Chapter Twelve
The following morning, Philadelphia greeted them with overcast skies and a frigid wind that cut through Bryn’s jacket.
After their night together, a milestone that had left Bryn both exhilarated and a bit self-conscious in the light of day, the cold helped clear his head.
Every now and again he caught Gunnar’s eye and basked in the warmth he saw there.
The steakhouse occupied the ground floor of a renovated bank building, its brass fixtures and dark wood interior visible through large windows that must have been a later addition.
Bryn and Gunnar sat outside a café where they’d had brunch and were now sipping coffee and watching the street under the protection of overhead patio heaters.
Sitting shoulder to shoulder was nice and Bryn found himself leaning toward Gunnar.
Their working partnership somehow felt stronger.
Bryn wrapped his gloved fingers around his mug, grateful for both the heat and the mission that kept him from overthinking.
“Here he comes,” Gunnar said. “Brown leather messenger bag, gray coat.”
Bryn spotted him. “I see him.”
“Give him time to get settled,” Gunnar suggested, checking his watch.
“He’s being seated,” Bryn said. “Table by the window.”
A few minutes later, they crossed the street and entered the restaurant. The warm air inside carried the rich scent of food and there was a constant hum of chatter and laughter. Gunnar waved away the young woman who offered to seat them, explaining they were meeting a colleague.
“Dr. Frost?” Bryn approached their target.
“James Barrett, University of Pennsylvania. My lab partner and I are PhD students in the biomed faculty. I hope you don’t mind us butting in on you, but our department chair mentioned you worked in town and we couldn’t miss the opportunity to come say hi.
You should have had a call?” He stripped off his gloved and offered a hand.
Frost shook it. “I did and it’s my pleasure to meet you both. I’ll be happy to share what I can, though that might not be much. Non-disclosure agreements, you know?”
“Let us buy you a drink. We’re so interested in your research on genome sequencing.”
“A drink sounds good. I haven’t ordered yet so please join me.”
Gunnar requested whiskey for Frost and sodas for him and Bryn. As soon as he started drinking, Frost relaxed and seemed happy to talk about his research to a couple of fans.
“The implications for accelerated healing are fascinating,” Frost said, halfway through his second whiskey. “The lupine genome contains markers that could revolutionize regenerative medicine.”
“I imagine that’s what attracted Helix to your work,” Bryn prompted.
Frost nodded eagerly. “Exactly! Though, between us, I’m finding the corporate environment…restrictive.”
“How so?” Gunnar asked.
“Too many security protocols. Need-to-know basis for everything.” Frost lowered his voice. “There’s something strange about the samples they’ve provided. The DNA patterns show anomalies I’ve never seen in standard lupine subjects.”
Bryn felt Gunnar tense beside him. “That’s interesting. What kind of anomalies?”
Frost hesitated, then downed the rest of his whiskey. Gunnar called for another. Bryn kept his expression neutral as Frost leaned in.
“The samples show evidence of genetic manipulation beyond anything in scientific literature,” Frost confided. “It’s as if someone’s already been doing what I was brought in to theorize.”
“And does Mr. Russo discuss these anomalies with you?” Gunnar asked, the name drop pre-planned and calculated.
Frost’s expression changed. “I never mentioned anyone called Russo. I’ve said too much. Who are you people?”
“Dr. Frost, we need to talk somewhere private,” Bryn said, dropping the pretense. “You may be in danger.”
Frost grabbed his messenger bag before bolting for the door. Gunnar threw cash on the table then he and Bryn followed.
Outside, Frost darted into the flow of pedestrians. Gunnar signaled to Bryn. “I’ll go left and cut him off at the corner.” He set off at a loping run.
Bryn wove through oblivious people enjoying their weekend, keeping Frost in view. He caught sight of him ducking into an alley and followed, finding himself in a narrow passage between buildings. Frost stood halfway down, frantically typing on his phone.
“Dr. Frost,” Bryn called, approaching slowly with his hands visible. “We’re from the GCR. We can protect you.”
Frost looked up, panic in his eyes. “You don’t understand. If they find out I told you what I did…”
A squeal of tires at the far end of the alley cut him off. A black SUV skidded to a stop, and three men in tactical gear jumped out.
“Get down!” Bryn shouted to Frost, who was doing a great impression of a rabbit frozen in headlights.
Bryn shoved him to the ground but was too slow following suit.
The first attacker fired a dart that caught Bryn in the shoulder.
He yanked it out, but the cold spread of chemicals raced through his system. “Gunnar…” His legs buckled.
“Bryn!” Gunnar’s voice echoed down the alley as he appeared at the far end, behind the attackers.
Through blurring vision, Bryn saw Gunnar charging toward him.
The second assailant turned, raised his weapon and fired, the sound muted to Bryn’s drugged senses.
Gunnar staggered but kept coming. He slammed into the man who had the dart gun then drew his weapon but before he could get a shot off, the third attacker swung a baton that connected with Gunnar’s skull, sending him crashing to the ground.
“No!” Bryn tried to shout, but his tongue felt thick and useless. As darkness closed in, he saw Frost being shoved into the SUV. Then rough hands dragged him toward the same vehicle. His last view was of Gunnar’s motionless form sprawled on the ground.
* * * *
Bryn regained consciousness in slow, painful waves.
First came the throbbing in his head, then the rawness in his parched throat, and finally the biting grip of metal against his wrists.
He opened his eyes to a room with bare concrete walls.
Industrial lighting buzzed overhead. Fuck that’s bright.
He scrunched his nose, confirming that his dark glasses were gone.
His gloveless hands were cuffed to a metal chair bolted to the floor.
The restraints were tight enough to restrict his movements but positioned to avoid cutting off his circulation. Across from him sat a metal table.
He tested his restraints. There was no give.
When he moved, there was a burning at the base of his spine.
They took out the tracker. How long have I been unconscious?
Gunnar. The memory of his partner crumpling to the ground sent a jolt of anguish through him.
Was he alive? Had the GCR picked him up?
The door swung open and he had to put thoughts of Gunnar aside.
A man came into the room, followed by two guards who positioned themselves on either side of the entrance.
The man was impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, white shirt and lilac floral tie that seemed at odds with their surroundings.
His silvering hair was cropped short, and a thin scar dissected one eyebrow.
His pale gray eyes were distinctive. Bryn recognized him from his FBI file.
“Mr. Ashton,” the man said, his voice soft. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Salvatore Russo.”
“The Hammer,” Bryn replied, his voice grating. He coughed.
“A name that wasn’t of my choosing.” Russo leaned against the edge of the table. “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting.”
“I can’t say the same.” Bryn shifted in his chair. “You could have sent a dinner invite.”
“Where’s the fun in that? I prefer my guests off balance.”
“Why am I here?”
“Direct. I appreciate that.” Russo smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant expression. “You’ve been quite the thorn in my side, Mr. Ashton. Particularly in the matter of my former accountant.”
Bryn shrugged. “He broke the law.”
“But wouldn’t have been convicted without your particular skills.”
Bryn remained silent. There was no point denying it.
“It cost me three offshore accounts and a shell corporation in the Caymans,” Russo continued, his voice hardening. “Not to mention the inconvenience of relocating several operations. All because of your…unique talent.”
“What have you done with Dr. Frost?” Bryn asked, changing the subject.
“Dr. Frost is continuing his important work,” Russo answered. “Though he may regret his loose tongue for some time to come.”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“He was na?ve. He won’t be again.”
“Where are we?”
“Somewhere temporary. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be on our way to more secure facilities outside US jurisdiction.” Russo leaned forward. “Somewhere your talents can be put to better use than harassing legitimate businessmen.”
“Is that what you call yourself? A businessman?”
“Among other things.” Russo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You and I are not so different. We both see what others cannot.”
Bryn glanced at his restraints. “If we’re not so different, why am I the one in cuffs?”
Russo straightened. “Precautions. I know what happens when people underestimate you.”
“Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance? The shooting outside the hospital—that was you.”
“Well, not me personally. I’m not that good a shot. I might have hit you by mistake and if I’d wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Russo locked eyes with Bryn. “I prefer to make use of valuable resources, not waste them.”
“I’m not for sale.”
“Everyone has a price, Mr. Ashton. Or if not a price, then a pressure point. But we’ll get to that. First, I want you to understand exactly what you’ve stumbled into. Let’s take a walk.”
He gestured to one of the guards, who released Bryn from the chair but re-cuffed his hands behind his back. He was careful not to make skin-to-skin contact.