Tainted Hearts (2 page)

“What’s the matter?” Vonne’s question was a
welcome interruption. She stood in the open doorway, concern
knitting her brow.

Manufacturing a distracted smile, Tuesday
said, “Nothing. Just another semi-creepy message from Mr.
PURE.”

“Filter him out. You don’t have to accept
his transmissions.”

“I know, but some of the information he’s
sent me is…interesting.”

The older woman narrowed her dark eyes
thoughtfully and moved farther into the office. “Are you sure his
interest isn’t personal?”

“I’ve never met the man. He’s trying to
recruit me for his organization. Guess he thinks I’d make an
advantageous spokesperson.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so.”

Vonne tapped a long, chrome-tipped
fingernail against the file folder tucked beneath her arm. “Aren’t
you headed to Sinclair-Dietrich?”

Tuesday cringed. It never failed. All she
had to hear were those two names and she felt like she’d been
slapped. “Yeah.”

Her friend chuckled. “Are you ever going to
get that reaction under control? Yes, Sinclair-Dietrich was
responsible for Methuselah but they also developed the chemical
cocktail that keeps the human body from rejecting SP-64.”

“And who says God doesn’t have a sense of
humor?”

Methuselah. Another name that made Tuesday
cringe. Humankind’s quest for immortality had been paid for at the
expense of their children. The medication had never been meant to
treat the effects of aging. The first formula, Nuerostem, had been
developed for the victims of multiple sclerosis. The medication’s
ability to stabilize the telomere, which arrested the aging
process, was an unexpected side effect.

The FDA approved Nuerostem with dire
warnings and strict guidelines for its use. Sinclair-Dietrich went
to work on a refined formula, but the age-conscious public was far
too impatient to wait. “Unauthorized” copies of the compound popped
up everywhere. An encapsulated fountain of youth available wherever
food supplements were sold.

It was only after a once rare genetic
abnormality began to manifest in record numbers that Methuselah
revealed its dark side.

“Hello,” Vonne prompted. “Where’d you
go?”

“Sorry. Apparently the general rattled me
more than I realized. Yes, I have a meeting with the
Sinclair-Dietrich team. Why do you ask?”

She handed Tuesday the sealed folder. “Can
you see that someone gets this to Mr. Sinclair? Or will the elusive
director actually put in an appearance for a change?”

“Don’t know, don’t particularly care. What’s
in the file?”

“R&D projections for the Pocket
Defibrillator.”

Tuesday nodded. “Will do.”

“Thanks. And by the way, I wouldn’t have
thrown you to the wolves back there. Bettencourt just caught me by
surprise.”

It took her a second to realize her friend
was apologizing for her reaction to the general’s announcement. “I
know. He caught us both off guard. Figure out what they’re up to. I
really don’t need the stress right now.”

Vonne smiled and raised one of her highly
arched brows. “Why don’t you disappear for a few days?”

“Because I have way too much to do and my
boss is—”

“Your boss is suggesting it—no, ordering it.
If I can’t find hide nor hair of you, it will buy me the time I
need to figure out what in blazes these goons are up to. After your
meeting with Sinclair-Dietrich check into a hotel somewhere,
preferably under an assumed name. I’ll tell Bettencourt you’re
throwing a fit and I can’t do anything without you.”

“Won’t that give him the opening he’s
looking for?”

Vonne shook her dark head, her gaze
sparkling with mischief. “He said thirty days. I have the meeting
record, if it comes to that, so I can hold him to it. We have to
figure out what this is really about. Your disappearance will throw
him off balance.”

Tuesday gathered what she’d need for her
meeting and placed it in her burgundy satchel. “I could do some
snooping while I’m playing hide-and-seek. Might actually be
fun.”

“You can send encrypted messages to my
private address, text only, of course. Let me know what you find
out.”

“I always wanted to be a spy.” Tuesday
laughed.

After her boss left, she called the front
desk and confirmed that a Sinclair-Dietrich shuttle was waiting for
her. She hated these meetings but they were a necessary evil. The
balanced combination of medications the pharmaceutical giant had
developed was an undeniable contributor to her success. Her actual
design hadn’t changed that much over the past five years. It was
only after agreeing to partner with the chemists at
Sinclair-Dietrich that everything had fallen into place.

She rolled her chair back and stood. The
room spun and she grasped the edge of her desk. Maybe she’d better
grab something to eat. That was one heck of a head rush. Wiggling
her feet into her shoes and swinging her satchel onto her shoulder,
she made her way down to the departure ring through the main lobby
of the mediplex.

Marc Sinclair sat in the cockpit of the
shuttle impatiently waiting for his passenger. Did Tuesday enjoy
keeping men waiting or had he miscalculated the dosage of the
sedative he’d used to line her mug? If she succumbed before she got
on the shuttle, he was screwed. Three months of planning down the
drain.

He shook away his doubt and focused on the
goal. Elise. Nothing else mattered.

A buzzer sounded and Marc smiled. He opened
the hatch for his guest, watching on the monitor as she boarded and
settled into one of the passenger seats. She yawned and rolled her
shoulders. His smile broadened.

“I’m ready, pilot,” she said, obviously
familiar with the routine.

“I seriously doubt it.” He didn’t activate
the intercom, so she didn’t hear the words.

Ten minutes of the shuttle’s subtle
vibration combined with the sedative had her sleeping like a baby.
After programming the coordinates for his hunting lodge into the
shuttle’s navigational system, Marc sent a person-to-person page to
Laura Finn.

Phil Carey, Marc’s security director
recommended all communication be relayed through him but Marc was
better at giving directives than following them. He scrambled the
audio signal and kept the transmission short.

“Hello, Marc.” Laura’s familiar voice made
him smile. “I didn’t expect to hear from you until tomorrow. How
are you enjoying Vancouver? I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of
year.”

He wasn’t on vacation as she believed; in
fact he’d yet to leave Baltimore. “I’ve seen very little of the
city. My watchdog is determined to make me relax. I just called to
check on Elise.”

“Relaxation is what the doctor ordered. Phil
is just doing his job.”

“How’s my daughter?”

“She’s fine.” After a short pause Laura
admitted, “Well, actually she’s having a bad day. I had to activate
her bypass and you know how she hates that. But her numbers
responded immediately, so she should be able to come off this
afternoon.”

“They want me to rest for at least another
week, but say the word and I’ll shuttle home. Nothing is more
important than Elise.”

“Anyone who’s ever met you understands that.
No, the doctors are right. You need to relax. Leave Elise to
me.”

“I’ll call again tomorrow. If there’s a
problem Phil knows how to contact me.”

He ended the transmission and turned to the
screen monitoring the passenger cabin. Tuesday slumped in her seat,
her head rolled slightly to one side. “You’re going to help me
whether you want to or not. Elise has suffered long enough.”

Cold air brushed Tuesday’s bare legs,
drawing her back from the void. She stirred. The arms holding her
tightened. Where was she? Someone was carrying her, cradled against
a broad chest like a child. How odd.

A deep male voice spoke a quick sequence of
numbers. A security code? What was going on? A surge of adrenaline
cut through the haze enveloping her mind. She struggled to lift her
eyelids but they felt weighted, unresponsive.

She heard the soft hiss of a door or
transport hatch and then the cold air vanished.

“Who…” She forced her eyes open. “Where am
I?” It didn’t help. Her vision blurred.

“Just relax,” the man coaxed.

As if she could do anything else. Her entire
body felt useless. He placed her on a sofa, firm and cool against
her bare skin. Blinking reflexively, she tried to bring the scene
into focus.

Think, Tuesday. You were on your way to
Sinclair-Dietrich.

She’d felt odd before that. Had she passed
out? With great effort, she raised the back of her hand to her
forehead. Her skin felt cool and dry.

The fog was beginning to lift from her
vision. She took several deep breaths and looked around. The room
was perfectly square. A railed loft completely encircled the lower
level. Constructed of simulated logs and knotty planks, this rustic
environment didn’t belong to any office building.

Fear burned off more of the fog. Strength
crept into her muscles and her nerves awakened, the sensation part
tingle, part sting.

Where the hell was she?

What was going on?

She tried to sit, but her body protested.
Drugged. She’d been drugged.

Her captor strolled back into the room,
carrying a quilted comforter. He’d replaced his uniform with black
jeans and a simple green pullover but she recognized the courtesy
attendant from her meeting that morning.

“What do you want with me?” Her voice
sounded raspy, unsteady.

“Let me get you some water.” He spread the
comforter over her and turned toward the kitchen visible at the
other end of the open room.

“Where am I? Why did you bring me here?”

No response.

The shivers began subtly, but built with
astonishing speed until her entire body trembled and shook. She
clutched the comforter, her teeth chattering. Something about this
man was familiar, the way he moved, perhaps the tilt of his head.
Did she just remember him from that morning? Or was it something
more?

“The chills only last a few minutes then
you’ll be good as new.” He set a glass of water on the coffee table
and knelt beside the couch. “Try not to clench your muscles. If you
fight it, your body will cramp.”

Tuesday glared at him but her chattering
teeth kept her from speaking. She’d known something was odd about
him. Why hadn’t she trusted her instincts? He was too…assured to be
domestic class. The immaculate styling of his rich brown hair
hinted at a personal groomer. His features were too perfect,
probably genetically or surgically altered, and those eyes. Only
vanity enhancement could produce so vivid a shade of teal.

A sharp, burning cramp locked her thigh,
extending along her hip and into her groin. She cried out, fumbling
to rub the knotted muscles.

“Where?” he demanded.

“Thigh.” She writhed, the pain
excruciating.

He tossed back the comforter and reached
beneath her dress. Closing his strong, warm fingers around her
thigh, he squeezed, rubbed, and eased the spasm from her cramping
muscle. She instinctively moved her leg toward him. His hand
followed the tension higher and higher, his fingers pressing,
massaging.

Little by little the cramp released. She
panted, shifting restlessly, while threatening echoes of tension
coursed through her strained muscle. Her entire leg ached, but his
hands felt wonderful. Firm and sure, stroking and caressing.

Her dress bunched high on her thighs. She
watched his hands move against her flesh, fascinated by the
contrast in the color of their skin, the obvious strength in his
fingers. His hand dipped, sweeping across her inner thigh. The very
tips of his fingers brushed her panties and tingles spiraled up
through her feminine core. Damn! Had he meant to do that?

She grabbed his wrist. “That’s enough.”

His gaze collided with hers. “Are you sure?
You still seem pretty tense to me.”

Pushing his hand away, she snapped, “What do
you expect?” She tossed down her dress and pulled the comforter
around her, huddling within its protective folds. “What is this
about? Who are you and why did you bring me—where are we?”

Silently, he proffered the water glass.

“The last time I accepted a beverage from
you I ended up here.”

He smiled. Her belly tightened, but it
wasn’t another cramp. The man was gorgeous when he smiled. His
unusual eyes sparkled and the lines bracketing his mouth accented
the sensuality of his lips.

Familiar warmth rolled through her. She’d
seen that smile before. But where? Wouldn’t she remember someone
who looked like this?

“I apologize for the unconventional means by
which—”

Throwing back the comforter, she scrambled
off the sofa. “Oh dear God, are you Job? Do you work for him? Is
that what this is about? He said he’d do something ‘unconventional’
if I didn’t—”

“Who is Job?”

Her eyes narrowed. His confusion seemed
real. Almost.

“I need to use the lavatory.” She needed a
few moments away from him to clear her mind and gather her
thoughts.

He pointed toward a door adjacent to the
kitchen. Tuesday studied the room as she crossed the floor. Nestled
between numerous windowpanes, wide blinds filtered out much of the
light. A thumb scanner secured the main entrance. Unless he was
utterly incompetent as a captor, she couldn’t get out.

The code. She’d heard him speak the security
code when they first arrived, but it eluded her now.

Closing herself in the lavatory, she
splashed cold water on her face and used her cupped hands to drink
from the faucet. If this wasn’t PURE-related, then why had he
kidnapped her?

Ransom? Unlikely—all of her assets were tied
up in the SP-64 Project.