Chapter Ten
Bryn slumped in the passenger seat of the armored car, his head against the window. The pounding behind his eyes had intensified, and the brightness of the afternoon sun wasn’t helping. Despite the warmth of the vehicle, a chill seeped through his body.
“You okay?” Gunnar asked, glancing over as he navigated through traffic.
“Peachy. The usual post-read hangover.” He adjusted his dark glasses, pressing them against the bridge of his nose. “It’d be nice if I’d had an actual drink to warrant it. Do you think any of that was useful?”
Gunnar shrugged. “Neither of them told us much we didn’t already know. The email invitations might lead somewhere. That’s a change in procedure worth looking into.”
“And the hunger from our sanguine friend was…intense.” Bryn shuddered. “Whatever they pumped into him definitely enhanced his natural vamp instincts.”
From the back seat, Giles leaned forward. “The blood bag seemed to help stabilize him. His pupils were already returning to normal when we left.”
“Lucky Orwell,” Bryn murmured with a smirk.
Gunnar shot him a look. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Just trying to spread joy and romance wherever I go.”
“I’m sure Orwell will appreciate your matchmaking efforts,” Giles said.
Bryn winced as they hit a pothole. “Can we stop somewhere? I need food and painkillers, not necessarily in that order.”
Gunnar nodded. “There’s a diner up ahead. We can grab something to go.”
Twenty minutes later, armed with hot chocolate, loaded hotdogs and fries, they were back on the road to GCR headquarters.
Bryn had swallowed two pills from Gunnar’s ever-present supply and was now picking at his food, his appetite dulled by pain.
He forced himself to eat anyway, knowing that his body needed it.
“You should rest when we get back,” Gunnar said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Yes, mom,” Bryn replied, though the prospect of his beanbag or bed was growing more appealing by the minute.
“Eat your dog.”
“I…never mind.” Bryn concentrated on his food. Gunnar’s care was kind of cool.
When they arrived at GCR HQ, Emmett met them in the hall, tablet in hand. “Warden wants a debrief,” he informed them. “Conference room in fifteen.”
Bryn groaned. “Can’t you tell him I’m dying?”
“I could,” Emmett replied with a slight smile, “but you know he’d tell you to walk it off and get back to work.”
“Fine,” Bryn sighed. “But I’m bringing coffee. Gunnar got me hot chocolate on the way here and I’m already having caffeine withdrawal symptoms.”
“Already arranged.” Emmett’s efficiency was impressive. “Oh, and there’s mail for you, Bryn.” He handed over an envelope.
Bryn stared at the envelope. The precise, artistic handwriting was instantly recognizable. His stomach roiled.
Gunnar caught the change in his expression. “What is it?”
“Dr. Templeton,” Bryn said, holding up the envelope. “Seems my pen pal misses me.”
Something flickered across Gunnar’s face—too quick to identify, but enough to make Bryn pause. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Gunnar replied, too quickly. “Where did it come from?”
“Emmett just gave it to me.”
“It was in Warden’s mail when I collected it this morning. I put it to one side because it was addressed to Bryn. I should have thought…”
“Not your fault, Emmett. Things around here have been hectic,” Gunnar said.
“I still should have realized. I’ve seen one of those envelopes before, after all.” Emmett nibbled on his lower lip. “I’m so dumb.”
“You’re as far from dumb as it’s possible to get.
Like as far away as Pluto, or as far away as I’d like Giles to be.
No, wait. That’d be in another galaxy at least.” Bryn gave him a quick hug.
“I’ll open it during the debrief. Warden will want to know what our friendly neighborhood psycho has to say. ”
The conference room was cool and quiet, a minor relief for the hammering in Bryn’s head.
Warden sat at the head of the table, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Giles had positioned himself by the window, leaning against the sill, arms crossed.
Emmett busied himself setting up the coffees for everyone.
Bryn slid into a chair and reached for the mug Emmett offered him. “Thanks, Emmett.”
“We were discussing the mysterious federal agent,” Warden said. “Agent Mercer, if that’s even her name.”
“She’s not in any federal database I can access,” Emmett added. “Not under that name.”
“The question is, who is she really working for?” Warden said. “That’s our primary concern. If there’s a government faction involved in this Thanacrine operation, we need to identify it.”
“Or she could be one of Russo’s people,” Giles suggested. “A convincing federal agent would have clearance to remove evidence before we could analyze it.”
Bryn half-listened to the conversation, his attention drawn to the envelope folded in his jeans pocket. He pulled it out and placed it on the table.
“We might have a more immediate problem,” he said, interrupting whatever Warden had been saying. “I got another letter from Everard Templeton.”
The room fell silent. Warden scowled.
“When?”
“Just now. Emmett gave it to me when we arrived.”
“Open it,” Warden instructed. “We know there won’t be any trace evidence.”
Bryn slid his finger under the flap and tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of ivory paper, covered front and back with Templeton’s elegant script. Bryn took a breath and began to read aloud.
“My dear Bryn,
I trust this letter finds you well, though I suspect ‘well’ might be a relative term in your line of work.
I’ve been following your recent activities with interest, as much as one can from afar.
The Walmart situation was fascinating. I’m glad you survived the encounter.
And Thanacrine—a drug that enhances gene expression? What wonderful potential for chaos.
I’ve been reflecting on our last encounter, particularly that moment when you were in my mind. Such an intimate connection we shared. I wonder if you still think of it, as I do.
I’m curious. Do you have nightmares about me? I imagine what you saw in my head left quite an impression. Does Detective Ericson comfort you when you wake up screaming? Your relationship with him is…intriguing. The wolf protecting his mate. How primal.
Speaking of wolves, I’ve been studying some fascinating research on lupine gene expression.
Did you know there are theories about dormant genetic triggers that could exponentially increase already enhanced abilities?
I wonder if your friend Mr. Russo is aware of these studies.
His pharmaceutical endeavors sound rather aligned with such research.
I do hope you’re being careful, Bryn. There are so many predators in the world, and not all of them wear their nature as openly as I do, or as your detective does with his charming canine attributes.
Until next time, Everard
P.S. Give my regards to Detective Ericson. I trust he’s shared my previous correspondence.”
Bryn glanced up from the letter, which he was crumpling in his fist. Warden’s expression was thunderous, Giles looked thoughtful, and Emmett was already making notes on his tablet.
“Previous correspondence? What’s he talking about, Gunnar?” Bryn asked.
Gunnar shifted in his seat. “There was another letter a while back.”
“And you didn’t see fit to share?” Bryn’s tone could have frozen fire. “What the hell, Gunnar?”
It was Warden who spoke. “You’d just come out of dealing with the Walmart killer, Drake Romano. I made a judgment call.”
“A judgment call?” Bryn could feel his temper rising. “It wasn’t your call to make!”
“I disagree,” Warden said.
“Where’s this letter now?”
“In my desk drawer.”
“Get it. Now.” Bryn was at boiling point. He felt sick.
After a nod from Warden, Emmett left the room. The tension in his wake was palpable.
“The doctor appears to have sources of information he shouldn’t,” Giles observed, breaking the silence. “The specifics about the Thanacrine drug and its effects are particularly concerning.”
“And how does he know about Russo’s interest in Bryn?” Gunnar added.
Bryn’s headache was intensifying by the second. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
Emmett returned a moment later, envelope in hand. “Here,” he said, placing it on the table.
Warden opened the envelope and extracted another single sheet of paper. He pushed it across to Bryn. “It’s a lot more succinct.”
“I haven’t forgotten you. See you soon, Everard.” Bryn swallowed.
“It was mailed from Dallas, Texas.”
Bryn examined the envelope from the latest letter.
“This one was sent from Tulsa, Oklahoma.” He stared at the two envelopes side by side, his vision tunneling until they were all he could see.
The room around him faded away, the others’ voices becoming distant and muffled as if underwater.
The pounding in his head kept time with his heartbeat.
“And you all decided I was too fragile to handle it?” He looked around the table, taking in each face.
“A committee decision on my mental health, was it?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Gunnar started.
“Really? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks exactly like that.” Bryn pushed back from the table. “You kept information from me about a psychopath who’s been messing with my head. Who’s clearly been tracking my movements.”
Warden leaned forward. “The decision was mine, Bryn. I stand by it.”
“Of course you do.” Bryn laughed, a hollow sound devoid of humor. “Because you always know best, right? The omniscient Warden, chess master extraordinaire, moving his pieces around the board.”
Gunnar reached out, his hand hovering near Bryn’s arm but not quite touching. “You had a lot going on—”
“So what?” Bryn snapped, jerking away from Gunnar’s attempted touch. “That’s my problem to deal with. My trauma, my choice.”
“Your trauma affects the team,” Warden countered. “It affects our operations.”
“So I’m a liability now?”
“That’s not what he meant,” Emmett interjected, looking distressed.