Dead Ringer (30 page)

Angelina's breath caught in her throat. Had she heard wrong? "My-"

In two strides, Finn covered the space between them. He pulled her into his arms, deftly turning her so her back was toward the window and the thing inside. "Remember the journal you found?" He spoke low and hushed into her ear. "It was about cryonics. That's the science of freezing human beings in the hope they can be revived sometime in the future when whatever killed them can be cured. This is some kind of cryonics tank. Your mother's been ... Christ, Angel, she's... she's inside."

"In there? Her body is in there?"

"Look, Angelina-"

"Oh, my God. My God." She broke free and stumbled toward the container.

She could hardly breathe; her mind was on some kind of permanent lockdown. She put her hands on the tank, and cold steel bit into her fingers. Beneath them, frozen flowers extruded from the metal. Daisies. Perfectly shaped silver daisies. Her mother's favorite flower.

Eyes burning, Angelina stared at the body encased in liquid clear as gin. The window was double-paned, distorting the face behind it, but she didn't need a sharper view. She would have known that face anywhere.

Tears formed at the back of her throat.

It was her own face.

Her own, yet different. Pale and unearthly, like a Hollywood alien, yet so human, so very, very human.

Mother. My mother.

"That's what he meant," she whispered. "About immortality. About eternal life."

"That's what who meant?"

"Victor. Oh, God. He talked about vanquishing death. I thought he meant the plutonium, that he was going to perpetrate some great evil that would make him famous. But he was talking about this."

A great sadness weighed her down. She laid her face against the chilly glass window, as if somehow she could send her life force through it and receive Carol's in return.

I'm here, Mother. Can you feel me?

But it wasn't her mother who reached out. Not her mother who touched her head with a warm, comforting hand.

Finn.

"I have to search it," he said gently, stroking her head as though she were a child.

"God, no. He wouldn't hide it here. He wouldn't do anything to jeopardize what's most precious to him."

"I have to look anyway."

She closed her eyes and, nodding, stepped away. Carefully, he ran his hands up the sides of the tank, over the top, and around the back.

It was like desecrating her grave.

He examined the alcove, found pipes leading from the tank to a supply of liquid nitrogen. That's what her mother was swimming in. A sea of cool, clear liquid nitrogen.

She shuddered, tears burning behind her eyes.

At last he turned, empty-handed. "We should go."

She didn't want to go. She wanted to press herself against the tank, embrace the cold, dead steel, and somehow bring her mother back.

But she didn't. She stood quietly as he found the mechanism and the door slid closed over the steel cage imprisoning her mother's body.

And then Finn was there again, holding her, lending her his strength and his comfort.

"Are you all right?"

Not really. But she could be as brave as he was. "I'm fine." Yet on top of the shock and grief was the quick clutch of failure. Her failure. She squeazed her eyes shut as though somehow she could squeeze the truth away. "The plutonium isn't here, is it?"

"Doesn't look like it."

She let out a huge breath, feeling as though she'd let everyone down. "What now?"

He shook his head grimly. "We get you out of here. You can't pretend the drug is working indefinitely. Bo-rian may decide to take other, more drastic steps."

Like strangling you in your sleep, party girl.
She pushed that anxiety away, but it was soon replaced by another. She could still take Borian to bed. Sex for secrets.

A lump of cold settled in her stomach.

"He won't." She hugged herself, not wanting to face that next, inevitable step. "He wants his wife, and right now, I'm the only way back to her."

"No." The word was deadly soft. She looked up to find his face set in hard, determined lines. "We'll find another way to get to Borian."

'There is no other way."

"You've done enough. You're my responsibility and I'm not losing anyone else."

Anyone
else?
"What do you mean? Who else have you lost?"

He glanced down as if debating with himself, then back at her, clearly weighing her ability to withstand whatever the hell he was about to say.

Alarm crawled along her spine. "What is it? You're scaring me."

He sighed. "Jack and Mike are dead."

"What?" All the blood in her body seized up.

"I found them in the shack the night I left you, two bullets to the head." He mimed shooting her in the temple. "Neat, quiet. Like sitting ducks."

"Oh, my God." Horrified, she backed away, tears clogging her throat all over again.

"Now you see why I can't let you stay. He'll be looking to you next."

Stunned into silence, she staggered against (he wall and sank to the floor, a balloon slowly leaking air. She thought of Jack's warm brown eyes, Mike's easygoing grin.
Dead.
She could barely take in the idea.

Drawing her knees up, she laid her chin on top, trying to keep the iceberg in her chest from growing. Finn was right; the enormity of the risks had just multiplied a thousandfold. She should go. As far away as she could get from this house of death.

"Come on, let's get out of here before we overstay our welcome."

But she couldn't move; she felt so cold and heavy, a hulking block of ice. "You still need me, Sharkman."

"Not if you're dead I don't." He extended a hand to help her up. "Come on, let's go."

She ignored his hand and despite the chill creeping up her back, confronted him calmly. "Victor already has one dead wife; you think he's looking for another? He won't kill me."

"You don't know that." Without waiting for her help, he pulled her to her feet. He looked old and hollow, and she wanted to comfort him, but the only comfort he needed-to let him persuade her to leave the ranch-she couldn't give.

"Look at this room. It's a shrine to a dead woman. I'm that woman come to life. You said it yourself, he's obsessed with her, with me." She put a hand on his arm, felt his heat seep into her. She was so cold "Don't you see? He wants me. I'm the dead ringer."

His eyes locked with hers, his face gray as stone. "Don't do this."

"We don't have a choice."

"I can get you out. Now, tonight."

"And then what?" She smiled at him, a pitifully sad twist of her lips. "You let him sell that stuff? Let some crazy make a bomb and use it?" He had no answer, his face angry and miserable. "What would Roper say? Would he want me to leave now?"

He recoiled the merest fraction but it was enough to tell her she'd hit a bull's-eye. "The hell with Roper," he snapped.

He'd left his penlight on top of the bench and she crossed over and picked it up.

"What are you doing?" He barked the question, fear rimming his voice.

I'm sorry.
She started for the door, but he grabbed her wrist. "Where are you going?"

She twisted out of his grasp and continued into the dark passageway. She turned on the light and started running. He called after her, a low rasp of anger and anguish, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. Victor was waiting.

* * *

"Wait a minute! Wait a goddamn-" Finn cursed and dashed out the door, forced to stop and lock it, remove the sequencer and shove it back in its box in his pocket. By then she'd disappeared.

Christ

If Borian caught her, if a patrol caught her...

Panic rising, he plunged into the darkness, desperate to find her before she did something stupid, something that made his gut clench and his throat squeeze shut. Stumbling blind, he wasted precious seconds and finally burst out into the main hallway.

He ran up the corridor, made a wrong turn, and forced himself not to shout. Where the hell was she? Lightning flashed through a window and thunder broke against the house, adding to his confusion. He closed his eyes and reached for calm, visualizing the route to her bedroom in his head. Left, then right, then right again. He retraced the path and found the stairs leading up to the second floor. She was almost to the top. He bounded up two steps at a tune and caught her halfway down the hallway.

Breathless, he grabbed her by the arm. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he whispered.

"Let me go."

He tightened his grip. "Not on your life."

"Let me go! Borian's room is right there. He'll hear us."

"Not if you stop fighting me." Immediately, she stopped struggling. "Good. Now listen-"

She broke away, dashing down the hall toward her room.

"What the-" He chased after and dived into her room in time to see her take some floaty thing out of the closet. A nightgown.

His chest tightened. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?" She laid the gown on the bed and started to wrench off her black sweater.

He jerked her hand away. "Don't."

"Don't what? Don't find out what Borian's up to? Don't prove he's got the plutonium? Don't do what you asked me to do?"

He grabbed the nightgown from the bed and shoved it in her face. "Don't do
this."

She plucked the gown out of his hand and cradled it against her as if stanching a wound. "Why not, Shark-man? Isn't that what I do best?" She raised her chin and faced him bravely, green eyes edged in a bitterness that he knew was aimed at herself as much as at him, "Isn't that why I'm here? To get him into bed so he spills all his secrets?"

Finn fought for patience, every nerve under rigid control. "You're here because I recruited you. You're under my orders, and what I say goes. And I say you're out of here." He grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the door.

"Get your damn hands off me!" She jerked away, then rounded on, him. "I didn't come here to risk
my
neck, and
my
goddamn virtue, only to be sent away like a homesick kid at camp."

"It's not up to you!"

"The hell it's not! I'm the only hope you've got."

"I don't care."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You don't-"

"I don't care!" He sank onto the bed and raked his fingers through his hair, his gut churning with the realization that he'd blurted out the truth. "I don't care how desperately the TCF needs you. I'm not going to be your pimp. I'm not going to sit here and let you whore for me. I'm not going to do it. We'll find another way."

Then the surprise was on him because her face kind of... crumpled. The luscious lips trembled, the chin she'd bravely stuck out lowered. He'd seen those gem-bright eyes fill with contempt, with anger and challenge, but this was the first time he'd seen them fill with tears.

He rose and stepped toward her, his heart doing a little crumpling of its own. "God, Angel, don't," he said softly, reaching out to wipe away the first splash of tears.

But footsteps sounded and his hand froze midway.

"Don't what?"

Finn whipped around. Borian stood in the doorway, tying the belt around a silk bathrobe. Frowning, he looked from Finn to Angelina and repeated his question. "Don't do what?"

Before Finn could come up with an answer, Marian hurried in. Also dressed in a robe over nightclothes, she peered around the room, wary concern on her face. "What's the matter? I heard voices."

"Nothing's the matter. Everything is fine," Finn soothed.

Borian's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you doing in here, Ingram?"

"Nothing. I was just-" He stumbled, searching for an excuse, but his brain wouldn't work. What had Borian heard? And below that, like a dull pulse leading straight to his heart: were those tears of happiness or hurt?

"He was just... just checking up on me." Angelina tried to smile, but didn't quite succeed.

"At three in the morning, and in your bedroom?"

Borian turned on Finn with an angry glare. "This is outrageous. You barge into my home, wrangle an invitation to stay, and then upset my guests." His face softened as he turned toward Angelina, but his expression still held an air of mistrust. "Are you all right? What are you doing up this late? You should be in bed."

She looked down, put a hand to her brow. The gesture made it seem like she had a headache, but it also hid the telltale signs of tears. A shaft of respect tore through Finn; upset as she was, the woman didn't miss a beat. "Yes, I'm... I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep."

Not so fine, Angel. Slight tremors ran across her shoulders and she bit her Up as if to keep emotion at bay. Surreptitiously, he fisted his hands, itching to put his arms around her.

"Why are you dressed like that?" Marian's sharp voice pulled his attention from Angelina to the other woman. She was eyeing Angelina closely. Too closely. "Victor's right, you should be in bed."

Angelina looked down at herself, and his gaze followed. The black jeans and sweater she'd put on to steal through the house suddenly seemed completely out of place. As did his windbreaker. In fact, they were better suited for... He leaped at the excuse.

'That's what I told her when I ran into her in the hallway, but she was adamant about going down to the stables for a ride."

"A ride? On horseback?'

"I... I couldn't sleep." Angelina picked up the story in a shaky voice.
Nice work, Angel,
"I thought some fresh air would help."

"But the"-Borian's gaze skimmed the water bottle en route to the window, then quickly returned to Angelina- "the storm." He frowned, and Finn cursed silently.
Great thinking, Carver.
Of course, Borian would wonder about the damn water and why the drug wasn't working. But Angelina appeared frail enough at the moment; maybe Borian would assume she hadn't drunk enough to knock her out. God, he had to get her out of here. Sending her out into an electrical storm wasn't the smartest idea, but at least it would get her out of the house, which was all he cared about at the moment.

"You see? That's why we were arguing," Finn said. "I told her it was crazy to go out in this weather."