Chapter Eleven
Bryn squinted at the screen of his cell, which was beeping at him. Warden. Of course. He debated throwing the annoying object out of the room but thought better of it and answered the call. “I’m asleep,” he mumbled.
“Conference room. Twenty minutes.” Warden’s order was perfunctory. “We have a lead on Mercer.”
“We do?”
“Twenty minutes,” Warden repeated, and the line went dead.
“Charming as ever,” Bryn said. He tossed the phone aside and forced himself to sit up.
Gunnar’s side of the bed was cold and empty, which gave Bryn a pang of regret.
His head felt marginally better after a solid eight hours of unconsciousness but the suggestion of yesterday’s pain still lingered at his temples.
He ran a hand through his unruly hair and contemplated the effort required to make himself presentable.
Sounds of movement from the kitchen told him that Gunnar was already up and about.
Of course he was—the wolf had endless energy, a trait that both impressed and annoyed Bryn depending on the time of day.
Right now, with his head still fuzzy from sleep, it fell firmly into the annoying category.
Deciding that coffee was his priority, he shuffled out of his bedroom in his shorts and T-shirt, heading toward the enticing aroma wafting from the kitchen.
The GCR apartment had its perks, and Gunnar’s coffee-making skills ranked high among them.
“Morning,” Gunnar said without turning around. “Warden called?”
“How’d you guess?” Bryn asked, making a beeline for the coffee pot.
“Because he called me five minutes ago,” Gunnar replied, sliding a mug across the counter toward him. “Conference room. Twenty-five minutes. Lead on Mercer.”
“Man of few words, our Warden,” Bryn commented, gratefully accepting the coffee. “He only gave me twenty minutes.” He took a gulp, closing his eyes in appreciation. “This almost makes being conscious worthwhile.”
“You’re welcome,” Gunnar said, though there was still a slight stiffness to his frame.
“I missed you last night,” Bryn admitted. “A lot. I’m going to shower.” He downed his coffee. “Save me some of whatever you’re cooking. It smells good.”
“Breakfast burritos,” Gunnar replied. “And I made enough for both of us. I know better than to come between you and food after a reading hangover.”
“Your survival instincts are impressive.” And with that the tension between them dissolved.
Twenty minutes later, showered, dressed, and fortified with caffeine and one of Gunnar’s burritos, Bryn and Gunnar got to the conference room at the same time as Emmett.
“Morning,” Emmett chirped, falling into step beside them. “You look better, Bryn.”
“Amazing what actual sleep can do,” Bryn replied.
“Are you two friends again, because I can’t bear it when the team isn’t…teamy. You know what I mean.” Emmett ducked his head.
Bryn sighed. “Yeah. I was an asshole, as usual. I still think I shouldn’t have been kept in the dark but I understand the motivation came from a good place. What’s this about Mercer?”
“Facial recognition picked her up at a hotel in Philadelphia last night,” Emmett said. “She checked in under the name Claire Hammond.”
Gunnar grunted. “Hammond, Hammer…coincidence?”
“There’s more,” Emmett continued as they went into the conference room. “Warden got the local FBI team to send in an agent to observe. Hammond met with someone from Helix Solutions.”
“So, she is working for Russo,” Bryn said, exchanging a glance with Gunnar.
“That’s the thing,” Emmett replied, a hint of excitement in his voice. “She didn’t meet Russo himself, or any of his known associates. She had a late dinner with a Dr. Peregrine Frost, a geneticist specializing in lupine DNA. He only joined Helix three months ago.”
“And the plot thickens,” Bryn commented.
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Emmett said with a grin. “Warden’s got a plan.”
Bryn groaned. That was rarely a good sign. He took a seat and Gunnar settled beside him. Giles raised his coffee mug in greeting. Bryn gave him the finger.
“Now that we’re all here,” Warden began without preamble, “let’s get started.” He nodded to Emmett, who connected his tablet to the room’s display system.
“We’ve located Agent Mercer, or as she’s calling herself now, Claire Hammond. She checked in to the Hyatt in central Philadelphia last night and met with this man, Dr. Peregrine Frost.”
The display lit up with a photograph of a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He had the distracted look of someone more comfortable with test tubes than people.
“Frost is a geneticist who worked at Cornell University,” Warden explained. “His specialty is lupine physiology and DNA research. Three months ago, Helix offered him triple his university salary to head up a new research division.”
“Thanacrine,” Bryn said.
“Almost certainly,” Warden agreed. “What’s interesting is that Hammond, or Mercer, doesn’t seem to want Russo knowing she’s talking to Frost.”
“How do you know that?”
“We don’t for certain, but it’s odd that he met her alone. Russo doesn’t tend to let his senior people wander around without a minder.”
“So, she’s not working for Russo?” Gunnar asked. “Then who?”
“That’s what we need to find out,” Warden said. “Tomorrow is Saturday. Frost has a lunch reservation at a steakhouse called Double Eagle on Pine Street, for noon. Mercer’s booking at the hotel runs ’til Sunday.”
“You think they’re meeting up again?” Bryn asked.
“Unknown, but it gives us an opportunity. Local FBI is mobilizing to intercept Mercer at the hotel while we focus on Frost.” Warden’s gaze swept the room.
“Bryn, Gunnar, you’ll approach Frost at the restaurant.
I want to know what Mercer wants from him and she may well be his strongest memory. Bryn needs to get a read.”
Emmett cleared his throat. “Intel suggests Frost is obsessive about his work but socially awkward. Likes his whiskey neat and talks too much after his second drink. He goes to this same steakhouse every week and always orders the same thing.”
“Perfect,” Gunnar said. “We can buy him a few, loosen him up. What’s our cover?”
“You’re grad students interested in his work as part of your PhD thesis,” Warden replied. “We’ll set up some background today in case you need it and make sure Frost gets a call to set up the lunch meeting so you won’t be going in cold.”
“And what about Mercer?” Gunnar asked.
“Not our concern for now,” Warden said. “Agent Bell is coordinating with his colleagues in Philly. They’ll move on Mercer while you’re with Frost.”
“What’s Giles doing?” Bryn asked.
“He’ll be here with me, doing some research. Now get moving, your flight is at six.”
That was vague but Warden didn’t elaborate. Bryn shrugged. Nothing new there.
* * * *
That evening, Bryn discovered the GCR had a private jet at its disposal.
He hadn’t expected an operation of the GCR’s size to command such resources, but it spoke volumes about the organization’s, and Warden’s, influence.
He felt disappointed that the flight would be too short to fully appreciate the experience, but the prospect of spending uninterrupted time with Gunnar at a high-end hotel that night more than made up for it.
The boutique establishment they arrived at was all understated elegance.
At check-in, the receptionist maintained professional composure and processed their information without remarking on Bryn’s dark glasses.
“Where did Emmett find this place?” Bryn asked Gunnar. “He had no time to set this up.”
“Have you seen that man’s contact book? The admin army is all-powerful.” Gunnar carried their bags as they made their way to the top floor via the elevator. “This is us.” The room was along a short hall.
The door to their room closed with a soft click. Bryn took in the luxury around them. There was a warm glow from recessed lighting, a plush carpet beneath his feet, and the crisp linens on the king-sized bed were already turned down.
“Wow,” he said, running his fingers along the polished wood of the dresser. “Emmett really outdid himself, and he booked us a double rather than a twin.”
Gunnar moved to the window, drawing back heavy curtains to reveal a panoramic view of the city lights. “I told him we’d only need one bed. He blushed. And he likes taking care of the team,” he said. “Especially after close calls.”
“Like the bomb that wasn’t,” Bryn murmured. He crossed to the wet bar, examining the selection of crystal decanters. “Drink? I think we’ve earned one.”
“I’ll take a soda if there’s one in the mini-fridge. Please.”
“Yeah, I guess alcohol isn’t a great idea.”
Feeling fancy, Bryn poured two glasses of soda rather than handing Gunnar a can. Their fingers brushed and he caught the briefest glimpse of Gunnar’s intent. His breath caught.
“To cheating death,” Bryn said, raising his glass.
“To quick reflexes,” Gunnar countered, his eyes not leaving Bryn’s face.
They drank in silence. Bryn set his glass down, heart hammering. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted.
Gunnar’s expression softened. “Do what?”
“You know I touched you, right?”
“Nearly dying has a way of clarifying things,” Gunnar replied. “Look at this view.” The city stretched out below them, a tapestry of lights and shadows. “I’m tired of holding back. I want you.”
The directness took Bryn’s breath away. “Then take me. You know I want it too. More than anything.”
“Even after I let you down by not telling you about Templeton’s letter?”
“I shouldn’t have blamed you. It was a knee-jerk reaction. It was Warden’s decision and he’s our boss. Plus you have a protective streak the length of the Mississippi.”
Gunnar’s hand came up to cup Bryn’s face, thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “We still don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
“I’m ready,” Bryn insisted, leaning into the touch. “I’m just…nervous. Which is ridiculous. I can look into a serial killer’s head, but this…”