Safe Passage (3 page)

“Oh. Yes. Of course. I’ll be there.”

“Well, have a good day, then.” Her top lip twitched slightly as if at some secret joke. “Happy writing.”

Was there mockery in her tone? Challenge in her voice?

“Happy doing whatever it is scientists in Haven do,” he answered.

She halted, as if unwilling to leave just yet. She turned back to face him. “I do research and development. I work mostly with insects and design biological control measures for the agriculture and horticulture industries.”

“You mean, you create assassin bugs?”

She laughed that deep, smoky laugh. “That’s cute, McIntyre. Yes, I find and develop little predators.”

“I see.” He allowed his eyes to walk slowly, obviously, over her utterly amazing body. “I’d never have pegged you for a bug lady.”

She laughed again, a little less sure. “A bug lady? What’s a ‘bug lady’ supposed to look like?”

Scott smiled, holding her eyes. “Not like you.”

For a moment their gazes locked. A silent, primal current swelled, surged between them.

Then she broke the moment. “And there
I
was, wondering what a typical futurist looked like.” She turned in a fluid movement and strode down the rutted driveway. Scott couldn’t help but watch the way her firm buttocks moved under the denim fabric of her jeans, couldn’t help the soft pulse of warmth in his groin.

“Oh.” She stopped suddenly and swung round.

He braced.

“I meant to tell you, nice Web site.”

Scott closed the door deliberately, quietly.

And blew out a stream of breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Thank God. Rex’s boys must have placed some cyber-litter for his cover. It made sense that a woman like Skye would check him out on the Internet.
Especially
if she was hiding something.

He leaned heavily on his cane, looked down at the dog waiting patiently at his feet. “We’d better use the doctor’s dolly to unpack that computer gear and get connected.” He limped over to where his jacket hung across the back of the sofa. “That is, once we’ve made sure work is where she really is headed this morning.” He picked up his keys, bounced them once in his hand. And he couldn’t help grinning. The woman was a challenge he didn’t mind right about now. She was up to something, sure as hell. And he’d find out what. He’d prove Agent Armstrong still had what it took. This little game was gonna buy him a ticket back out into the field.

The
real
field.

The jitters in her stomach were still there. And her neighbor wasn’t helping matters. Skye pulled into the Kepplar parking lot, dismounted, yanked off her helmet. She should never have taken him that dolly. But seeing that big pile of boxes still in the back of the truck this morning had tugged something inside her. She’d wanted to reach out, to help. She’d also been curious. Because when she’d come back from the lab in the dark hours of dawn, his truck had
not
been there. And that only added to the strange cocktail of anxiety skittering through her system.

But taking him that dolly was definitely a mistake. Because seeing Scott McIntyre at the door, ruffled, sleepy, and all get-out sexy, in the same clothes he’d worn the night before, had stirred something else deep within her.

Something that manifested in a potent fusion of basic female desire and a maternal need to care. Both were parts of herself she’d locked away more than ten years ago.

In a few short hours Scott McIntyre was digging them out. Scratching at her veneer. And she knew what lay beneath was too raw and malignant to ever be exposed.

Besides, she couldn’t afford to be distracted now. Her beetle project was close to completion.

And she was getting married in the morning.

Skye shoved her emotions aside, pushed open the lab door and shrugged into her white coat. She was early, but Charlotte, her assistant, had arrived even earlier and was already busy at her microscope.

“Hey, Charly, getting a head start?”

The blond woman looked up, smiled. Skye had allowed herself to get close to Charly, closer than she really was comfortable with. A part of her craved the kind of open, genuine and honest friendship so many women shared. The other part of her was afraid she’d let something slip. She wished, at times, she could let her guard drop, her hair loose and just be free to share. Staying vigilant required energy. Concentration. Sometimes she just got tired.

Very tired.

Maybe that’s why she was marrying Jozsef. She could be with him, play the part of a regular woman, without opening up. He was like that. And marrying him would help seal her cover. Help her hide.

“What’re you doing here, Skye? Working right up until the day of the wedding? You should be pampering yourself at the spa, hon. Not poking at beetles and grubs.”

Skye made a face, motioned with her eyes to the ceiling. “Marshall wanted to meet with me this morning, discuss the project. Besides, I need to check on their progress.”

“The critters are doing just fine. You’ve worked magic again, Doctor. There’s nothing more for you to do but wait for the first shipments to mature.”

“Let’s hope they can stand the cooler temperatures.”

“That little gene seems to have done the trick. The control group is still thriving.”

The phone on the wall rang. “Yeah,” said Skye, reaching for the receiver, “but the ultimate test will be in the field. Dr. Van Rijn,” she said crisply into the receiver.

“Marshall, here. You ready to meet?”

“I’ll be right up.”

She hung up, rolled her eyes heavenward. “God has spoken.”

Charly grinned. “Have fun…oh, I almost forgot, Jozsef was here earlier.”

Skye stopped dead in her tracks. “Jozsef?”

Again?

“Why?”

“Looking for you.”

Skye frowned. “He knew I was home.”

“He probably forgot. The guy’s excited. Give the poor man a break. Tomorrow he gets a wife.”

Skye turned, started to push the lab door open but stopped midway, her mind racing. “What time was he here?”

“Jozsef?”

“Yes. Jozsef. Who else?” She heard the snip in her voice. So did Charly, from the look on her face.

“I don’t know. He was already in the lab when I arrived. Security let him in like always.” Charly stood. “What’s eating you?”

Skye shoved the door fully open. “Nothing. Wedding nerves.” But that little niggle was back, biting, probing deeper into the dark depths of her subconscious. She forced it down. She had work to do. An agricultural epidemic to halt. She strode down the corridor to the elevator.

The director of Kepplar Biological Control Systems was waiting.

Chapter 3

M
arshall Kane stood at his office window, heavy brow crumpled down low over small dark eyes. Skye noticed the lines on the sides of his mouth were etched deeper than usual.

“Dr. Van Rijn, come in. Take a seat.”

Skye sat, noting the formal use of her title.

Marshall remained standing, a hulking silhouette in front of the gray morning light. “Thanks for coming. I know this is a busy time for you what with the wedding and all.”

Skye nodded. “What’s up?”

He rubbed his jaw. “Last year this was a purely Canadian problem. Now it’s a bloody international one. I got word last night that the whitefly epidemic has found its way into southern Washington greenhouses. And this morning, I’m told it’s been detected in Northern Oregon. Inside
and
outside the greenhouses. It’s like a goddamn army marching south. It’s like nothing I’ve seen.”

“It’s nothing any of us has seen, Marshall.”

“It’ll be hitting the U.S. produce basket before we know it. If California takes a hit, the whole damn nation will take a hit.” Marshall moved from the window, seated himself behind his massive glass desk. “Think a minute about the financial implications, Dr. Van Rijn. A Japanese-only embargo of California fruits and vegetables could cost more than 6,000 jobs and over $700 million in lost output. An international embargo of California fruits would cost the state maybe 35,000 jobs and more than $3.8 billion in revenues.”

Marshall leaned forward, elbows on his desk, hands spread flat out in front of him on the glass. “But a total quarantine of California fruits, in which shipments and sales within the United States are embargoed, would result in hundreds of thousands of jobs lost and up to $20 billion in lost revenues.”

“You’re forgetting the hit the Canadian greenhouse industry has already taken, sir. And with all due respect, we are not responsible for the spread of the whitefly to the U.S.”

“No. We are not.” He raised his hand, leaving a steamy imprint on the glass. “But just think about the implications for Kepplar if we are successful in halting the little bastards.” Marshall had a greedy gleam in his small dark eyes. Beetle eyes, thought Skye. He was like a fat hungry bug himself. He picked up his silver pen, punctuated the air as he spoke. “There’s a lot riding on your project, Dr. Van Rijn. The U.S. Department of Agriculture is watching us. Our first beetle shipment goes out to Agriculture Canada for mass dispersal in two weeks, right?”

“Correct. We’re on target.”

“Good, because the U.S.D.A. is waiting to see how effective we are. If they like what they see, there’s another big contract in the works for Kepplar. A U.S. contract. We’ll make headlines, Doctor.”

Skye nodded. She liked the money that came with success. It helped her buy freedom. But she shunned the publicity. That could cost her dearly. She shifted to the edge of her seat, leaned forward. “Marshall, I don’t need to tell you I’m still unhappy with the early target date. And I know I don’t need to warn you no project is without risk, including this one. Ideally, I’d like more field trials.”

“Nonsense. The contained trials had excellent results. We haven’t got time for more. The risks are minimal. I’ve read your report.”

“Any time an alien species is released into an ecosystem there’s a risk the new bugs could become pests themselves. Or worse, become a vector for another disease.”

“Dr. Van Rijn, you are a pessimist. This bug was bred in our labs. It’s clean. There’s minimal risk of transmitting new disease.”

“I’m no pessimist, Marshall. I’m a pragmatist. Yes, we bred the bug here. Yes, it’s clean. But we started with a bug imported from Asia—”

“It went through the requisite quarantine process.”

“There’s always risk when meddling with nature.”

Marshall rolled his silver pen tightly between his thumb and middle finger. “But you have a fair degree of confidence in this project?”

“I do.”

“And the first colonies will be ready in two weeks?”

“Yes. But as I said, I’d like more—”

“Good. Because the last thing our southern neighbor needs right now is this army of whitefly marching south from Canada and heading straight for their produce basket. They’re already scrambling with the damned cattle plague. Now this. It’s straining diplomatic relations and they’re looking for scapegoats.”

“I’ve seen the papers. The Americans figure we should have moved earlier to control the epidemic in our own backyard. But these things know no borders.”

“Well, neither will our predator bug so it better damn well work.” Marshall slapped the pen onto his blotter. “If it does, Kepplar is made. If not, we go under.” His beetle eyes bored into her. “This is make or break, Doctor.”

“I read you, Marshall.” Skye felt anger starting to bubble. She had no doubt it would be her who took the fall should the project fail. Not Marshall. Not Kepplar Biological Control Systems. Not Agriculture Canada. She’d be the one hung out to dry. Held out to the media as the pathetic scapegoat who failed to avert an economic crisis.

She stood. “Anything else?”

“No. Thank you, and, um, congratulations, with the wedding stuff and all.”

It took all of Skye’s control to walk quietly out of Marshall Kane’s office, to close the door gently. But once shut, she stormed down the corridor. No elevator for her. She needed to work out her adrenaline on the stairs.

For Marshall, it always came down to the bottom line—cold hard cash. Personal acclaim. For her, it was the satisfaction of making something work. For finding a way to kill a parasite. To stop a blight from spreading.

And this whitefly had certainly become a blight on North America’s agricultural map. Skye knew of about twelve hundred different species of whitefly, but this was not one of them. It was a new species. A voracious species that could withstand extreme temperatures. And as yet, no one knew where it had come from and no one had isolated a natural predator to counteract it. So she had set out to create one, adapting a tiny black Asian beetle and breeding it in her lab. Her work was so promising that last year the feds had started taking a keen interest. And early this spring, the Canadian department of agriculture had ordered a massive beetle shipment from Kepplar for large-scale release across the country.

Marshall was still basking, gloating, shareholders patting him on his back for
her
hard work. Now it looked as though he had set his sights on U.S. contracts. He had even bigger fish to fry. More shareholders to woo. Damn him.

Skye couldn’t care less if Marshall took credit for her work. It helped keep her out of the media, below the radar. But now he was rushing this project. He was running risks she was uncomfortable with. The margin for error was too great.

And failure would make headlines, place her in the international spotlight. She couldn’t have that. She couldn’t let the last decade go to hell in a handbasket now.

She ran down the stairs, working off her fury with physical motion. It always boiled down to this. One way or another she was always running from her past, the threat of exposure. By God, she wished she could stop running.

By the time she got back to her lab she’d found a measure of outward control. She snapped on her gloves and got back to work, avoiding Charly’s questioning eyes. By the time Skye looked at the clock again it was after five. She flipped the switch on her microscope. “That’s it. I’m done and I’m outta here. I need my beauty sleep tonight.”

Charly got up, gave her a kiss on the cheek. “There’s my girl, clocking out at a decent hour for a change. I’ll be at your place at the crack of dawn with champagne and croissants.”

Skye laughed. “That’s all I need, a loaded maid of honor with croissant crumbs down her cleavage. I’ll be happier if you make sure those adult beetles get packed nicely into those bottles with vermiculite while I’m away.”

“We’re on it. No worries. That first shipment will be gone and released before you get back from your honeymoon.”

“Yeah.” She mumbled to herself as she slipped out of her lab coat. “That’s
exactly
what worries me.”

Scott washed and rinsed the blue cereal bowl for the third time. The kitchen sink was the best vantage point. From here he could watch the early morning wedding activity next door, and keep an eye on Honey in the yard.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d adopted such a domestic pose. It was in another life. When he was happy. When Leni cooked and he cleaned up and little Kaitlin chattered from her high chair.

Before the “accident.”

The old pain began to pulse at his temple. He pressed two fingers hard against the throb and for the billionth time cursed Rex…himself…the whole bloody world.

The damned wedding next door was bashing on bolted doors to memories. The woman next door had woken the sleeping monster within him, and it thrashed like a caged beast.

Scott slammed the cereal bowl into the drying rack, picked up a glass, rubbed viciously with the dishcloth.

It was nine years ago his wife and baby girl had been blown up in their car. The Plague Doctor’s men had done it. Scott’s family had died because of his job.

Because of
him.

Because he hadn’t backed down from hunting one of the world’s most wanted men. He’d helped Rex take down the Plague Doctor in White River just over three years ago. But the global significance of their victory had rung hollow in Scott’s soul. It hadn’t brought his family back. It had done nothing to quell the desire for vengeance that pumped through his veins, or to fill the bitter, aching void in his heart. Nothing to dull the sharp edge of guilt that sliced at him. And seeing Rex so happily reunited with Hannah, the mother of his son… It had burned a hole clean through him.

Rex had saved his family.

Scott hadn’t.

The failure couldn’t be more stark.

And he couldn’t stand to have his face rubbed in the sharp gravel of that reality. So he’d taken one job after another out in the field, in the far wild corners of this earth. Anything to keep him away from a place that had once been home. Anything to keep him from looking in the mirror, facing himself.

Scott’s jaw clenched as he watched a cab pull into the driveway next door. A trim blonde climbed out, paid her fare and trotted up the steps to Skye’s front door. He watched the door open in welcome, Skye’s dark head appear. This morning the doctor wore a soft yellow robe. Cinched at the waist. Bare feet. He saw her laugh, hair falling around her face. The happy bride-to-be.

Scott crushed the glass in the reflexive power that surged through his hands and swore at the sharp pain. That bride-to-be wasn’t going anywhere but the chapel today, of that he was certain. He was wasting time washing dishes, watching her house, thinking of the past.

He glanced down, slightly bemused at the fresh dark blood welling from his hand. He flexed his fingers, testing his injury. The pain in his flesh was nothing compared to the twisted mess in his chest.

He chucked the dishcloth into the sink.

He’d go check out the town, buy some supplies. And when it got closer to wedding time, he’d go wait at the church, see who was arriving. He’d had enough of peeking through drapes. He wrapped a handkerchief roughly around his bleeding hand, grabbed his cane and keys, stepped out onto the porch and whistled for Honey.

To his surprise, the dog bounded instantly to his side. It gave him an unexpected stab of satisfaction. He ruffled the fur on her head. “Come, you silly pooch. We’re going to get some supplies then we’re gonna head on down to the church and watch a wedding.”

Shopping done, Scott and Honey drove to the only chapel in town and pulled into a parking space across the street, under the boughs of an old cherry tree frothy with pale pink blossoms. Scott opened his newspaper, turned to the business pages, took a bite of dried sausage, and began to read. And wait.

A wet splotch of drool hit the far edge of the business section. Then another. He looked slowly up from the newsprint into pleading brown eyes and doggy breath.

“Jeez. Okay, you have the sausage then.”

Honey inhaled the piece whole, tail thumping down on the front seat.

“You didn’t even blink, Honey. Was it worth it?” Scott wedged the business section onto the dashboard, opened a bottle of water. “Okay, Honey, this is your car water.” He held up the bowl they’d just bought at the Haven General Store. “And it goes in your new car bowl. Got it?” Scott sloshed water into the bowl, set it on the floor of the truck. “Careful now, don’t knock it over.”

The darn hound was hard work. He’d gotten used to caring only for his own needs. Hadn’t had to think about making anyone else happy for a long, long time.

Not even a dog.

He watched as Honey lapped up the water. And suddenly he was seeing a black Lab. Merlin—the dog he’d owned when he was eleven. The dog he and his dad used to take on fishing trips. And that made him think of the times he had gone fly-fishing with Leni, before Kaitlin was born.

Scott blinked, rubbed his face. Guilt bit at him. He hadn’t seen his dad or his mum since the funeral. He’d cut everyone out. Everything that made him think of Leni and Kaitlin, of the role he’d played in their deaths. He’d sliced out the very core of who he was.

Scott cleared his throat, retrieved the business section and glanced across at the chapel. He had to focus.

But there was still no action. He turned his attention back to the paper, scanned the headlines.

There was another article on the devastating U.S. beef crisis. And a smaller one about the whitefly epidemic sweeping south. His eyes widened. “Hey, look at this— Kepplar has been contracted to develop a predator bug for this whitefly thing. Our Dr. Van Rijn is in charge of the project.”

Honey burped. Scott looked up, frowned. “You know, Honey, it’s a conspiracy. Rex figures by giving you to me, you’ll make me go fully nuts. Soon I’ll be talking to myself. Then they can happily institutionalize me. Zero guilt for Bellona.”

Honey perked up, but not because of Scott’s scintillating conversation. Her interest was captured by sudden activity outside the church. Cars started arriving. Small groups of people were entering the chapel.