Shadowlight

“I do.” The portly man’s face twisted. “Bradford Lawson. He’s out of control.” He gave Samantha a stiff smile. “Sorry, ma’am. My name is Delaporte, but everyone calls me Del.”

“Okay, Del.” Samantha looked into his eyes. “Tell me, why did Lawson kill Ted Evans?”

He shrugged. “Ted tried to stop him. Bradford didn’t want to be stopped.”

“What was he driving when he left here?” she asked.

“He stole Dr. Kirchner’s car.” Del gave her a description of the vehicle and the license number.

Samantha copied the information into her electronic notepad. “Does anyone know what set this man off on this killing spree?”

“He’s trying to find out where Jessa Bellamy is,” he replied. “He really wants to kill her.”

Lucan frowned. “For what reason? Were they lovers?”

“No. Bellamy humiliated him in front of our boss. Her boyfriend used a blade on him. Cut his hamstrings and crippled him.” Delaporte sighed. “Can’t blame them. Bradford’s always been a real asshole with women.”

Samantha glanced at the bloodstained ground. “The man I saw kill the guard wasn’t a cripple.”

“He’s doing fine now,” Delaporte agreed. “Except that maybe he’s lost his mind.”

“See, this is why I don’t use l’attrait,” Samantha said to Lucan. “Half the time their answers don’t make any sense.”

“Regardless, we should locate this Jessa Bellamy and her boyfriend immediately,” Lucan suggested. “Kendrick will have men available who can initiate a search while we rest.” He turned to the mortals. “Both of you will forget what we have asked you and go about your business.”

The two men nodded; the guard returned to the shack and the heavyset man walked back to his golf cart.

Lucan guided his sygkenis back to the Ferrari and helped her inside. The pale set of her face compelled him to lean over and place a gentle kiss on her lips.

“What was that for?” she asked, surprised.

“An apology, in advance of the offense.” He pressed his gloved hand to her cheek. “You asked me last night why I would not let you die. I am a selfish man, Samantha, and I wager I will be until the end of time. But even before Dwyer shot you, living without you had already become unbearable. So you see, it was as much to save my life as yours, sweetheart.”

She didn’t speak, but her eyes glowed as she rubbed her face against his palm.

Chapter 12

“Nine dead, and four eyewitnesses who can positively identify Bradford Lawson as the killer.” Genaro looked at the sweating faces around the conference table. “In addition to addressing the catastrophic failure of our security measures, we must now deal with the media exposure and the unwanted attention from the federal authorities. I would like an explanation, gentlemen.”

Only Dr. Kirchner dared to meet his gaze. “The technician who allowed Lawson access to the storage area is dead. Once Lawson had injected himself with the transerum, there was no stopping him.”

“Ted Evans tried, the poor bastard,” Delaporte said. He touched the wireless receiver clipped to his right ear and stood. “Excuse me, sir.” He left the room.

“We can deal with the eyewitnesses,” Genaro’s attorney said. “The FBI will be more difficult, but we have some influence there as well. Under no circumstance should we turn over Lawson to the police.”

“You’re assuming we can capture and contain him.” Genaro tossed the file of hastily prepared reports onto the table. “So where is he and who is he killing now?”

“He’s evidently targeted Jessa Bellamy,” Kirchner said. “After he attacked her neighbors, he ransacked her apartment. But he’s not completely mindless; he retrieved her computer equipment and took it with him.”

Genaro looked at Riordan. “I assume you obtained access to her personal computer files.”

“We hacked in and copied the contents of the hard drive yesterday, sir,” his senior tech said. “We didn’t recover anything useful on the first pass, but I’ll have my people take it apart and search for encrypted data. However, under the current circumstances I doubt Lawson will find anything to help him locate Bellamy.”

“Lawson had complete access to all the information we have on Bellamy,” Genaro said. “He knows who she was, and what she can do. He’ll use it to track her.”

“He has more than data,” Kirchner put in. “We know that the Kyndred are sensitive to one another, and have the ability to both broadcast their locations and track one another. The transerum Lawson injected was earmarked for our latest acquisition, and was designed to boost the latter effect.” He saw Genaro’s face and quickly added, “It will still take him some time to pick up her trail.”

“Riordan, access Bellamy’s credit accounts for traveling expenses. I want to see complete reports on where she does business outside Atlanta, where she takes her vacations, and any other movements she’s made in the last ten years. Create a list of family, friends, and associates and any properties or time-shares they own.” Genaro looked over at Delaporte as he reentered the room. “What now?”

“There’s a homicide detective involved in the Farley case who is asking to speak to you, sir,” his security chief said. “She’s extraditing Farley’s partner to Florida on murder charges. Evidently she knows about Lawson and Bellamy, and made the connection between Bellamy and Farley.”

“Where is she?”

“We’re holding her at the front gate, sir.”

A cop from Florida wouldn’t be able to get a warrant to search GenHance—not in Atlanta. “Give her the usual speech. We’re at a loss as to why this terrible tragedy happened, we’re making arrangements for the families of the victims, and then get her the hell out of here.” He turned to address the rest of his staff. “I want Lawson found. Have him followed closely, but do not interfere with his activities.”

Kirchner cleared his throat. “Under the circumstances, sir, permitting Lawson to roam freely would prove extremely hazardous to the general population.”

“The public is not our concern, Doctor,” he told him. “At this moment Lawson represents the best opportunity we have to locate and retrieve Bellamy. He won’t stop tracking her until he finds her. He’ll also save us the trouble of terminating her.”

Genaro left the conference room and went to the security center, where he reviewed the archived surveillance videos of Lawson entering and leaving the building. The two men his director had murdered were of little consequence; what he was most interested in was the change the transerum had made to Lawson’s physical condition. The man had arrived in a wheelchair, his face damp and pale, his voice tight with pain. The fresh bloodstains on his patient’s gown and wrist bandage bore mute testimony to the condition of his wounds. Forty minutes later he had emerged from the lab in the dead technician’s clothing, his movements easy and his pace brisk.

More remarkable to see were the alterations to Lawson’s musculature. Genaro knew the man had been a dedicated bodybuilder, but even the steroids he had abused couldn’t give him the power or the bulk that the transerum had. He appeared to have gained forty or fifty pounds of unilateral muscle mass, causing his enhanced physique to strain the seams of his clothing. Kirchner had projected a slight increase in body size and condition, but this went far beyond Genaro’s expectations.

His only regret was that Lawson had availed himself of the transerum without being implanted first; the behavioral inhibitor Kirchner had designed to manage their test subjects would have given Genaro more options on how best to use and control him.

On the way to his office Genaro stopped by Kirchner’s lab to have a word with the geneticist.

“I’m pleased with the progress you’ve made preparing the new acquisition,” he told him, “but I want you to delay injecting it with the transerum until we bring in Lawson and perform a thorough screening.”

“That would be prudent.” Kirchner closed the door between his office and the lab before he added, “I’d also recommend we recover Lawson alive if possible.”

Genaro’s brows rose. “Given his current mental condition, that’s unlikely.”

“The transerum is designed to augment and enhance physical and mental abilities,” the doctor said. “We’ve recommended that the buyers use it only on brain-dead specimens. As a result, we’ve never really considered what effect it might have on an active mind—or an unstable one.”

“It will reverse any brain damage Lawson has,” Genaro pointed out.

“It will repair the cellular damage,” Kirchner agreed. “It’s the psychotropic effects that concern me. Lawson was borderline psychotic to begin with; the transerum may enhance his delusions or even push him into a full and permanent break with reality.”

“Is this sympathy for Lawson?” Genaro had never known his chief geneticist to be overly concerned with the welfare of their test subjects. This and the comment he had made during the meeting indicated otherwise. “Or are you experiencing some sort of crisis of conscience, Doctor?”

“I was thinking more of the market impact, sir,” Kirchner said. “The buyers are expecting very specific results. I’ve worked with a number of these governments and coalitions in the past; if the transerum has an inherent flaw, they will not be understanding or politely ask for a refund.”

A technician interrupted them to hand Kirchner a list.

“We’ve inventoried the storage unit.” The doctor peered at the paper in his hand. “Lawson stole more than the transerum. The original sample is missing.”

“He wouldn’t have injected it,” Genaro said.

“If he had, he never would have gotten out of the building.” Kirchner crumpled the list in his hand. “We can’t synthesize more transerum without the progenote, so if it’s destroyed, the program is finished.” He gave Genaro a guarded look. “Unless you can obtain another sample.”