Tainted Hearts (27 page)

“You’re more embroiled in the Master Plan
than you could possibly imagine. The Controlled Community will
flourish. Final PUREification will take place. You’ve just called
my armies to war. I wanted to give them a queen—instead you’ve
given them a martyr.”

Tuesday watched the stark, water-stained
walls expand and contract in a nauseating undulation. They had
arrived at this dingy, nondescript building well over an hour ago.
She could no longer feel the pain in her wrist; she could hardly
feel anything at all. Three cups of strong black coffee had sent
her searching for a lavatory, but grogginess still plagued her. If
only she’d gotten the call before plopping the Anistaum on her
tongue. She needed to sleep. Fighting it was only making her nausea
worse.

She had to concentrate, try to follow the
conversation, but her attention kept drifting to the uncomfortable
chairs and the ugly flooring. Had the Army gone out of their way to
make this place unappealing?

“What made you change your plans?”
Bettencourt asked Raeanne.

Tuesday forced herself to concentrate
despite her chemically muddled brain. This was important. She
needed to understand what held Rahab, no, Raeanne back.

“I first heard the phrase in passing, then
noticed it in the literature, so I began searching through their
databases for any mention of Final PUREification.”

Tuesday was amazed by the metamorphosis in
the young woman. Even her voice sounded different, stronger, more
self-assured. Little wonder. Tuesday suspected she had only
glimpsed a fraction of Raeanne’s capabilities.

“What did you find?” the general
prompted.

“The phrase was always linked with the
Controlled Community. It made me think of the story of the Great
Flood.” Raeanne glanced at her, but Tuesday couldn’t read her
expression. She was all business now—this was an official
debriefing.

“Once the chosen people were protected, a
global catastrophe would be sent to cleanse the Earth?” the general
asked.

“Yes, sir. Exactly.”

“So what can Job orchestrate from beyond the
grave?” Bettencourt mused.

“Something already begun,” Tuesday
suggested. “If the plans are set in place and all his followers
have to do is allow them to play out, even Job’s death wouldn’t
affect the outcome.”

Bettencourt nodded, but turned back to
Raeanne. “Were you able to discover anything else?”

“I found a computer file titled
F_PURE
, but I wasn’t able to break the encryption. That’s
not my area of expertise.” She stood at the foot of the table, her
hands locked behind her back. Tuesday found it all fascinating; it
had a sort of barbaric charm.

Raeanne continued her report. “I spotted a
file entitled
John_11_35
. Job loved biblical imagery. I
thought it was the encryption key, but no such luck.”

“So the only real lead we have is this
F_PURE
file.” Bettencourt absently stroked his chin.

“Yes, sir. I undocked Job’s personal CPU
before we left his office.” She produced the palm-size device and
set it on the tabletop. “It takes a retinal scan to activate it, so
I’m not sure how useful it will be.”

“Any good hacker can get around biometric
security. I’ll make the arrangements as soon as we’re
finished.”

“You have a security specialist in the next
room,” Tuesday told him. “My sister writes code for a living. In
her misspent youth, she hacked into systems and left messages
explaining how she’d done it.”

“She could have charged obscene amounts of
money for the information,” Raeanne pointed out. “Why would she
give it away?”

“Purely for the challenge. Well, it landed
her a job with one of the top network security companies in the
world, so I guess it was more than just the challenge.”

Bettencourt stood. “There’s a workroom two
doors down. We’ll provide her with whatever she needs. Report to me
when…when you have something to report.”

“I can’t believe I was so gullible.” Sydney
sat on a cot in a closet-sized room, clearly designed for temporary
use. “Even after everything you said, I fought the idea that Job
was evil. It was only when I heard his message taunting you that
I…”

Tuesday knelt and wrapped her uninjured arm
around Sydney’s back. Her cracked wrist now sported a splint, but
she instinctively protected it anyway.

“I understand. I’d been warned, told about
Raeanne’s fiancé but I found myself wanting to believe his lies. He
was insidious, like a poison that smells nice and tastes
sweet.”

“What will happen to the others? There were
hundreds of people living in that complex. And think how many more
are involved.”

“That’s where you come in. They’re planning
something big and we have to figure out what it is. Raeanne has an
encrypted file she believes is important. Are you up to a little
hacking?”

“Hell yes. I’ll do whatever I can.” She
pushed to her feet and pulled Tuesday up off the floor. “I’m sorry
I didn’t listen to you. I get sick just thinking about what could
have happened.”

“You’ve never listen to me.” Tuesday smiled.
“Why should this have been different?”

Sydney didn’t argue; she just turned toward
the door. “Just for the record, you look like shit. Why don’t you
get some sleep? I’ll wake you if I learn anything new.”

Marc stepped outside the nondescript
building and leaned back against the rough concrete wall. Tension
gathered between his eyes, pounding into his head. He’d never been
so frightened in his life. It had been so damn close, much too
close. He wasn’t equipped for this. He was a scientist, a
businessman.

A deep chuckle interrupted his
self-recriminations. “You remained remarkably composed for a
scientist,” Geoff said from the shadows.

“Thank you, I think.” He waited for the
younger man to join him in the moonlight. “So you’re an anomaly
too? I almost had myself convinced I imagined how fast you
moved.”

“I’m telepathic and mildly clairvoyant, but
my most useful mutation is preternatural speed.”

“Fast and strong, that’s definitely a handy
combination for a soldier.” Marc heaved a ragged sigh. “Did you
update Cobra?”

“Yes, sir. He appreciates your allowing him
to remain in the shadows.”

He shot Geoff a sidelong glance. “I’m not
his only employer, am I?”

“You’ll have to ask Cobra about that.”

Marc smiled. Unless his instincts had failed
him completely, Bettencourt wasn’t the only one involved in “Black
Ops shit”.

“How long have you known him?” Marc
asked.

“Longer than I care to admit. Let’s just say
Methuselah worked its magic on me in more ways than one. I’m a hell
of a lot older than I look.”

“You aren’t still taking…” One glance in
Geoff’s eyes told him all he needed to know. To maintain his
extraordinary abilities, Geoff willingly sacrificed his health and
any hope he had of fathering healthy children. “Is it worth
it?”

“It was today.”

Marc shook his head. This wasn’t the first
indication he’d come across that Methuselah was still being
produced. An underground lab or government funded project, he had
no way of knowing. More mysteries for another day.

He glanced away and Geoff departed as
suddenly as he’d arrived. Was Phil more involved with the Reporters
than he had led Marc to believe? Was he protecting those with
genetic anomalies or exploiting them? Geoff’s loyalty made it hard
to believe Phil was one of the bad guys. Still, the lines between
right and wrong had become hopelessly blurred since the
epidemic.

Dragging his vidcom out of his pocket, he
selected a scrambled channel and sent an audio page to his
house.

“Hello, Mr. Sinclair.” His housekeeper
responded. How odd. He’d expected Laura to answer the call. “What
can I do for you?”

“I was just checking in. How is Elise and
where is Laura?”

“Elise is sound asleep and Laura stepped out
for the night.” He heard a warm chuckle, then, “I think she had a
date. It’s about time if you ask me.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Laura’s social
life had been practically nonexistent ever since Elise was born.
“It doesn’t look like I’ll make it home tonight. I’ll update you as
soon as my schedule solidifies.”

“Don’t worry about a thing. Elise is doing
wonderfully.”

“I appreciate your devotion. Enjoy what’s
left of the night.” Turning back toward the side door of the
building, Marc nearly collided with Bettencourt.

“Are you working for Phil Carey?” the
general demanded without preamble.

Marc smiled and slipped his vidcom back into
his pocket. “I don’t work for anyone, unless you count my father of
course.”

Bettencourt’s gaze narrowed and suspicion
radiated off him in blistering waves. “Is Phil Carey working for
you?”

“I have thousands of employees. You can’t
expect me to remember them all. If you’ll excuse me.” He tried to
brush past the other man but Bettencourt grabbed his arm. “I sure
as hell don’t work for you.” Marc glared at the offending hand
until Bettencourt released him.

“I thought Phil retired. Obviously, I was
wrong. Tell him I’ll be more careful from now on.”

Marc didn’t dignify the order with a
response. He opened the door and slipped inside the building. After
checking on Sydney to make sure she had everything she needed, he
went in search of Tuesday.

The day’s events had been traumatic for
everyone, but Tuesday had been blindsided by Job’s aggression. Just
the thought of her terror sent a fresh spike of fury shooting
through Marc.

Sydney had directed him to a room near the
infirmary. He knocked on the door and waited for a response.

Raeanne rounded a corner and flashed a
knowing smile. “I sent her to the officers’ quarters. She deserved
better than that dismal cell.”

“This room was good enough for Sydney.”

“Sydney didn’t save my life.”

“Not yet. She’s working on it.”

“If she cracks the code, I’ll give her my
room.” With another unexpected smile, Raeanne continued down the
corridor.

“Wait. Where are the officers’
quarters?”

“Take a left past the gym. She’s in the
second room on the right.”

Marc followed Raeanne’s directions and
peeked into the shadowed room. Tuesday lay on her side, one of her
hands tucked under her cheek. Her hair spilled over her shoulders,
surrounding her face in curls. He let the door close behind him,
mesmerized by her delicate beauty.

A murmur escaped her throat, drawing Marc
toward the bunk. She moved her splinted wrist above her head and
rolled onto her back. Distress rippled from her and tension
constricted Marc’s chest. He didn’t want her to be afraid. He
wanted her out of harm’s way and relaxed enough to do something
utterly frivolous. She’d been the world’s champion too long. She
deserved to be happy.

He sat on the edge of the bed and took her
uninjured hand between his. “I’m here, love. You’re safe.” His gaze
drifted across her features and settled on the splint immobilizing
her wrist. Why couldn’t his genetic mutation have given him the
ability to take away her pain?

She moved again, faster now, anxiety
increasing her restlessness.

“Tuesday.” He touched her soft cheek, his
tone firm yet caring. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

A violent shudder passed through her body
and Marc scooped her into his arms. She clung to him, fear and
hatred poured out of her, saturating his senses and making him
groan. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but her sorrow made
him despise Job even more.

“It’s over.” He stroked her back, draping
her legs across his lap. “You’re safe.”

Her fingers pushed into his hair. She
snuggled against him, her face pressed against the side of his
neck. “I was dreaming.”

“I know.” He buried his face in her hair and
savored her faintly floral scent. A calming wave swept through her,
easing the worst of her fear. Did she find comfort just being in
his arms? God, he hoped so. “Try to relax.”

She still trembled. Her fingers sifted his
hair over and over. “Touch me. Don’t stop touching me. I can’t get
his smirking face out of my mind.”

He rubbed her back, tracing her spine with
his fingertips on the way down and using his whole hand with the
upstroke. Her breath stirred against his skin, sending tingles down
his spine.

“I can’t stop shaking.” Easing back, he
looked into her eyes. The muddled desire burning there made his
empathy unnecessary. “I think I need…”

“You’ve had a hell of a day.”

She raised her hand to his face, her gaze
focusing on his mouth. She shook, her lips trembled, and tears
welled behind her lashes. Longing expanded inside him, possessive
and passionate. Still, he wasn’t convinced sex was what she
needed.

Don’t have sex with her, make love to her.
Show her how much you care.

Turning his face to the side, he pressed a
kiss against the center of her palm. He tuned out the water-stained
walls and the utilitarian furniture and focused entirely on
Tuesday. She stared back at him, silent and needful, her gaze
bright even in the shadowy room.

They were beyond words, their desire
stripped of all artifice and pretense. He brushed his lips over
hers. She opened, offering, waiting. Angling his mouth over hers,
he caressed her lips with his tongue before easing inside.

For endless moments they did nothing more
than kiss, sharing their breaths and savoring the closeness. Then
she pressed his hand to her breast, arching into his palm.

She needed more than superficial
reassurance. He felt her hunger build. Responding excitement
spiraled through him, making it hard to breathe. He took the kiss
deeper, stroking his tongue over hers, leading her tongue into his
mouth.