Tainted Hearts Page 5

  “I understand all of this,” Vonne said carefully. “What does it have to do with Tuesday?”

  “Job is planning something. We haven’t been able to determine what, but it is some sort of mass demonstration. Every agent we’ve sent into PURE was returned to us with creative messages communicated through the way they were killed. Job is nothing if not creative.”

  Marc shuddered. He knew several other atrocities Job had committed in the name of his “cause”.

  “And this is the man you want Tuesday associated with?” Vonne asked.

  “Hear me out. The last agent we sent in was Raeanne Rawsen’s fiancé.”

  “Raeanne Rawsen, the president’s daughter?”

  “Yes. His body was left in Ms. Rawsen’s bed, mutilated in ways you don’t want to think about.”

  “Someone from PURE got a dead body beyond the president’s security and—”

  “That is one of many reasons President Rawsen has moved the eradication of PURE to priority one. Some of the accomplishments of Job’s army have led us to believe he has either recruited or created soldiers with unusual abilities.”

  Give the man a cigar. Marc had come to the same conclusion.

  “You’re talking about the psychic side effects of Methuselah.” She shook her head, skepticism clouding her gaze. “I know the anomalies were real, but I also know anyone who took enough of the drug to produce those abilities died within a few months.”

  “If you say so.”

  Marc’s heart gave a mighty lurch. The public had no idea how many anomalies were still running around. A network of Reporters had been established to identify and record the actions of people with psychic mutations. Phil noticed Marc’s Reporter shortly after Marc hired him or Marc might never have realized the genetic fallout was far from contained. More disturbing still was the fact that Phil had been unable to determine who controlled the Reporters.

  Returning his attention to the conversation, he let the recording run.

  “What happened to the president’s daughter?” Vonne asked.

  “Ms. Rawsen went a little insane. She had her appearance altered and allowed herself to be recruited by PURE.”

  Vonne gasped. “The president’s daughter is a PURE follower?”

  He shook his head. “We don’t believe her conversion is genuine. She has infiltrated PURE for the sole purpose of assassinating Job. We’re not opposed to this objective, but PURE must be rendered powerless, not just leaderless.”

  “How can you be so—glib? This is an innocent young woman you’re talking about. How do you even know Raeanne is still alive? How can she possibly succeed when your best operatives have failed? How—”

  “Ms. Lucero, this is highly classified and I’ve told you more than I was supposed to already. Stick to the elements of the situation directly pertaining to Ms. Fitzpatrick.”

  Heaving an audible sigh, Vonne sat quietly for a moment. “All right, so President Rawsen is desperate to get his daughter out, but how does he expect Tuesday to help? Won’t she just become another victim of Job’s depravity?”

  The general eased back in his chair and glanced away. “Our original proposal was only for her to carry a message to Ms. Rawsen.”

  “And now?”

  “Where is she, Ms. Lucero? Where’s Tuesday Fitzpatrick?”

  “I told her to…she wasn’t supposed to disappear until after her meeting at Sinclair-Dietrich.”

  Damn. He needed more time with Tuesday. It wouldn’t take the general long to figure out where they were. Thinking he’d have until Friday before the search began, Marc had done very little to cover their tracks.

  “Is it your belief that she departed ahead of schedule or do you suspect foul play?”

  “What made you come back here, General Bettencourt? What do you suspect happened to her?”

  “We have reason to believe Job may have abducted Ms. Fitzpatrick.”

  “Oh dear God!” Vonne came up out of her chair and rounded her desk. “What do you intend to do about it?”

  Again he averted his gaze before he spoke. “There is nothing we can do about it.”

  “Bullshit! There is nothing you will do about it. If Job has her, she’s exactly where you want her.”

  “Does she have any way of contacting you?”

  “I don’t know,” Vonne cried. “She was supposed to send me encrypted messages, but I don’t see how that’s possible if she’s inside PURE.”

  “Job’s interest in Ms. Fitzpatrick is all we have to work with right now. If he wanted her… That is, he could have forced her participation long before now. He seems to want her of her own volition.”

  “How comforting.” Vonne sneered.

  “We’re not any happier about this than you are. We wanted her fully briefed before she was subjected to Job’s influence. He is said to be incredibly charismatic.”

  “What do I do if she contacts me? Can we send her help? How do we get her out of there?”

  “One step at a time, Ms. Lucero. If she contacts you, give her as much information as you can in vague terms, in case the transmission is monitored. Do not mention anyone by name!”

  “I’m not a complete idiot, General.”

  “Let her know we can hear and see many of their common areas. See if she can get to one of these. Let us know for sure she’s inside. That would be helpful.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Tell her the president’s daughter is likely using the name Rahab.”

  Chapter Four

  “Looking for something in particular?”

  Tuesday’s spontaneous search had taken her from the kitchen, through the main room of the lodge, and into the bedroom by the time her captor returned. Why bother with excuses? She was on her hands and knees with her head angled under his bed. What clever explanation could there be for that? I dropped my pen?

  Releasing her hold on the quilted bedspread—with as much dignity as her awkward position allowed—she stood, intentionally took a moment to fiddle with her dress, then faced him.

  “I was looking for another weapon. I’m never been good with knives.” She punctuated the claim with her most charming smile.

  He laughed. Just a muffled chuckle at first. Then leaning against the doorjamb, he gave in and filled the room with the full, warm sound of his masculine laughter.

  Tuesday watched him closely, fascinated by the change in his appearance. Tiny crinkles fanned out from his deep-set eyes, faint dimples appeared in his cheeks as his mouth formed a slightly crooked smile. Imperfections. An image flitted at the edge of her consciousness but dissolved before she could grasp it.

  “Oh.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “You are nothing like I expected.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “A…scientist.”

  Her brow shot up at that. “I think you just insulted me.”

  Stepping away from the doorway, he motioned toward the outer room. “That wasn’t my intention, I assure you. You’re refreshing and unique, but why did you consider me foolish enough to leave a weapon under the bed?”

  She ignored his silent directive and meandered farther into the room, determined to complete her task. Two windows. All of the others had been securely sealed, so she didn’t humiliate herself by attempting to lift them. The built-in blinds made smashing through them impossible, even if the panes were breakable. Such a tidy little cage.

  “There’s something I’d like you to see.” He waited until she glanced at him to add, “Unless there’s a reason you’re loitering in my bedroom.”

  Not dignifying the jibe with a reaction, she strolled past him and into the main room of the lodge. Escape wasn’t much of an option even if she managed to get out of the building. Mountains and trees surrounded them as far as her eyes could see. The nearest person could be just over the next rise or several hundred miles away. She had no way of knowing.

  “Come here.” He patted the sofa beside where he was sitting, but she chose the adjacent chair
instead. He chuckled at her obstinate antics. “Play.”

  His voice command triggered the monitor directly in front of him. Tuesday pivoted slightly as Vonne Lucero’s office materialized on screen. The date/time stamp in the corner of the image told her when the conversation had taken place.

  General Bettencourt’s revelation probably should have surprised her, but it didn’t. She had known his motivation had nothing to do with the SP-64. “Pause,” she said clearly, and the image froze. “How did you get this?”

  “You just learned that the President of Unified North America is trying to blackmail you and that’s what you want to know?”

  “Trying is the operative word. You’ve just provided me with the protection I need to see that I’m not forced into anything.”

  “Only if I choose to share it with you.”

  She scowled at him. “I see. We’re still negotiating.”

  “I will never stop negotiating. Keep that in mind.”

  Turning back to the screen, she said, “Play.”

  The propaganda Job had sent her ran in tandem through her mind as she watched the rest of the recording. Job wanted the world to believe PURE was a wholesome, orderly environment where those not corrupted by vanity’s taint could live in peace, protected from the genetic mutation God had unleashed as a sort of purging judgment. No one with a “Purity Rating” higher than 0.9 was allowed within the stronghold.

  Bettencourt thought she’d been kidnapped by Job. Barely suppressing a shudder, she glanced at her captor. Job’s public image, the face used for PURE broadcasts, the face in his messages could be anyone—or no one.

  Had she been kidnapped by the real Job? That had been her first suspicion.

  “Tell her the president’s daughter is likely using the name Rahab,” the general said and the image faded to black.

  “How does Bettencourt know what name she’s using?” Marc mused.

  The sofa squeaked as Marc stood, but Tuesday couldn’t drag her gaze from the blank screen. Fear pounded through her veins, stronger now than it had been when she’d emerged from the drug-induced stupor. Was there even a little girl? Was this a test? Some sick game?

  What did he really want with her?

  She licked her lips slowly, trying not to reveal her escalating anxiety. Should she confront him or just play along?

  What difference would it make in the long run?

  “Okay. What are you thinking now? Somehow I doubt this one’s going to make me laugh.”

  He was standing, so she stood, dragging her gaze to his. “Are you Job?”

  Closing his eyes, he heaved an exasperated sigh. “I thought we had this all settled. I am not Job and I have no affiliation with those lunatics.”

  “Your kidnapping me on the same day Job warned me not to make him do something unconventional is just a happy coincidence?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her. The green material of his shirt stretched tight over his nicely defined biceps. “Maybe we should have delved a bit deeper into this topic before. What’s your connection to PURE? Is that why the president wants you so badly? Are you already on the inside?”

  “Do you even have a daughter?” she countered.

  His large hand banded her arm and he led her, rather forcefully, back into the bedroom. “You’re not as observant as you think.” He nodded toward the picture mounted to the left of the bed.

  Surrounded by thick, green grass, sunshine bright upon her face, sat a little girl. Her feet were bare and her T-shirt bore the familiar Sinclair-Dietrich logo. The child’s alabaster skin was shadowed with purple beneath her large, thick-lashed brown eyes. Contained in two neat braids, her golden-brown hair was only a shade or two lighter than her father’s and her smile tilted at the same angle Marc’s had when Tuesday made him laugh.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “She’s dying!”

  Marc hadn’t meant to say the words quite so forcefully, but pain propelled them from his throat. Tuesday flinched and took a step back. “Are you satisfied now? Will you trade this little girl’s future for your own? Right now the government wants to control you both. I’ve got the means to keep them from controlling you, and you—”

  “The picture could be faked. Vidcom her. I want to see her.”

  He closed his eyes and started counting.

  Why wouldn’t she be reasonable? Why was she making everything so much harder than it needed to be? He hesitated. Could he control the situation if he allowed such a call? Phil would wring his neck.

  Slowly opening his eyes, he stared at her. “If I thought far enough ahead to plant the picture, I could just as easily have planted a video file.”

  “Not an interactive one. I want to talk to her.”

  “Not a chance!” What was this about? “Why?”

  She shook her head, setting all those strawberry curls to dancing. “What you’re asking me to do is illegal, buddy. I don’t think asking to meet the patient is too much to expect.”

  Raking both hands through his hair, he started toward the other side of the bed. Was that all there was to it? Her emotions were so convoluted he couldn’t begin to unravel them. “Fine. You can talk to Elise, but you have to send a text message to Vonne Lucero first.”

  “Forever negotiating?”

  He opened the nightstand with his security code and pulled out his vidcom. “I want General Lapdog off my back. Tell your boss you checked into whatever hotel you were supposed to check into and everything is a-okay. Then, I’ll contact Elise.”

  “How long have you been spying on us? Did you tap into the mediplex security directly or plant your own bugs?”

  He just smiled. She held out her hand for the vidcom, but he shook his head. “Give me her number, I’ll key in the message.”

  Narrowing to glistening slits of green, her gaze spoke eloquently of her displeasure. In a tense, resentful voice she told him the number and Marc did the rest. Then, he entered his home number and raised the device to his ear. “Hi, Laura, it’s Marc. Is she awake? Sure, I’ll wait.”

  “Who’s Laura?”

  None of your damn business. It was the answer she deserved! “Elise’s nurse.”

  She accepted the explanation with a silent nod. Was she starting to see how impossible this had been for him? Starting to sense…

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  Elise sounded breathless—frail. His chest compressed painfully, his heart desperate to beat for both of them. “Hi, sweetheart. Laura told me you’ve had a time of it today.” Moving the handset away from his ear, he switched it to speaker mode and stalked toward Tuesday, challenging her with his eyes.

  “She put me on bypass. I have to just lie here for hours, Daddy. I’ll go insane!”

  “If she doesn’t put you on bypass when your numbers go that high, you’ll end up back in the hospital. Talk about lying around for hours with nothing to do. Listen, sweetheart, I’m with a friend and she didn’t realize I had a daughter. She’d like to say hello. You okay with that?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Shifting the device in front of him so Tuesday could see the display, he activated video, without relinquishing control.

  “Dad! You didn’t say anything about video!”

  Elise looked positively wretched, and for once in his life, Marc was thankful. Her thin body made a barely discernible mound in her bed. She’d yanked the covers up past her chin. All that remained was her emaciated face and her too-thin fingers.

  “Sorry. This is my friend. We were—”

  “But Dad…” She wheezed and coughed. “Daddy, that’s Tuesday Fitzpatrick.”

  Shit! He hadn’t considered that Elise might recognize her. Tuesday looked nearly as startled as his daughter.

  “Hi, Elise,” Tuesday greeted. “It’s nice to meet you. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please, relax. Get some rest.”

  Knowing Laura was never far away, he deactivated video, but Elise’s voice continued in a passionate rush. “Daddy does thi
s mean…is Ms. Fitzpatrick going to give me one of her hearts? I thought you said it wasn’t up to her. I thought—”

  “Elise has had a hard day, Mr. Sinclair!”

  The second he heard Laura’s angry voice, he frantically cut off the speaker. She always addressed him formally when she was pissed off. Had Tuesday heard his name? This just went from bad to worse.

  He raised the handset to his ear. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to upset—”

  “How could she not be upset?” Laura railed. “You’re dangling her dreams before her like candy on a string!”

  “Laura, please calm down. I am not with Tuesday Fitzpatrick.”

  “You’re supposed to be relaxing. Who the hell are you with?”

  He’d never tolerate insubordination in any other employee, but Laura was not only Elise’s nurse, she was family. “She’s a friend, Laura, nothing more. I hadn’t seen her in years, so she dropped by my hotel to catch up. She’s happily married with two kids.”

  “Well, what was this about Tuesday Fitzpatrick? I’ve never seen Elise so upset.”

  “My friend has a similar hair color, that’s all. Elise saw what she—”

  “She saw what she has dreamed about her entire life! You have to be more sensitive to her needs. What were you thinking?”

  Infuriated by the irony, Marc glared at his reluctant companion. “I didn’t think—”

  “Obviously! I apologize for my lack of respect, but this was just plain stupid. I’ll speak with you later.”

  She disconnected.

  He tossed the vidcom in the nightstand drawer and locked it, hoping the distraction would cool his temper. It didn’t.

  Tuesday stood at the foot of his bed, her face devoid of expression, while her fingers reflexively crumpled the material of her dress. Emotions seethed below the surface—pity, anger, regret. Still, her outward calm frustrated him. “Are you satisfied?” he sneered.

  “Satisfied?” Her jaw dropped and fire leapt within her eyes. “I’m not the one who started this! You kidnapped me! If your daughter is upset right now, you have no one to blame but…”