Rick’s attention went to her, Angie clearly forgotten. “You,” he said, and Trisk blanched as his smile widened to show his capped teeth. “You weren’t at my meeting this morning.”
He looked better than good in the lab coat he’d begun to wear lately over his tailored slacks and crisp white shirts. He smelled good, too, sort of a dusty-book-and-wine scent. Knowing the man had made a game out of learning what turned on each of the female staff—not to mention that he’d pegged her correctly in two days flat—Trisk cocked her hip belligerently. “That’s right,” she said, offering no explanation. The monthly staff meeting had been a waste of time under Hartsford, and probably would be doubly so under Rick.
Making a small noise, Rick turned to a shelf of reference books stacked beside her terminal. “I’m sure you heard everything through the grapevine,” he said, and she stiffened as he ran a finger sensuously over the spine of the most worn.
“No,” she said, feeling her pulse quicken. Daniel had been in a sour mood—the little she’d seen of him. “What can I do for you?” she said, wanting him to stop touching her things.
“Me?” He turned, shoe squeaking. “Nothing. But I need you to clear out the office next to yours by Monday morning for an incoming researcher.”
Trisk’s lips parted. “That office connects directly to mine, Mr. Rales, and I’m using it.” Damn it, why did new management always think there was a better way to do things?
“Your assistant is using it, not you,” he said, going still.
The barest widening of his eyes was a clear warning at her argumentative attitude. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, but that he did. The sun must be down. It would be harder for him to keep a lid on his instincts. “Yes,” she said, eyes down to give him space to collect himself. “But it’s connected to mine. My work is proprietary, and the security risk alone—”
“Your work has been on the shelves and in every third-world field for over a year,” Rick interrupted. “There’s no security risk. Perhaps next time you can make a product that doesn’t self-seed.”
She’d taken a lot of flack for that from Hartsford as well. “Species that don’t reproduce on their own shouldn’t be taking up resources in the field,” she said, her face warming at the hypocrisy. Two-thirds of the elven population was alive due to genetic tampering.
Rick turned away, clearly struggling to maintain an even temperament as she argued with him. “We can put in a lock between your offices if you like,” he said, voice low, “but he needs a terminal linked to the mainframe, and your assistant’s is the only one available.”
“Mr. Rales,” she protested, and he spun, shocking her to silence with how fast it had been. His shoulders were hunched and his lips parted. His eyes held the need to dominate. Trisk’s mouth went dry. Quen said to never argue with a vampire . . .
“This isn’t a request, Dr. Cambri,” he said, inches away, his aftershave coating her like a heavy blanket to make her pulse quicken. “Dr. Kalamack needs access to the mainframe to verify that the modifications you made to Daniel’s virus will hold through multiple generations.”
“Kalamack!” she exclaimed, her fear vanishing at the thought of the prideful snot in her office. Eyes darting, Trisk glanced past Rick to make sure the intercom was closed. “Does the enclave know about this?” she all but whispered, and Rick made an ugly face.
“Of course they do,” he said, as if she was being stupid. “He’s here to assist in the patent transfer of the T4 Angel tomato to Saladan Farms, but you will give him access to Dr. Plank’s tactical virus. Everyone wants to be sure it is safe before it goes into live trials, and that means a second opinion. Get that office cleared out by Monday. Stay late or come in this weekend if you need to, but get it done. And be at the welcome meeting at nine A.M. Monday morning, or I’ll bring the party down to your lab.”
Trisk jerked as Rick strode to the hallway door, almost looking as if he was fleeing. She knew the tweaks she’d made to Daniel’s virus were perfect. She’d checked the original code herself, taken steps to be sure the organism wouldn’t easily mutate. It wasn’t her universal donor virus, but it was clean. And Kal was coming to check it? Bullshit.
“Rales!” she shouted, but the door had already swung closed. Lips pressed, she yanked it open and strode out after him. He was halfway down the long hallway, moving fast. Quen had told her in his last letter to never follow a fleeing vampire, but he’d also told her the enclave was cutting off Kal’s funding. He was coming to steal credit for Daniel’s work. Either that, or hers. Or both. “Rales?” she called as she ran to catch up.
Rick spun, a savage, almost pained expression on his face, and Trisk slid to a frightened halt. “Are you following me, Dr. Cambri?” he all but rasped.