The Switch (39 page)

"Humor me."

"Do you think we're being followed?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't noticed that we are, but ..." After

a slight pause, he said, "I can't explain it, but I get the feeling we're never truly alone."

"I get the same feeling."

"If somebody is tailing us, I want to make it as difficult as possible," he said, motioning toward the lighted disks on the panel.

"Take all the precautions you want. Now that I think about it, Jem should be irate that I went snooping in his apartment. He hasn't even called to ask why I would do such a thing."

"Not good," Chief remarked as the elevator began its ascent.

They waited anxiously as it stopped on each floor, feeling dangerously exposed while the doors were open. There were two other elevators, so they didn't worry about inconveniencing other occupants of the exclusive building. In any case, no one was waiting for their elevator car on any of the floors.

When they stopped at the fifteenth, Chief nudged her out.

"Jem's apartment is on seventeen."

"I know"

She didn't argue and preceded him out. He motioned her in the direction of the softly glowing exit sign at the end of the corridor. When they reached it, Chief pulled open the door that led into the stairwell. Before the door closed, he glanced over his shoulder. The corridor behind them was clear.

The lighting in the corridor had been subtle and indirect. Although its primary purpose was to provide enough illumination for one to see where he was going, it also had an aesthetic quality. However, in the stairwell, the lighting was strictly functional. The blue-white fluorescents made her and Chief feel as though they were in a spotlight. A few concealing shadows would have been welcomed.

Chief held up his hand for quiet. The only sound she could hear was the soft soughing of their breathing. After at least sixty seconds had ticked by, Melina looked up at Chief with a silent question. He shook his head and motioned for her to remain still and silent awhile longer. She passed the time by staring into his open shirt collar and watching his pulse beat in the hollow of his throat.

Finally, he hitched his chin upward. Treading lightly, they climbed the two flights up to the seventeenth floor. At the door, Chief paused and looked down at her. Okay? he mouthed. She raised her shoulders in an indecisive shrug, then changed her mind and nodded emphatically.

Chief opened the door. The corridor was empty, silent except for the muted sound of a TV coming from within one of the apartments. As they hesitated there, a door opened at the end of the hallway and Jem Hennings stepped out. With a mix of expectation and irritation, he looked toward the elevators.

He checked his wristwatch.

On the verge of stepping back into his condo, he happened to glance down the corridor and did a double-take when he spotted them. "What are you doing on the stairs?"

"Getting our exercise."

Walking side by side, she and Chief cautiously moved down the hall toward him.

"I wondered what was taking you so long. The doorman called me five minutes ago. The elevators rarely take that long." His gaze shifted from her to Chief. "The proverbial bad
penny."

"Happy to see you, too, Hennings. Are you going to invite us in, or should we discuss out here in the hallway, where your neighbors might overhear, how you set up Melina to be killed

this morning?"

"Killed?" he repeated on a laugh. "Shows how much you know" With a sweeping motion of his hand, he motioned them into the apartment. As she was about to step forward, Chief
laid a cautionary hand on her arm. "After you, Hennings." Again Jem laughed as though what Chief had said were funny. Nevertheless, he went into the apartment ahead of them. Chief pulled the door to, but she noticed that he didn't allow the latch to catch. She guessed he wanted an unimpeded escape route, although in any kind of physical contest with Chief, Jem was certain to come out the loser.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Jem asked cordially.

"This isn't a social call."

"No, Kemo Sabe," he replied with another amused smirk for Chief. "I didn't think it was. You two have been busy sleuthing all day, haven't you?" When he turned toward her, his smile disappeared along with his phony cordiality. "You didn't cover your tracks very well when you broke into my apartment, Melina."

"I didn't care if my tracks were covered or not. I got what I came for."

"Which was?"

"A clue. I just don't know how to interpret it."

Jem propped himself against the back of his sofa and raised his arms to his sides as though to say that he was at her disposal.

"Dale Gordon, Jem," she said without preamble. "What about him?"

"You knew him." "Yes."

She could tell that Chief, like her, was somewhat taken aback by his candor. They hadn't expected him to be this forthcoming. In fact, Chief had expressed a desire to beat the

truth out of Jem Hennings if he gave them evasive answers to their questions.

Jem's straightforwardness made her increasingly wary. He wouldn't admit to knowing his
fiancée’s
murderer unless he felt confident that he was under someone's protection and that this truth would never come to the attention of the authorities.

"In what context did you know him, Jem? I know you weren't friends with him."

"Perish the thought." He shivered delicately. "Actually, he

gave me the creeping willies. Our acquaintance was strictly professional. Gordon and I work for the same entity." "The Waters Clinic?" Chief asked.

"No, Chief." She was a step ahead of him. "They work for Brother Gabriel."

"You know, Melina," Jem said, casually crossing his ankles and arms, "of the two of you, I always thought you were much brighter than Gillian. More prickly. Less malleable and trusting. But a shade more intelligent."

She wouldn't let herself be sidetracked by his provoking statements. "What do you do for Brother Gabriel?"

"You haven't figured it out yet?" He tsked her. "Being the Nancy Drew you've become lately, I'd have thought you would have the mystery solved by now. Especially since you've talked to the Croft woman and to the Andersons. You've got all the puzzle pieces, you just haven't formed the big picture with them yet."

She was certain that Chief shared her curiosity over how Jem knew about their meetings with Linda Croft and the Andersons, but again she refused to be led off the subject. "Did Gordon substitute his sperm—"

"His sperm? God, no! What a hideous thought."

"Then yours."

He laughed. "I'm sterile. Remember?"

"So that much is true?"

"Yes, Melina, that much is true. I had a vasectomy years ago. It's compulsory," he stated matter-of-factly. "I was sterilized in order to accept this job."

Chief, giving in to his temper, reached out and grabbed Jem by the front of his shirt and shook him roughly. "I've had enough of this fucking around. What is your job, Hennings?"

"I'm a monitor. I provide watch care over the select."

"Select?"

"Like Gillian. Like Melina is soon to be." He turned his head and gave her a smile that caused gooseflesh to break out on her arms. "I won't continue with my explanation until this savage lets go of me."

She gave Chief a brusque nod. He released Jem but appeared to be holding on to his temper by a thread.

Jem remained unruffled. With maddening complacency, he straightened his shirt, realigned his collar, shot his cuffs. Only then did he continue. "If the woman is married or in a

monogamous relationship, her monitor might be a neighbor or coworker. Someone near to keep an eye on her. As was the case with Candace Anderson. Her monitor was actually the woman who cleaned her house three days a week. But for a single woman like Gillian, they bring men like me in to be their partners."

"You were assigned to her?"

"From the day she first consulted the clinic."

"So your meeting was by design?"

"Yes, Melina," he replied in a patient and patronizing manner. "I was sent to her. Like a guardian angel. She was waffling over whether or not to be artificially inseminated, so I gave her encouragement. I reassured her that it was a sound idea and that I, as her partner, was one hundred percent supportive of her having a child.

"From the day she was inseminated, I would have showered her with affection. But I didn't have an opportunity to do that, did I? As it turns out, when I went over that night to celebrate the event, I wasted my affection on you instead."

"Why was Gillian killed, Jem?"

Rather than giving a straight answer, he continued his explanation in his own way. "If Gillian hadn't conceived on the first try, I would have urged her to try again. If the first try was successful, well, then I would have nurtured her for the duration of her pregnancy. I would have treated her like a princess, for indeed, she was chosen to be royalty.

"Gillian would have been elevated, revered. I would have seen to it that she received everything she desired or needed. I would have supervised her, making certain she did nothing to imperil the child she carried and that she didn't stray from a straight and moral path." At that point, he glared at Chief. "But, of course, she did. With you. You tainted her. You spoiled her for the Program."

Chief's hands balled into fists at his sides. "So it's true. You had Gillian killed because she spent the night with me?" He took a threatening step toward Jem, but she extended her arm to bar him. "No, Chief. I want to hear this. Difficult as it is to listen to, I want to hear it."

"Thank you, Melina." Jem looked at Chief with contempt, then addressed her again. "The select aren't allowed to be intimate with anyone other than their partners or their monitors."

"Because they're sterile," she said.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "I think you've experienced a breakthrough."

As it all began to come together in her mind, she nodded slowly. "The women are chosen. Gillian. Candace Anderson. Healthy young women." Jem smiled. "Superior in every way."

A light came on behind Chief's eyes. "You're genetically engineering babies."

"Candace Anderson is a beautiful woman, isn't she?" Jem asked rhetorically. "A perfect physical specimen. And extremely intelligent. Blessed with a natural talent for music. We hope to use her again. Just as we'll use you, Melina. Now. Since we were deprived of Gillian. She was sacrificed to her own lust, so you've been selected to take her place."

His voice adapted an eerie singsong quality. "Gillian would have been perfect. Dale Gordon recognized that immediately. That was his job, you see, to spot prospective candidates, then to screen them. Easily done, with their medical histories at his disposal. Gillian was physically ideal. Mentally superior. She was also unencumbered by a relationship, which can

prove to be tiresome.

"All told, she was a most desirable candidate for the Program. The Program needed her. Now it needs you, Melina." Ile clasped her hands, hotly, moistly pressing them between Isis. Smiling rapturously, he said, "I'm so happy for you."

Then his head exploded.

CHAPTER 28

Chief executed a full-body tackle that sent Melina to the floor and knocked the wind out of her. He landed on top of her. Inches away lay Jem Hennings. There was little left of him above his shoulders. The large window overlooking the Dallas skyline had been shattered.

All this took a nanosecond for Chief to register.

He rolled off Melina and reached for the electrical cord attached to the table lamp. He jerked it from the floor plug. The apartment went dark.

"Who... where..."

"From the roof of the building across the street would be my guess," he said in answer to Melina's stammering. He had to give her credit. Anyone else spattered with blood and gore might have gone hysterical on him by now. She was either one hell of a brave woman or she was in shock. Which meant that she could come apart at the seams at any moment.

"Are you okay?"

She stared at him wordlessly until he repeated the question and spoke her name sharply.

"Yes. Yes."

"Don't move."

"Chief—" "Hold on."

He duck-walked into the kitchen and returned with a roll of paper towels. "Wipe off your face. Hurry." She did as she was told, making hasty swipes across her face. He spat on the corner of a towel and rubbed off spots she missed. "Take off your jacket." She did that without argument, too. He was glad to see her sweater beneath the jacket was clean.

"Any on me?"

She looked closely at him. "I can't... can't... I don't think so.”

How much time had gone by? Twenty seconds? Thirty? Forty? "We've got to get out of here."

"Are we next?"

"Not you. They need you for the Program," he returned sarcastically.

"I'd rather die."

"I'd rather live. Come on."

He helped her to her feet. At a crouch, they ran toward the door. When they reached it, he snatched the intercom receiver from the cradle. "What's the doorman's name?"