force
of his personality. He had to prepare Tuesday mentally and
emotionally for what she’d be facing at PURE.

Phil turned back to the control console,
activating some sort of scan.

“Has there been any activity at my house? Is
it safe for me to go home?”

“It’s still best to avoid any sort of
routine. How many people have seen the new you?”

“A lot of people have seen me, but only a
handful realize who I am. I trust all of them.”

Phil’s gaze shot back to Marc’s, his lips
pressed into a grim line. “Until the Tower of Babel crumbles, you
can’t afford to trust anyone. Suspicion will keep you alive.”

Marc had called ahead to forewarn her of his
coming, but Tuesday’s stomach still did a little somersault when
she opened the door.

“Mr. Sinclair,” she greeted.

“Ms. Fitzpatrick.”

He stepped past her and entered the
apartment. After locking the door, she turned and found herself in
his arms. He pressed her against the door and sealed his mouth over
hers, capturing her startled gasp. His hands stroked her hips and
cupped her butt, while he touched and tasted her with bold sweeps
of his tongue.

She made a small distressed sound as he tore
his mouth from hers. Panting softly, she watched him rake his
fingers through his hair, then push away from the door. “What was
that about?”

“I just wanted to make damn sure you
understand this isn’t strictly business.”

She touched her still tingling lips, her
gaze following his casual stride as he crossed the living room.
She’d been ready for him this time—she thought. Dressed in a softly
flowing skirt and silky blouse that made her feel feminine and
attractive, she’d waited for his arrival. But she’d expected
polite, reserved Mr. Sinclair, not this prowling…sexual…

“Can I have something to drink?”

Forcing her gaze away from his tight rear
end, she asked, “What would you like?”

“What have you got?”

“Well, coffee, or—”

“Do you have a caffeine addiction or
something?” He chuckled.

“Too many hours in the lab.”

He followed her into the kitchen and
accepted a steaming mug of her favorite brew. “Did you have dinner
before you arrived?”

“Yeah. Bettencourt returned my solar
shuttle, so I’ve been home and back.”

A certain catch in his tone made her narrow
her eyes. Why would he lie to her about something so simple? “How
is Elise?”

“Sleepy.”

Tuesday nodded, consciously releasing the
tension gathering between her shoulder blades. She wanted to trust
him, needed to trust him. So why were her instincts being so
contrary?

“They’ll continue to keep her sedated for a
day or two. There hasn’t been any sign of infection or any other
complication and the SP-65 is performing perfectly.”

“I know.”

She couldn’t read his expression. Did she
even want to know what he was thinking in his current mood? She’d
never seen him like this, wasn’t even sure what “this” was. He
inhaled the steam, then took a slow sip from his mug. His eyes
closed as he savored the beverage.

Now, she’d seen that expression before. His
features had relaxed into this same nearly rapturous arrangement as
he touched her, stripped her, stimulated her senses until…

“You didn’t explain what—” She paused to
clear her throat. “What you’re doing here.”

“The president is tired of waiting.” He
looked right into her eyes. “And so am I.”

“That better be two different issues.” She
hid her embarrassed smile with a quick sip from her mug.

“We’ll deal with one issue and then explore
the other.” He paused and raked his fingers through his hair. “Your
official mission briefing has begun.”

“Why don’t we have a seat in the living
room?” She motioned beyond him with her mug. “I suspect this is
going to be a complicated conversation.”

He nodded and followed her into the front
room. “If Rahab has been conditioned for a month or more, she may
not want to be rescued. She might well be a liability rather than
an asset.”

“There’s no way to know until we get inside.
Is there?” They sat down together pivoting slightly toward each
other.

“It’s best if we prepare ourselves for the
worst. Tell me what you know about PURE. And tell me honestly what
you think about them.”

She crossed her legs and considered the
question. “I know they operated underground for several years
before Job emerged as their leader. Was he always in charge or was
it his rise to power that shifted the approach of the
organization?”

“Accounts vary widely but it appears that
Job was always at the center of the storm.”

He paused, so she continued with her account
of PURE. “I guess the Ratings Act was their first political
success. No one really knew who they were until after they lobbied
for mandatory ratings.”

“How did you vote for the bill?”

Nervously fiddling with her skirt, she
admitted, “I supported it.”

He took her hand and pulled it away from her
mangled skirt. She lifted her gaze to his. “Why wouldn’t you? The
way they spun it, it made perfect sense. It was in the public’s
best interest to know how far the mutation had spread. The data
gathered because of the Ratings Act allowed the identification of
genetic patterns and certain predispositions to the syndrome.”

“But they took it way too far.” She curved
her legs to the side, tucking her skirt around them. “The Public
Registry has created a form of prejudice that didn’t exist
before.”

“And it’s that prejudice PURE exploits.
You’ve read their literature. Tell me what they believe.”

“PURE believes that those who have refrained
from the temptations of vanity shouldn’t be subjected to the—how
did they put it—righteous judgment of those who failed to resist
the temptation.”

He caught the hem of her skirt and pushed it
up, revealing her bare toes. She laughed and slapped his hand
away.

“In other words,” she dragged out the
syllable until his gaze focused on her face. “According to PURE,
anyone who ended up with Methuselah Syndrome only got what they
deserved.”

“Yeah. Explain that to Elise.”

“Elise is suffering from the sin of her
father, another biblical principle.” His gaze narrowed, but he made
no comment. “Let’s move beyond the obvious. PURE’s ultimate goal is
to segregate those untainted by the genetic abnormality until those
with it have died out. Then they’ll repopulate the earth with PURE
people.”

“And if we tainted people take too long to
die off, Job and his merry men will resort to murder.”

“If they’re really that fanatical, wouldn’t
they be after me too? My life’s work is keeping tainted people
alive.” He didn’t respond and a chill skittered down Tuesday’s
spine. Lowering her feet to the floor, she pivoted to face him.
“You think I’m a target?”

“You can’t underestimate Job’s dedication to
his cause. I think he wants to recruit you, but if you prove
uncooperative, don’t doubt that he’ll PUREify you.”

Rubbing her arms, she pushed to her feet and
moved to the other side of the coffee table. He couldn’t be
serious. Why would the president even consider sending her to the
PURE stronghold if she was a target? “Does Bettencourt know about
this?”

“I don’t know what Bettencourt knows or
thinks he knows. You asked for me to supervise you and I’m not
sending you in blind.”

He lounged on the sofa, his arm extended
along the back, the picture of self-assured elegance. She wanted to
rumple his hair and wrinkle his shirt. How could he be so calm?
“All right. While we’re being brutally honest here, explain to me
what conditioning means and why any woman with a brain doesn’t just
walk away from PURE?”

“That’s a complicated question. I’m not a
psychologist, but I know they target people who are isolated,
people who crave affiliation. Their scouts figure out which sort of
person a potential recruit will most readily respond to and then
that’s who the recruit will happen to meet. Many people don’t need
to be recruited; they come to PURE of their own free will.”

“But why?”

“Perhaps their Purity Rating is the only
thing in their life that has ever made them feel special,
important.”

“God, you’ve just described Sydney to a tee.
What did your security people say about her?”

His head inclined in a faint nod. “They
agree. She’s under continual surveillance. If a recruiter goes near
her, I’ll know.”

She couldn’t think about potential threats
right now, she had to focus on the mission. “You said women are
treated like slaves. Once they realize what’s expected of them
why—”

“Tuesday, the line between submission and
slavery can blur. Pleasure can be addictive. They change the
expectations so gradually she doesn’t realize they’ve moved from
submission to servitude. Besides, it’s only slavery when the woman
is forced to submit.”