“That’s pretty convenient, having the tub topped off and waiting.”
“I agree. But I should have put a towel on the counter.”
Studying Skylar’s smile, I found myself thinking about the future. On impulse, I asked, “What do you want to do next?”
She gave me a Really, cowboy? look.
“I mean, after we’ve beaten these guys. What kind of work will you be looking for?”
She adjusted her position to better meet my eyes. “I wish I knew. By default, it would be something involving physical fitness. But the whole CIA scenario really turned me onto the idea of public service. I haven’t figured out how to unite the two yet, but when this is over, I’ll head out for a run and keep going until inspiration strikes. How about you?”
“That’s what I was supposed to be figuring out right now—on the motorcycle that’s rusting away at the bottom of a Ventura County ravine. I know I’m done with government work. For men of my experience, the other obvious employer is a big security firm, but I’m not drawn in that direction either.”
Skylar nodded knowingly. “They put Tory on the slippery slope.”
“Exactly. So, like you, I’ll need to give it a lot of thought. And quickly, given the bills that are about to come due.”
I shifted, uncomfortably. My legs were beginning to cramp. “This tub really isn’t big enough for two. We need to find a hotel with an oversized spa.”
“As long as Tory’s Amex is working, there’s nothing stopping us.”
I wasn’t about to pinpoint our overnight location by using the assassin’s credit card to reserve a room, but I kept that nugget to myself. Meanwhile, I was glad to have resolved my earlier question about the sleeping arrangement.
We toweled off, hung our sodden clothes to dry, and slid between the sheets. I snuggled up and she shifted toward a spooning arrangement. Fortunately I reacted fast enough to keep my lower arm free, facilitating the inevitable late-night rollover.
It never came. When I awoke, I was right there where I’d been when I closed my eyes.
Skylar’s breathing remained regular and deep.
I lay there, thinking about our new romantic arrangement. Could we keep it going? Or would it evolve as vacation romances inevitably did, with geography becoming a wedge? I didn’t know.
There was more to it than location, of course.
Skylar was a remarkable woman. Intellectually and physically I found her exceptionally attractive. But I was experienced enough to know that magnetism wasn’t powerful enough to forge a lasting relationship. Permanent bonds required similar preferences and perspectives, plus some everyday chemistry. No way to tell what that would be like until we spent some time in everyday situations.
We’d probably never get that.
For financial reasons, both Skylar and I needed to find jobs fast. What were the odds that those jobs would be in close proximity? Not very good.
I decided to ignore that depressing thought for now. My worry plate was already heaped with more than I could eat.
I slid from the sheets as smoothly as possible in an attempt to let Skylar sleep. It worked, so I grabbed my laptop and took it into the bathroom for some multitasking.
Lesley had replied. “Just one hit. Hope it helps,” was all she wrote.
I clicked on the attachment. It was an article from the Living & Lifestyle section of the Miami Herald, dated January 2, 2000. “When Five Stars Isn’t Enough.”
For those readers who didn’t score the golden ticket to Seven Star Island this New Year’s Eve, allow us to paint you a picture. Hosted by Aria Eiffel, widow of petroleum magnate Jacques Eiffel, the millennial soirée was one to make Julia Roberts swoon and Jay Gatsby blush…
My eyes dropped to the photo montage at the bottom, which included a beachfront buffet stacked high with seafood, dozens of black-tie and ball gown couples dancing beneath fireworks on an outdoor dance floor, and the regal hostess raising her flute of Champagne. That woman was Skylar.
70
The Price
ALTHOUGH HER ARM STAYED STEADY, inside Aria was trembling from a torrent of mixed emotions as she pointed her pistol at David. She was about to bring this nightmare to an end. Permanently and definitively.
Despite her bluster, she dreaded pulling the trigger. David wasn’t just a fellow human being; he was her friend.
She studied his face, looking for the madman’s sneer or some sign of aggression. She saw neither. Oddly enough, he didn’t even look scared. Or remorseful. Or worried. His grand plan had just failed and he was about to die, but his expression hadn’t changed since before she’d produced a loaded weapon. “Do you have anything else to say?”
He shrugged and spoke with a voice so level and calm that it sent a shiver down her spine. “I already pulled the trigger.”
“What are you talking about? You used gizmos and poisons, but never a gun.”
David adjusted his gaze from the gun to her eyes. “I couldn’t be certain that any of those would work, much less all of them. With Felix, for example, I bet on a compound fatally interacting with his heart medication. It was a gamble that paid off, but success wasn’t guaranteed.”
“What are you saying?” Pierce asked, his tone nervous, his steak knife poised to strike. Let him be the one to draw David’s blood, Aria prayed.
David leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “In Greek mythology, Eos the rosy-fingered goddess of dawn, opened the gates of heaven so the sun could rise.”
Pierce sighed and rolled his eyes.
David ignored him. “Eos was married to Astraeus, the god of dusk. Together they form the perfect team. She brought out the sun, and he put it away.”
Aria felt her stomach fill with ice. “You didn’t!”
“Didn’t what?” Pierce asked, his voice continuing to crack.
“As you’ll likely recall, our Eos works by protecting telomeres, keeping them from shortening. It allows cells to refresh without degrading, thereby halting aging. Astraeus, my more recent invention, does the opposite. It destroys telomeres, preventing cellular reproduction.”
Aria dropped her gun arm to her side.
David didn’t react to the reduced threat.
“You didn’t,” she repeated, knowing as surely as day becomes night that he had.
David slowly nodded. “At the last meeting. Everyone got Astraeus instead of Eos.”
“Are you telling us we’re dying?” Pierce asked. “I’m not sick. I feel fine.”
A wry smile creased the right half of David’s face. “There’s an incubation period as Astraeus spreads, but I’m sure you don’t feel fine. You’ve been experiencing gastrointestinal issues. I certainly have.”
“You gave it to yourself as well?” Aria asked, knowing it was true and yet unwilling to believe it. Any of it.
“I had some bad bouillabaisse back in Miami,” Pierce protested.
“Intestinal cells have some of the shortest life cycles. As do blood cells. You’re beginning to experience the rough equivalent of chemotherapy.”
“So we’ll survive it,” Pierce persisted. “Nobody dies from chemotherapy.”
“They would if the treatment never stopped. And Astraeus can’t be stopped. The damage is done. I’m afraid it’s about to get very painful.”
“Painful how?” Pierce asked.
“Picture victims of the Ebola virus.”
Aria couldn’t believe her ears. She again raised her Ruger. “Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to scare us? What happened to your painless, go happy, humanitarian approach?”
David rocked forward again, almost causing her to pull the trigger. “It’s still available.”
Aria shuddered to think what that meant.
“If you’ll check the refrigerator, you’ll find a large vial of morphine hidden in a big jar of apple butter. I also left a bag of brown sugar in the pantry on my last visit. It contains five fat syringes.”