Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Brock stood in front of a partial map of Europe. It nearly covered the eight-by-ten-foot wall. Several red bull’s-eyes littered the paper.
What the fuck?
Dani’s footsteps shuffled cautiously behind him, but he didn’t tear his eyes away from the map.
She stopped next to him, and her sharp intake of breath made him lower his stare to her face.
She clamped her hand over her mouth and took a step forward.
She turned, hit the light switch on the wall, and the bare bulb overhead flickered, sending eerie shadows over the wall.
She dragged her fingertips over the red blips. “He was going to release the first one in Paris,” she said. “It says February twenty-second.” She looked over her shoulder at Brock. “That’s soon. What’s the date today?”
He adjusted his watch and illuminated the screen. “February fifteenth.” His mind worked at warp speed as he studied the other dates. “He planned to hit Zurich on the twenty-fifth, Berlin on March first, and then Amsterdam.” He took out his phone and snapped half a dozen pictures of the map.
Dani backed away. “I can’t believe Sven was going to carry this out. Who the hell convinced him to do this?”
“That’s what we need to figure out. I’m going to bet he didn’t have a chemistry background? He wasn’t going to recreate the virus from the formula?”
She shook her head and gnawed the tip of her thumb. “No. He didn’t.” She rolled her lips back and forth. “But someone killed him for a reason. Maybe he backed out. When he called he said we were in danger.”
Brock nodded. “That’s possible. They wouldn’t let him live if he knew all these details,” he said, gesturing at the map. “Let’s look around. Be careful. If you find anything that could be used as evidence, don’t touch it.”
She nodded and moved around the living room.
Crap cluttered the coffee table, including a phone book, a bong, and scattered bits of marijuana.
Brock tucked the weapon into the back of his pants, squeezed her shoulder, and headed down the hallway past the kitchen.
He stopped at the end of the hall, where it split into two bedrooms. He veered into the cleaner of the two, but both were equally disgusting.
The stench of body odor and beer hit him, and he pressed his face into the crook of his arm.
Damn, some people were nasty. He wasn’t the tidiest guy in the world, but he’d never wallow in this shit.
A used bath towel hung over the closet door and dirty clothes and rumbled sheets were strewn across the floor.
Had Sven or his roommate been this sloppy?
Or had someone been here looking for something?
He stepped over an empty beer bottle and kicked a pizza box out of the way.
A fat cockroach scurried out and he leaped backward.
A bark of disgust ripped through his throat followed by a dozen curses.
He shook his shoulders and brushed off his arms as if a million of the critters had fallen on him.
“What’s wrong?”
He turned to the doorway. Hands on her hips, Dani was scowling at the unkempt room.
“Sven has cockroaches.”
Her eyes rounded and she gagged. “Ohmigod, this place is disgusting.” She stepped forward and something dangled from her fingers. “I think I found something.”
He reached out and took the torn piece of a cigarette package from her grip. A name and number had been messily scribbled on the blank side:
Giles Artis
06 45 53 91 22
He studied the writing. The phone-number sequence was similar to the one he’d seen printed on the hotel key card. Definitely a Paris number. “Have you heard that name before?”
She grimaced. “Giles rings a bell. I feel like Sven mentioned him before, but I can’t say for sure.
” She pulled out her phone and leaned toward the paper as she typed the full name into the search engine.
“It’s a long shot, but you never know,” she mumbled.
He watched as her thumb scrolled over the links.
“Anything?”
“What’s this?” She clicked on an article and turned so he could see the screen.
He squinted at the tiny letters.
She sucked in her breath and bounced on her toes. “Look.” Excitement bubbled from her lips. “Biochemist Giles Artis suspect in Amsterdam tour-bus bombing,” she read.
He circled his hand around her much smaller one and lifted the device a few inches higher. “The article was published last year. It doesn’t say anything about him being convicted.”
Dani sucked on the corner of her lip. “No, but he’s a biochemist. That’s even more important. Let’s pass it on to Rhett and he can look into it. I think this is the strongest lead we’re going to get.” She took the phone back and her fingers hovered over the screen.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing if he has a social media page,” she said, her voice distant as she moved through profile pictures. “Here, this could be him.”
A picture of a guy with cold blue eyes and long blond hair tied back in a bun filled the screen.
He was wearing a lab coat. Brock took the phone and scanned the image then flicked through the rest of his profile pictures.
Another shot made him stop. Giles was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, leaning back on a balcony, and a black pentagon with curled edges and animal horns in the center took up Giles’s forearm.
“Bingo.” Brock lowered the phone and Dani grabbed his wrist.
“Holy shit. This has to be who Sven was working for.”
Brock fished his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture of the paper with Giles’s name and number on it then sent it to Rhett with the link to the article and the photos of the map along with the social media pictures. He returned the phone to his pocket and hooked his arm around her waist.
“We should get out of here.”
She kept her feet rooted to the carpet and continued to study the balcony image. “Wait a second.”
“What is it?”
She crinkled her forehead and quickly left the bedroom. Brock followed her, not at all disappointed to leave the cockroach-infested room. Her hair trailed down her back in a ponytail, and the dark strands swished from side to side as she moved. She stopped at the balcony door.
“The balcony in the picture looks familiar.” She peeled back the brown fleece material, unlocked the door, and shoved it open.
A gust of wind spiraled into the unit, moving the musty air.
It should have muted the stench, but somehow the fresh air enhanced the retched smell of smoke and rotten Chinese food.
Brock brushed past the coffee table and stepped onto the balcony next to her. Sunlight hit the concrete.
Dani held up the phone in front of her. “Yup. This was taken here.” She pointed to the building next to Sven’s. “See that half-hanging air-conditioning unit in the window? And that black bicycle on the balcony above? Those are behind Giles in the picture.”
“He must have lived here with Sven.” He moved back into the apartment. “I’m going to sweep the other bedroom.” He made his way down the hall and to the second bedroom. After ten minutes of raking through it, he’d come up with only old textbooks and junk—no cockroaches this time.
Dani stood in the kitchen with her hands tucked in the pockets of her sweater. “Anything?”
“No.”
“At least we have something. Let’s go back to the hotel and wait to hear from Rhett.”
They had to be careful of the woman, if Dani was right and she’d followed them to the hotel, anyone could be waiting for them there.
At the same token, they wouldn’t have made it this far if she was that close.
“Yeah. We should get out of here.” He folded her hand in his and left the apartment.
Rhett had told them to stay low, and they couldn’t take the chance of going to the authorities until he knew for sure it was safe.
“What’s on your mind?” Brock’s question popped the bubble of her thoughts.
She stretched her legs in front of her, toward the window, but didn’t take her eyes off the Eiffel Tower.
They had two key players in the plan to steal the Chrisolicom XII virus and let it loose in several countries—but it didn’t feel like enough.
She shrugged. “We’re at a standstill. How is it possible that we’re carrying this formula, we know Sven and Giles’s plan and where they were residing, yet it’s not safe to go to the police?”
“If you think about it, other than the map with the dates, what do we have to prove Giles is involved?”
She stood up and paced the floor. “That’s what’s pissing me off. We’re so close, but we’re missing the most important piece of the puzzle—proof he’s the one behind this.”
She stopped to take in Brock’s form. He leaned against the window, one hand shoved in his pocket.
The backlighting made him appear even wider and more formidable.
She took a few more steps and rested her hands on the back of the chair.
God, she could stare at this view for the rest of her life.
And she wasn’t just talking about the Eiffel Tower.
She might never get the chance to return to Paris, and if she did, it probably wouldn’t be with Brock.
She didn’t need a crystal ball to know that once they got back to San Diego, they’d fall into old patterns and the adrenaline that had brought them together in Europe would vanish.
Resentment and delicious memories of his lavish kisses and generous pleasure-giving would be all that remained.
Was it so wrong to stay with someone because of the sex? Good sex had to count for something.
Brock moved away from the window and stood behind her, settling his large palms on her shoulders.
Heat radiated off his muscular hands and seeped into her tense muscles like a poultice on a wound.
He moved them in a circular motion and she dropped her head back and moaned.
“Ah, you have the most incredible hands.”
His raspy laugh tickled the back of her neck. “And you,” he said, dragging his knuckles down her arms and back up, “have the most incredible body.”