“Then you should know that the government is our largest donor.”
Kendra remembered the look of pity in the associate director’s eyes. “Ah. I see. Leeds blackmailed you. That’s why you’re here.” Not because her father wanted to see her. Heaven forbid that he actually cared. And odd how that hurt. She hadn’t seen her father in a dozen years, but he still had that power.
In a fastidious move, Carl lifted his pant leg to keep its pressed line before taking a seat in the chair next to the bed. He cocked a brow. “Are you going to tell me how you ended up here . . . like that?”
“Oh, you know. Just saving the world.”
“I could point out that there are easier and undoubtedly more productive ways to save the world. If you had continued—”
“How’s Barbara?” she interrupted. “The children?”
He hesitated. He wasn’t a man to be diverted, but since the previous subject was distasteful to him, and pointless, he allowed it. “Barbara has taken time off from the Institute to write a book. The children are showing remarkable cognitive abilities.”
“Patricia and Stewart, right?” She recalled the names of her half siblings. “Or do you just refer to them as Test Subjects One and Two?”
“I see your sense of humor has not improved.”
“No, I don’t suppose it has. But then, when it comes right down to it, I was a failure, wasn’t I? Didn’t quite fulfill the genius potential that you and Mother had hoped for. How is Mother, by the way? Will she be coming?”
“I have no idea. I’m sure she’s being kept apprised of your condition.”
“Nothing says motherly love like a good text.”
Carl gave her a reproving look. “Eleanor has tremendous responsibility at CERN. She’s part of the research team conducting experiments at the Large Hadron Collider—”
“I know. Leave it to Mom to want to create a black hole right here on earth.”
“Don’t be absurd. That is typical media hyperbole, as you well know,” he said stiffly.
“My lamentable sense of humor.” She sighed, and suddenly felt bone-weary. Phillip Leeds had meant well, she knew. But it would take more than blackmail to mend a family that had shattered years ago. Hell, who was she kidding? She never had a family, not in its truest form. She’d been a lab rat. A Frankenbaby, as Annie had called her.
“It is unfortunate,” her father agreed. It took her a moment to realize he was referring to her humor.
“Too bad you couldn’t have bred that out of me.”
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, and it doesn’t become you, Kendra.”
“Apparently nothing becomes me.”
Irritation flickered over his face, and Kendra admitted that a small, petty part of her still enjoyed being able to provoke him. It was the only reaction, besides disappointment, that she’d ever gotten out of him.
“You were such a promising—”
“Experiment?”
“Student,” he snapped.
“A student. Like the children of Lebensborn?” she suggested sweetly. “Hitler thought his SS breeding program was promising, too. All those Aryan babies. Superbabies.”
Carl glared at her. “I had hoped that you would have finally understood the purpose behind Dr. Kapoor’s endeavor. I might point out that George Bernard Shaw, Charles Lindbergh, and countless brilliant minds were also advocates of eugenics.”
“Yes. I know. You want to make the world a better place by producing smarter children. But you failed, didn’t you? You and Mother didn’t factor in the human equation. You know—wants, desires, personal ambition.”
“Personal ambition?” Carl shifted in his chair, and his cold eyes scanned her bandaged head, the hospital room. “Personal ambition to play cop? Look where that got you.”
“I’m a special agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” She’d been the youngest person to ever be accepted into the academy, she wanted to point out. Except she knew that would mean nothing to Dr. Carl Donovan.
“A glorified cop. You could have done anything, been anything.”
“No, I couldn’t,” she said quietly. And her eyes, unconsciously pleading, clung to his. Do you even know why I became an FBI agent? she wanted to ask. But of course, he didn’t. He’d never asked her about anything. He’d instructed and ordered, expecting her to fall in line. And she had, for fourteen years.
“You didn’t try hard enough,” he said.
Something inside her, something that had been clinging to hope, withered and died. Christ, she hadn’t even realized she still had hope, thought that had died years ago. She dropped her eyes. “I’m human. You didn’t count on that. And after all your tests and your trials, you gave up on me, gave up on your marriage—”