Expectation (Ghost Targets, #2) (5 page)

She filled a glass with ice and took out a pitcher of tea. As she kicked the door shut behind her, her eyes scanned her living room. The walls were a sea foam green, now, but she was about ready to go back to the rose trim and white walls. She couldn't count the number of times she'd redone the decor in the last month. The furniture was soft, the service excellent, but this place was her prison. She felt a sudden bond with Reed, thinking back to the last thing he'd said in the bar. She needed to get out of this place.

That took her back to the dreadful interview with the investigators, and as she carried her iced tea back to the bedroom to get packed, she found herself grinding her teeth in irritation. "Hathor, connect me to Dad. No, wait. Goodbye." She broke the connection before it could even ring, and a mischievous glint sparked in her eye. "Hathor, connect me to Martin Door."

Two rings, and before the system could even prompt her she said, "Yes, voice message." She set her glass down on the dressing table in her room and moved to look out the window as a light snow began to fall. "I'm under investigation because of you," she said. She laughed. "Are you even listening to these messages? Any of them? There's no reason you should, but I'd like to think you have. I know there are others listening to them, though."

She sighed. "Government Accountability Office is after me. Reed, too. They want to know how much we had to do with the whole Velez plot. They've got my records—thank you for that—and Reed swore today that those records are legitimate, but these guys want more." She turned her back on the window and leaned against it while she looked over her room.

"I...I don't know why I'm telling you this. I'm not going to leave you any more messages. I guess that's it. It seemed weird to me to just stop calling, so I thought I should explain, but...." She trailed off, her gaze sinking to the floor, and then shook her head.

"You're not helping yourself," she said. "I wish you hadn't run. It's not the first time I've said that, but it's still true. We could use what you know, and I'm sure I could have protected you...." The words tasted like a lie, and the memory of Fredrik's hateful visage suddenly boiled up behind her eyes. "They think you're a monster," she said. "What are you up to?"

It wasn't the first time she'd asked him that question, but there was never any answer. He was the most capable ghost left in the world, the last of Hathor's creators, roaming free and carrying with him all the work of the madman that had nearly brought the whole system down barely a month ago. He had become a friend, in just a few short days, and then disappeared completely.

Her mind jittered, dancing across the things she'd said to him, the things she wanted to say. She thought about her interview and frowned. A moment later she said, "I don't know if you remember, but you once told me you would do what you could to clear my name." That memory of Fredrik came back again, leaning on his white knuckles, face twisted in rage. "That's...that's not what I'm calling about. Okay? Reed is on my side here, and I've given the absolute truth in every statement they've asked for. The stuff you've provided, they say they can't trust it, anyway. So that's not what I'm calling about."

She could remember him with kind, fatherly eyes, promising to protect her. She could remember him looking like a child, helpless, thanking her for giving him hope. Mostly she remembered him leaving, bruised and bloodied, but with a swagger born of a new determination. That was the man she didn't know. She had a pretty good grasp on the other shades of Martin Door, but the one who'd walked away with Velez's secrets in the palm of his hand, that one was a mystery to her.

"I hope you're all right," she said. She shook her head and said, "Goodbye."

After that she didn't much feel like talking. The music playing over the room's speakers matched her mood, muted and sad, and after a moment she threw the curtains wide again so she could watch the snow drift down while she packed. Craig's itinerary had her away for a week, but her favorite bag wouldn't hold much more than four days' worth of clothes. She decided to risk it. She could do some shopping in Boulder if it came to it. She packed warmly, with an eye to comfort more than anything else. Reed always wore the button-down suit, she thought, so let him carry the attention. She worked better in jeans, anyway. Somehow, she didn't think her boss would complain.

Half an hour to get packed and another hour killed on her handheld just passing the time, then she called for a car and made a mad dash across the courtyard as it pulled up. There was a quarter inch of snow on the ground, enough to show her footprints clearly against the mat of dead grass, and according to the reports there'd be a full inch on the ground before nightfall.

Not her problem, though. Last she'd seen, there were eighteen inches on the mountain outside Boulder, and two of the interstates out of town were closed down. But the airport was reporting no delays, and her handheld showed her Reed was on his way to the gate already. She sighed as she closed the door and told her driver unnecessarily, "Take me to the airport. Make it quick." Then she snuggled into the chair and slipped into a doze while the car maneuvered into traffic. Outside, the snow fell.

Reed was already seated on the plane when Katie got to the airport, and her headset started buzzing warnings to her while she was running to the gate. She pulled out her handheld without breaking pace and confirmed her seat. An attendant closed the boarding doors behind her, and while Katie was still settling into her chair, the plane headed for the runway.

She wasn't sitting next to Reed, which was almost a relief. She could see him from her place, one row up and six seats over, his head resting on the window glass and his eyes staring unseeing out into the snow. He was a mess. She wondered in passing how much trouble he was going to be, working this case.

In the end it didn't matter much, she decided as the jet's lunge into the sky pressed her back into her seat. If it came down to it, she could handle the case. This was nothing like the Linson murder, with malicious ghosters threatening to obscure the whole database. It was a passive gap in the archive, arranged within the bounds of law, and she had every reason to believe it could be sorted out with a little pressure in the right places. Maybe the local police chief didn't have the necessary authority to get things done, but a couple FBI agents from Ghost Targets should be able to open doors.

With that little pep talk at the front of her mind, she turned to the case, pulling out her handheld as the plane settled in at cruising altitude. She went back to Dora Hart, double-checking Reed's facts, and came to the same conclusion. The police chief and the victim had had more than a passing friendship in high school, but they'd lost touch for nearly a decade after that and hadn't exchanged more than occasional notes in the time since then—Christmas cards and catch-ups, and the occasional suggestion that they get together for dinner sometime, but she could find no record of them following through on that.

She peeked into Barnes's research, wondering what she might find there, but there wasn't much of it to see. All of his recent work had been done under strict confidentiality, and many of his old papers had been confiscated and restricted when he first went to work at De Grey. She had to go back to his undergraduate work to find anything more than an abstract, and when she did that she realized access to his newer papers wouldn't have done her any good. It was all way over her head.

Right as she was closing out a paper on epigenetics he'd written for his Freshman biology class, the plane began its final descent. She caught a glimpse of the snowy mountainside out the window when she threw a glance at Reed, forehead still resting on the window, but his body slumped forward at an uncomfortable angle. She pocketed her handheld and said quietly into her headset, "Hathor, connect me to Reed."

He jerked awake on the first ring and answered her on the second as he craned an obviously stiff neck to pick her out on the row behind him. "What?"

"I thought you might want a moment to pull yourself together," she said. "Chief Hart is meeting us at the airport."

She saw him frown, brows knitting together. "She is?"

"Got a message mid-flight. She got us clearance to visit the clinic tonight, which is apparently something of a feat." She watched him run a hand through his hair, eyes bloodshot and a little panicky, and her heart went out to him. "Miles to go before we sleep, sir."

"Thanks, Katie." He nodded to her, then settled back into his chair, running his hand through his hair again. "Goodbye."

By the time they reached the terminal, he looked better, and when they stepped out into the winter chill, he seemed himself. His shoulders were square, his suit hung easily on a powerful frame, and his emerald eyes captured those of Dora Hart,waiting for them by her black-and-white cruiser. She wasn't tall—maybe an inch taller than Katie—but the woman wore strength like a tailored suit. Her uniform jacket hung open over a tight-fitting white T-shirt that showed off her muscle tone. She flashed a confident smile when she saw Reed looking her way.

She called to him, "You my man?"

He nodded back, and smiled as he stepped up and extended a hand. "I'm Special Agent Reed, FBI."

"Of course you are," she purred, then cast a fleeting glance on Katie. "And this is?"

Katie nodded back at her. "Katie Pratt, also of Ghost Targets."

"Well," Hart said, her full attention back on Reed's eyes. "I'm glad you could make the time to visit Boulder. I'm sure we won't disappoint." She glanced at Katie again, and her mouth turned down. "Oh, you poor thing," she said. "Let's get in the car. You look miserable."

Katie's lips tightened, but neither of the others noticed. All three climbed into the car, and as soon as the doors were closed Hart said, "Dispatch, send us to the De Grey Clinic, private entrance. Thanks." The cruiser was a six-seater, two benches facing each other, and Chief Hart settled in facing Reed, sitting in the center of her bench with both arms up on the seat back. "I do apologize for the abrupt change of plans, but we got lucky finding an opportunity at all. I understand the assistant is resuming Eric's research at eight tomorrow morning, and it would be a real bitch to try to get in once they're operational again."

"The assistant," Katie said, trying to cue Reed in. "That would be Meg Ginney? She's been with the De Grey clinic for four years now."

"Yes, dear." Hart threw her a condescending look for stating the obvious. "You've done your research, I see."

Reed missed the exchange. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and said, "What do we know about his condition?"

The police chief looked away, some of her bravado suddenly gone, and shrugged one shoulder. "He's comatose, unresponsive. Doctors say there's nothing they can do for him. His wife has him on machines."

Katie spoke up. "There are signs of normal brain activity," she said, and got a withering look for it. She tilted her head, confused at the reaction, and said defensively, "He's been out long enough that his odds aren't good, but he's not exactly a vegetable."

Reed shook his head. "Sounds complicated. What makes you think there was a crime involved?"

The chief hesitated for a moment, her breath caught in her chest, then let it all out in a
whuff
. "It's the cover-up," she said. "I don't have anything to go on but that. But they're hiding something, and that much is plain as day."

Reed tried to sound diplomatic. "Chief Hart, I can't force an investigation within a military restricted area based on your hunch—"

"You don't have to," she said, pulling her chin up and meeting his eyes. "That's what this is for. That's exactly why we're going there now, so you can see for yourself. And you will see. Something strange is going on at that lab."

"Yes," Katie said, a little more bitterly than she intended. "They're putting the last nail in the coffin of aging. That's a miraculous thing."

"And every man, woman, and child in the country is waiting with bated breath for their chance to take the drug," Hart said, rounding on her. "They check their handhelds every morning for any news at all about it, and you know what they haven't seen? They haven't seen that the lead researcher is comatose in his own lab. They haven't read a word about his inexplicable, bizarre accident or the medical implications of it. Neither has anyone in the medical community. The army has this story under lockdown, Miss Pratt, and there's something very wrong about that."

"I agree," Reed said, reaching out a hand to soothe her. "We'll do everything we can. Our office has considerable pull, even where we lack direct authority. That's why we're here."

"Thank you," Hart said, grateful eyes wide as she met Reed's. "Thank you so much. I just need to know that I've done everything I can."

In spite of that last, she remained in the car when they arrived at the clinic. "I'm heading back to the precinct to take care of some paperwork," she said to Reed. "Just give me a buzz when you're done here, and I'll be right by to drop you at your hotel."

He reached for the door handle, but she stopped him with a light finger on his other wrist. "Do call me. We'll need to talk before you call it a night."

He nodded his understanding with a polite smile and then left the car. Katie was already waiting outside the other door, and she rolled her eyes as the car backed out and disappeared through the security gate and back into traffic. "Can you believe that woman?"

"What?" Reed said. "Katie, she's grieving. Cut her some slack."

Katie stared for a moment, then shook her head. Before she could say more, a voice interrupted on her headset, and by his reaction Reed was hearing the same thing. "You are loitering in a restricted area. Please proceed directly to the administrative building and check in with the receptionist there. All monitoring devices are disabled in this area including Hathor-enabled headsets and handhelds, Hippocrates devices, and any remote personal assistant connections. You are loitering in a restricted area. Please proceed—" Katie silenced her headset with a flick of her wrist, and after a moment's thought pulled it off her ear and dropped it into her pocket, next to the handheld displaying a connection status error.