“They have a plan. Or two.” She slurped again and launched into a list that sounded rehearsed. Were-experimentation was for creating supersoldiers, lab work done on the first floor of DNAKeys. Vampire experiments were searching for cures for cancer, for extending the shelf life of vampire blood so it could be used medically, searching for cures for Alzheimer’s, leukemia, and bone and liver cancers. And the vampire testing was on the fourth floor. Conspiracy theories. Every conspiracy trope in the book. Was this meeting nothing more than a chance to secure access to my cell to check me out?
However, I had seen photos of the DNAKeys building. There was no fourth floor. I was about to call Candace on it when she grabbed my hand and squeezed my fingers. Hard. There was something stiff between our palms. “I gotta go,” she said. “But if you can get help for the animals, I’d be really happy.” She grabbed her laptop and left the building so fast I was left with my accusing mouth hanging open. Out the windows I watched as Candace hopped into the backseat of a passing car and drove away. I was pretty sure I had seen the gray sedan twice while we talked, but I wasn’t certain. I glanced around and no one was watching me, so I stood and hid the espresso cup with my body. Using a paper napkin I picked it up and slid it into the oversized bag. For fingerprints.
Just in case I was being observed, I said aloud, “That was weird.” I slung my eggplant-colored bag over my shoulder and walked out of Remedy and down the street, my head bowed against the misty rain.
Occam picked me up in his fancy car and we passed Rick getting into his own—a dull brown SUV with rust along the wheel wells. “That was weird indeed,” Occam said, pulling into traffic and beginning a countersurveillance pattern through the dark. Dusk had come and gone quickly in the cloudy weather.
“Weirder than you know,” I said, placing the cup into an evidence bag and starting a chain-of-custody form. “She, or someone in the coffee shop, was trying to hack my cell the whole time we were together.” I checked my cell. The little light had stopped blinking and a green light told me the attack had been unsuccessful. I had to wonder what the hacker was thinking about a purple-haired woman with an uncrackable phone. I held out my other hand. “And she passed me a note.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding. Just like out of a spy movie.”
“A bad spy movie,” Occam said.
“I’ve only seen three, so I’m not one to judge.”
“Only three spy flicks?” He sounded horrified.
“The Accountant, Argo, and Mission: Impossible—the first one.”
“Nell, sugar, we gotta get you educated. In spy movies,” he amended. “You did great in there, by the way.”
I ducked my head to hide my blush.
“Read the note,” he said.
I unfolded the note left by Candace. Who was a fake disgruntled employee, but had passed me a note just like a real disgruntled employee might. This undercover stuff was tricky, twisty, complex, and deceitful. And I liked it.
TEN
I read it aloud. “You passed the test. Meet the real girl at the main library on Church Avenue in thirty minutes. Mary Smith will be in the computer room. Red hair, red plaid coat.”
“So Candace McCrory was a company plant like we thought? But she passed you a note to meet up with someone else? Why?” Occam asked.
“I don’t know,” I muttered. “Maybe she was an informer and was not an informer at the same time. Someone who believes all the conspiracy theories but is working for the company like a double agent? Or someone who likes playing games? Some of these animal rights people are scary. Not that fighting for animal rights is wrong, but . . .” My words trailed off. True and fanatical believers of anything could be scary. Churchmen. Churchwomen. Terrorists.
I finished composing a group text to JoJo, Rick, and Soul with the contents of the note. I finished the text with Meet with the new girl? I know the library layout.
Rick instantly sent back, Yes. Occam as backup.
I gave Occam the address and sat back against the seat, thinking, giving myself a good work-related reason to not look at Occam. He had called me Ingram. I liked that a lot more than I ever would have believed.
? ? ?
“It has to do with paranormal beings,” Mary Smith said. I looked at her blankly. “The research on all the lab animals? It has to do with vampires and werewolves.”
The blank look stayed on my face. I assumed that Mary wasn’t her real name. I had no idea who she was. The werecats had mentioned smelling vampires on their reconnaissance of the research facility, but vampires and weres tended to live in a state of perpetual warfare. “Vampires and werewolves? Together?” I clarified.
We were alone in the computer lab, the on-again, off-again sleet keeping the regulars away. The room was chilly and we were both still wearing outerwear, Mary in a red plaid zippered jacket, me in my regular winter coat. She wore no makeup and had yellowed teeth that protruded in front. I wasn’t sure the teeth were real, because she talked in an odd lisping accent, as if unaccustomed to the shape of her own mouth.
Mary nodded, her hands in her pockets, fists clenched, no chance of leaving fingerprints. “The director of the vampire and werewolf program is trying to genetically reverse engineer paranormal blood. He wants to find all sorts of medical applications for it for profit. He devised a cross-matching protocol back twenty years ago, looking for immune response. He has more lab data on vampires than the vamps themselves. He’s sequenced the vampire genetic code, and now he’s looking for all the differences.”
The blank looks were working, so I gave her another one. I vaguely knew what sequencing a genetic code meant, but had no idea about the relevance to a company’s R&D outcomes, possible future products, and profit margins. Nor did I yet know if the vampire research was real or a figment of her imagination. And I didn’t know what it had to do with my cover about abused animals. “Okay. That sounds expensive and time-consuming. But I don’t really care about vampires or were-creatures. I’m interested in rescuing animals.”
“The company’s intent is to find out if there are applications for life-extending and cancer-fighting and virus-fighting properties. Except this employee”—she pointed to herself—“thinks that there is another purpose. I’m not sure what, but I have ideas based on conversations I’ve overheard.”
“Like what?” I asked, thinking about Candace’s conspiracy theories. I was discovering that conspiracy theories gave me a headache.
Mary had freckles on her nose and her hair was cut short and worn like a red ball of curls. It looked good on her. Better than my multicolored wig did on me. Maybe that was why I had a headache coming on, wearing a wig.