Mate Run, page 7
The guys working at the monitors muttered to each other. The one on the right, who looked barely out of high school, said, “Excuse me, sir. Are you the agency’s owner?”
“One of them, yes,” I confirmed.
There was excited murmuring between the three. I could have tuned in and heard every word, had I been interested. My focus was on something else.
I pulled out the rolling office chair and sat in front of the computer terminal. When I moved the mouse, the screen woke to reveal the client profile of a woman named Cherise Golden. Davis was already logged into Mate Match’s client database. The sudden spike of fear from Davis made me hesitate, for just a second. I glanced at him. Why would the head of security need to view client profiles? He wasn’t an analyst.
Davis cleared his throat. “Uh, I can find any information you need if you tell me what you’re looking for. My security clearance grants me access.”
“I have it.” I waited. He continued to stand there, looking over my shoulder. “You can leave now.”
The guy’s face flushed a vivid red. “Uh, yes. Sorry.” He walked to one of the extra chairs in front of the monitors and sat, still eyeing me warily.
Dismissing Davis, I turned my attention to the computer and pulled up Cara Rodriguez’s account. As I read the details and the reports of the background checks we'd run, I could see why the old man had taken an interest. Other than her son, she appeared to have no living family. The only references she’d given had been the school at which she was employed and a legal firm. The legal firm was also listed as her secondary contact.
Narrowing my eyes, I leaned closer. Hold up. I recognized the firm’s name. We’d gotten several calls about a legal firm sniffing around. Something about a noninfected woman seeking sanctuary and willing to pay for it, but she didn’t want to mate with any of their men. Had that been Cara? When she hadn’t gotten a favorable response, had she changed tactics?
Chapter Nine
Thaddeus
Courtesy of the military, I was an excellent hacker. I wanted a deeper dive into Cara Rodriguez. I could call the old man, but he’d only tell me what he found interesting. If he said anything at all. No, it was better to research myself. I was the one who had to convince her to come with me.
I found a back door into the T. S. Sanders Law Group. For a law firm, their cybersecurity was sorely lacking. Getting in was child’s play. Not interested in anyone but Cara, I quickly found her case file and scanned through the report and the attached medical records. My scanning came to an abrupt halt when I read a familiar name: Roman Martinez Young.
The chair made a loud squeak as I abruptly leaned back. Roman. Son of a bitch. Before I could consider the ramifications of my discovery, my phone vibrated. I eased up a hip and took the phone out of my pocket. Same number as earlier. “Young speaking.”
“Mr. Young, sir. I’m here, but I’m not sure what to do with the boy,” Stephen said.
My brows furrowed in puzzlement. “Bring him inside.”
“That’s just it, sir. He’s...well, you’ll have to see for yourself to understand what I mean. I don’t want to frighten him.”
I glanced up at the monitors and saw an old, military-grade Hummer parked near the front entrance that hadn’t been there before. I overheard one of the security guards speaking into his mike, “Jim, see who that is at the front door.”
I snapped my finger to catch the guard’s attention. When he glanced over, I motioned to the monitor and said, “He’s with me.”
“Disregard. He’s been cleared,” the guard said.
Into the phone, I said, “Stephen, I’ll be down in a sec.”
“Take your time. It’s not like I can go anywhere,” the guy muttered.
Disconnecting the call, I thought to myself, that guy needed to work on his attitude. In his defense, he had been put in an untenable position. Stephen didn’t have the same protections as the uninfected. If word got out to the wrong people of the crimes he’d committed tonight, he’d be calling the inside of a jail cell home for years. Jillian wouldn’t be able to protect him.
Strange that he’d been so used to following Jillian’s lead that he’d gone against his conscience. The knowledge of how deep the scientist’s control was over her employees made me even more determined to take a deeper look into her business practices. The infected may have had legal protections that were favorable, but we still were subject to the law. We’d fought hard for our legal rights and status. I couldn’t have Jillian and her schemes undermining it.
Aware of Davis watching my every muscle twitch, I backed out of the legal firm’s database without triggering an alarm. Then I erased every trace of what I’d done from the computer, knowing the minute I left the room Davis would be over here investigating. One of the guards called Davis’s name, distracting him. Leaning close to the keyboard, I quickly planted a tracking device inside of the computer. This would allow me to access the computer remotely and track whatever he did. The process only took seconds.
I stood, attracting everyone’s attention. Without saying a word, I walked out. The trip through the enormous warehouse took a few minutes. When I exited the front door, Stephen paced by the Humvee. The man’s once pristine navy suit was now rumpled and disheveled. The lines in his dark skin gave his face a haggard appearance. His wary gaze snapped to mine. “Mr. Young?”
“Yeah. Show me the problem,” I said.
Stephen pulled the fob out of his pocket and walked toward the passenger side of the vehicle. “Thank God you’re here. I spotted Jillian’s car and worried she’d see me.” Fob pointed at the door, he faltered with his finger on the unlock button. Meeting my gaze, he said, “We don’t have to tell Jillian about my part in this, do we?”
When I merely stared, he rushed on to explain. “It’s just that jobs in my field are hard to find, and none pay as much as Mate Match. As I said earlier, I don’t always agree with Jillian’s method but can’t argue with its success.”
“Open the door.”
Stephen hesitated another moment, his gaze searching mine. Evidently sensing I wasn’t handing out reassurances, he pushed the button on the fob and opened the door. Holding it wide, Stephen stepped aside, giving me a clear view of the interior.
The scent of the dog hit me first. Then I noticed the kid. He was bundled up like a mummy, deeply asleep. I loosened the cover around his head and saw he had on headphones and a sleep mask. It all made sense. Sensory overload.
As I unwrapped him, his little boy scent rose. I froze, closing my eyes as the familiar scent hit my nostrils. It punched me in the gut. I gripped the blanket tightly and resisted the urge to rip it off and cradle the boy in my arms. Only the knowledge such an action would terrify him kept me in check.
I unraveled him free of the blanket and caught the chemical taint of medicine. Not only had Cara bundled him, but she’d given him something to calm and help him sleep. Considering our current situation, that was good. I lifted the headphones from his ears and heard the faint sound of classical music playing. Setting them to the side, I carefully removed his mask.
I stopped for a moment and took a good look. Joaquin was small for a four-year-old. With a head of tousled brown curls and honey skin, he was a cute little thing. I shook his shoulder. “Joaquin. Come on, buddy. You need to wake up.”
It took a few minutes but his eyelids finally lifted to reveal golden brown eyes. “Who are you?”
“I’m your father,” I told him, the beast in me staking an instant claim.
Those sleepy brown eyes narrowed and a spark of deep intelligence lit his eyes. “Momma showed me pictures. You’re not my father.”
“That was your sperm donor. I’m going to be your daddy. Do you know what a daddy is?” I asked.
Ignoring the question, Joaquin looked around. “Where’s momma?”
“She’s inside the building. I’ll take you to her in a bit,” I assured him.
He twisted to look behind him and spotted the dog. “What’s wrong with Cujo?”
“He’s asleep.”
The kid turned narrowed, suspicious eyes on me. “He smells funny.”
Smart and observant. The boy was going to be a handful when he got older. He probably already was. Might be why his mother had diligently searched for a clan to take them in. I wasn’t going to start my life with the kid by lying to him, so I told him the truth. “Stephen gave him something to make him go to sleep, just like the medicine your mom gave you.”
The kid leaned around the seat again and took another look at his dog. He studied him for a long moment, as though assuring himself that the dog was all right. When he turned back around, he demanded, “I want my momma.”
I undid his seatbelt and held out my arms. From the look the kid shot me, you’d have thought I offered him poison. “Pa-pop said never to go with strangers.”
An unexpected laugh slipped out of me, but I managed to turn it into a cough. Getting serious, I stooped so that we were at eye level. “Look at me. Really look, using all of your senses, and then tell me I’m a stranger.”
Joaquin leaned close enough that our noses almost touched and stared intently into my eyes. I let him see me, dropping the shields that had become second nature. He inhaled so deeply his nostrils flared and his nose twitched. Reaching out a hand, he touched the corner of my eye. “Your eyes look like mine.”
“Yes. What else?”
“We look alike,” he said, pointing to my clothes. We both had on blue jeans, athletic shoes, and a sweatshirt with a hood. Due to the infected’s high metabolism, we didn’t need anything heavier. His sweatshirt had a cartoon character I didn’t recognize.
“Good eye. What else do you see?” I asked.
“You smell...” He trailed off. Probably didn’t know how to put into words what his senses were telling him. I doubted the kid had ever met another infected person, surrounded as he’d been by the uninfected.
“We’re the same, you and I. Your mom was looking for someone like me to help take care of you now that your Pa-pop died. She found me.”
The kid tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Me and Cujo don’t like Bruno.”
“Yeah? What’s wrong with Bruno?” I asked.
Cara’s file had mentioned something about problems with a male neighbor. Was this who the boy was talking about?
The little boy scowled fiercely as he said, “He smells wrong, and he has mean eyes. Pa-pop said he wanted momma, but he wasn’t gonna let him have her. I don’t know why he wants momma, but I don’t like him.”
The child’s tone and expression were as belligerent as I’d ever seen on a four-year-old. For a minute, I forgot I was speaking with a kid who hadn’t even started school. “Does your mom like Bruno?”
Jock slowly shook his head. “Her heart beats fast and her scent gets funny whenever he gets close. And her face gets like this.” He demonstrated. His face held no hint of a smile and his eyes squinted.
I bit back another smile. “I see what you mean.” Standing, I held out a hand. “Let’s go find your momma. She’s in a meeting right now, but I’ll take you to a room where we can watch until she’s done.”
“What about Cujo?” he asked.
“He’s safe. Cujo can stay here, and we can ask Mr. Stephen to watch over him until he wakes up,” I offered.
The kid scowled. “Cujo don’t like strangers.”
“Then we’ll crack the windows so Cujo can get air, and lock the doors so no one can get to him,” I said.
The kid thought for a moment and nodded. “People don’t like Cujo 'cause he’s big. They might hurt him while he’s sleep.”
“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Stephen, give me the keys and you can go inside. There should be a breakroom where you can wait. Ask one of the guards,” I said.
Stephen tossed me the keys and hurried inside, glancing around nervously as though expecting Jillian to jump out and say boo. When he was gone, I looked at Joaquin. “Do you know how to start the truck?”
He nodded and pointed at the ignition button.
“Good. Start the engine and then you can lower the windows for Cujo.”
He grinned, scrambled forward, planted one knee on the center console and braced one arm on the steering wheel. Right before touching the ignition, he cast me a questioning glance.
“Go ahead,” I encouraged.
With a teeth-baring grin, he pushed the button. The engine purred to life.
“Do you know how to open the window?” I asked.
Joaquin happily demonstrated by jabbing one of the window controls. Predictably, the window rolled all of the way down.
“If you leave the window open that wide, Cujo might jump out when he wakes and then we won’t find him,” I said.
“He won’t leave. He likes us. What if he needs to pee?” the boy argued.
Reasoning with a four-year-old wasn’t something I'd done before, but I forced myself not to simply put the window where I wanted it. “If you leave the window down that far, someone could get in the car and get to Cujo. It isn’t safe.”
His mouth took on a stubborn set, but after a second or two, he pushed the button again. The window slowly rose. “Like this?” he asked.
“Yes.” When he reached for another window control button, I said, “That’s good enough. Too much air and Cujo might get cold. Let’s go find your mom.”
Thankfully, the kid came without further argument. He scrambled out of the vehicle, no assistance necessary. Before I could close the door, Joaquin snatched up his backpack and slung it over one arm. As we entered the building, I took his hand and held it securely in mine. Good thing I did. The kid was so curious, I ended up almost dragging him behind me as he slowed to peer into every open door and peep around every corner. He remained quiet, which was an unexpected mercy.
The climb to the nest took so long that I was tempted to pick the kid up and tote him. His legs were short enough that he had to take two steps for each step. I curbed my impatience as best I could. Finally, we stood on the landing. I keyed in the code and ushered my charge inside.
Chapter Ten
Cara
My eyes shot open. The bright lights had them immediately closing again. I tried to raise my arm and could barely lift it. It felt encased in concrete. My whole body was one gigantic ache. I tried to sink into the oblivion of sleep, but an underlying sense of urgency nagged at me. Something I should know. Something I had forgotten...
Jock! His name came to me in a flash, and I jerked awake.
Panicked, I ignored my throbbing head and slowly turned my head to the side. Nothing made sense. I was in a big white room filled with green cots. Some of the cots contained sleeping–or passed out–women like me. My heart beat a rapid tattoo. Where was I? What happened to me?
The last thing I remembered was walking out of Mate Match to get to Jock. Jock! Once again my scattered thoughts focused. Where was my son?
It took a supreme effort, but I managed to sit up, swaying as the room spun. My eyesight went wonky and my vision blurred. I planted a hand on the cot’s metal bar and breathed slowly, waiting for my world to settle. One attempt told me standing wasn’t an option. I rolled over the edge of the cot and landed hard on the concrete floor. Head hanging low, I crawled across the cold bare floor until I reached the door.
It took another few minutes for me to shift to sit on my butt, one shoulder propped against the door. Using all of the strength I could muster, I beat on it. “Where is my son? Give me my son,” I yelled hoarsely.
My head gave a violent throb, and I twisted to press my forehead to the cold metal of the door. My stomach lurched, and my mouth filled with saliva. Swallowing rapidly, I curled into the fetal position. Anyone entering the room would have to trip over me. I wasn’t moving from this position.
I must have passed out because when I came to again, I was back on the cot. My headache had reduced to a dull throb centered on my forehead. When I reached up to touch it, my fingers came away with dried blood and grit. The sight of it sparked my memory.
Images flashed through my mind. Mate Match’s staff's strange behavior. Undercurrents I hadn’t understood. The man by my vehicle in the parking lot while Cujo barked his head off. My instinctive wariness despite the man’s attempt to appear friendly.
The door opened and two men walked in carrying a woman. I shoved off the cot and stumbled my way into their path. Grabbing the first man, who appeared to be my age, I said, “Where is my son?”
He shrugged me off, and I stumbled. The second guy didn’t even glance at me as he walked by, carrying his burden. They laid the unconscious woman on the cot and turned to leave. I planted myself in their path. Even as I weaved unsteadily on my feet, I demanded, “I want my son.”
“Lady, we don’t know nothing about no kid,” the first one growled as he walked around me. I reached for him but both were able to easily avoid my grasp.
I stumbled after them only to have the door shut in my face. Supremely angry, I banged and kicked on the door, shouting until my voice was hoarse. It was scary how weak I was. I barely made it to the cot before I collapsed.
Tears escaped. I was in a murderous rage but had to suck it in. They had my son. That meant they had control. Despite the years of hand-to-hand combat training my father had forced on me, my hands were tied. Did anyone even know Jock had been asleep in the Humvee? Had they left him there alone? My poor baby must be terrified.
I rocked back and forth, arms tightly wrapped around myself. Finally, I collapsed onto my side, eyes glued to the door. When they came in again, I’d be ready. Though my eyes grew heavy, every time they closed I forced them open again.
The door opened several times and the whole process repeated itself. I demanded answers. The guards ignored me. Finally, one of them snapped out, “Look, lady, your kid is fine. Why don’t you just settle down?”
“Settle down? You want me to settle down? You kidnapped me and took my son. I will not settle down,” I shouted.
