Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson (13 page)

“There’s a camera in the corner.” I pointed
out the small device hugging the ceiling.

Kirk gave it a sneer. “They’re watching us,
waiting to see how we die.”

In my line of work, dying was an occupational
hazard. But I’d often speculated about how I’d feel when the time
came. I’d faced death before. I’d fought it. So far, I’d won. But
this time I had no one to fight. This time the enemy was inside,
and no tool or training or sheer will to survive could save me.

I probably should be frightened. Instead I
felt nothing at all.

“You’re awake,” a male voice said.

I followed the sound to an intercom speaker,
embedded in the wall.

“Why are we here?”

“You’ve been infected with a virulent
disease.”

“A virulent disease?” That might be the
understatement of the year. “You mean Ebola.”

“Yes.”

“Where’s the girl? Where’s Julie?”

“She’s here. Thank you for bringing her back
where she belongs.”

I looked up at the camera. “You’re the VIP,
aren’t you?

“VIP?”

“The one who requested this operation. The
one with ties to the DoD.”

“Weapons are the purview of the defense
department, it’s true.”

It was neither a confirmation nor a denial,
but I didn’t need either. I knew the answer.

“What is your name?”

“Pembrooke.”

“I want to see Julie, Mr. Pembrooke.”

“It’s Dr. Pembrooke, and she’s serving her
country. You two have an opportunity to do the same.”

“An opportunity?” Kirk guffawed. “Does that
mean we can refuse?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“You both had injuries. Being in close
proximity to Miss James meant a very high likelihood of
infection.”

“So now you’re watching us to see how well
your new biological weapon works?”

“All weapons must be tested.”

“So that means what?” Kirk asked in a dry
voice. “You kick back and watch us die, while chomping on popcorn
and Raisinets?”

“We aren’t doing this because we find it
entertaining, Mr. Kirk. This is science.”

“Maybe we weren’t infected,” I said.

There was no reply.

Then I understood.

“You son of a bitch. You made sure we were
infected. Didn’t you, Pembrooke?”

“Why?” Kirk asked. “To keep us quiet?”

“The genie can’t be put back into the bottle,
Mr. Kirk. Our concerns are more immediate than you spilling
government secrets. We have a weapon, and we need to know if we can
properly manage it.”

“Manage it? How can you manage a …”

But then I knew. I knew it sure as
anything.

“You’re testing a cure.” As soon as I’d said
the words, my hands began to shake.

“Yes, we are testing a cure. A DNA
vaccination, to be more specific.”

“Well, what’re you waiting for?” Kirk said.
“Shoot us up.”

“We administered it while you were
unconscious.”

I scanned Kirk’s body, my own arms and legs.
“And is it working?”

“We’ll see.”

I wasn’t very attentive in middle school, but
I did remember a few things from science class.

“If this is an experiment, there has to be a
control group.”

“Yes.”

My stomach dipped. “So you only gave one of
us the cure …”

“And the other was given a placebo shot.
That’s correct.”

I closed my eyes. Pressure assaulted my
chest, making it hard to breathe. I wanted to look at Kirk, see how
he was handling this, but I was afraid if I did, my shaking would
increase. Or worse yet, I’d start to cry.

Kirk was the one who summed up the obvious.
“So one of us will die and the other gets to watch.”

“That will be true if the vaccine works.”

“And when one of us starts showing symptoms?
Will you give the vaccine then?”

“That will be too late. Once the virus has
replicated enough to be symptomatic, the vaccine is no longer
effective.”

“You’ve done other tests?”

“Only with chimps. The vaccine was not
effective once symptoms began.”

I forced my eyes open, remembering the dead
doctors and nurses Julie had described. I had to wonder what the
prick on the intercom had done with the bodies. What excuse he’d
given the families to explain why their loved ones weren’t coming
home from work.

“How do you know the vaccine will be
effective if it’s given earlier?” Kirk asked.

“We don’t.”

“So we could both die.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Unfortunately?” I let out a bitter laugh.
“I’m sure your heart bleeds.”

“I’m defending our country. Defending our way
of life from those who seek to destroy it. Every war has
casualties.”

“Don’t give us that
war on terror
bullshit, Pembrooke. And don’t give us that goose-stepping
just
following orders
bullshit, either.”

“If we didn’t do things like this, the other
side would.”

“If you didn’t do things like this, the other
side might not hate us so goddamn much. You’re a monster.”

I wasn’t naïve. I’d done a lot of morally
questionable things, murdered a lot of people, all in the name of
my government and keeping my country safe. But I killed players.
Politicos. Military. We all signed on for it. Creating a biological
weapon, which would no doubt kill millions of innocent civilians
…

I reached under my gown and pulled the
sensors off my chest, causing the machine to flat line. Then I
ripped the tape off my hand and pulled the IV needle out of my
vein.

“The morphine drip is to help you with the
pain. And we need to monitor your vitals to—”

“You need to shut the fuck up.” I slung my
legs over the side of the bed.

“You really should—”

“I’d listen to her if I were you,” Kirk
said.

I didn’t feel any effects of morphine. My
head was clear, my body as achy as ever. Even so, my first steps
were wobbly, a few remaining effects of whatever they’d gassed us
with. I was steady by the time I reached the door.

Locked.

“There’s no way out of that room, not until
we come in and get you.”

“You’d better hope not, Pembrooke. Because if
I get out of here, the things I’m going to do to you will make
Ebola look like hay fever.”

I tried the door with a couple of kicks, then
moved on to the perimeter of the room, testing walls, ceiling, and
floor until I had no sane option but to acknowledge the voice was
right. There was nothing left to do but die.

Or watch the other die.

My stomach felt hollow.

I walked back to the bed where Kirk had just
disabled his heart monitor. He was a few years older, a formidable
man, a mercenary forged by the same type of red-hot violence that
had hardened me. And when I looked at the calm in his eyes, I
wondered how many times he had recognized the possibility of his
own death.

“Ever dreamed it would happen like this?”

He gave me a crooked smile. “Never thought
about it.”

“Not once?”

He shrugged.

“It doesn’t bother you to die in a laboratory
as part of some sick experiment?”

“Better than a men’s can in the subway.” He
gave me that bedroom eyes stare. “And I couldn’t ask for better
company.”

I let out a small laugh at his bravado.

It had to be bravado.

He couldn’t be serious.

Right?

I looked at him, studied his face.

Jesus, he actually was serious.

My stomach jittered again, but this time it
was a good kind of jitter.

“I took a picture of you,” I said.

No reason not to be brazen.

“What for?” he asked.

“For me. If I never saw you again.”

“But you don’t need a picture. Here I
am.”

“Here you are.”

I stepped close and circled my hands around
his neck. This morning I hadn’t known him. Just a few hours ago,
I’d been ready to kill him. Now it felt like we were the only two
people in a brutal world, and only one of us would see
tomorrow.

I brought my lips to his.

He opened to me, his hand cradling the back
of my head, pulling my mouth hard against his.

Heat spiked my blood.

Lust.

Life.

I wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted, but
when we broke apart, I knew it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. Needed
more. If I only had minutes left on this planet, I would damn well
make them count.

“I know how I want to go out,” I
whispered.

He tilted his head to the side, studying me,
a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “And our friend on the
other side of that camera?”

I glanced up at the lens peering down at us.
“Let the bastard break out his popcorn and Raisinets.”

I thought Kirk’s little grins and sideways
looks were sexy before, but I didn’t have words to describe his
expression now. He pulled me tight against his body and kissed me
again, hard, needy. Beyond the river water, his skin still smelled
of that Armani cologne, and a warm scent that was all his own.

I breathed him in, wanting to take everything
about this man deep inside.

Our hospital gowns were off in seconds, and
our battered bodies intertwined. At first we just clung to one
another, kissing, probing. A dusting of hair covered his chest, and
I ground my breasts against him, the sensation zapping through my
nipples like an electric charge.

Then I was pushing him back on his bed and
climbing on top of him.

He was erect, and I rubbed against him until
I was wet enough to take him inside. I came on my third stroke,
waves shuddering through me. I arched my back, still thrusting, and
he buried his face in my chest.

I hardly knew Jonathan Kirk. And now I never
really would.

But right then, he symbolized everything to
me.

Sensation.

Connection.

Life itself.

I wanted to explore all of him, feel things I
never had before. I wanted this to last forever, and knowing it
wouldn’t made each second, each moment, each thrust and sigh and
whimper all the more profound.

I sensed the muscles in his thighs tensing,
trying to hold back the coming release, and slowed my motion.

Nuzzling my breasts, he looked up at me.

“What do you like most?” I breathed.

His smile was a wicked thing. “Let me taste
you.”

“Me first.”

I moved down his body, littering kisses over
his chest, his belly, my hair fanning over him in my wake. I
trailed my tongue up the length of him, then took him full in my
mouth. I tasted myself on him, the flavors and scents mingling,
intoxicating.

We were good together, me and him. I’d sensed
it from the first. So much alike, yet different enough to add
spice. It was a cruel joke that our time together would be so
short.

I didn’t let myself think of that, though,
but only of the sensations. The feel of him in my mouth. The hair
on his legs rubbing rough on my skin.

Our first time together.

Our last time together.

When he’d reached his climax, he found my
arms with his hands, guiding me upward until I was straddled over
his mouth. He teased me at first, going too slow, pulling back,
torturing me with gentleness, until the tension built and built and
I was thrusting myself on him, trying to capture his fluttering
tongue, begging for release.

“Please …” I gasped. “Please.”

He grabbed my hips, pulling me closer, taking
me firmly.

Devouring me.

I shuddered, the pleasure so intense it was
almost pain, the first ripple in a building, rising wave that
reduced me to nothing but pure sensation.

I could only hope the taste of me, the sound
of my screams, gave him as much satisfaction as he gave me.

When my leg muscles could take no more, I
moved back down his body and brushed his lips with mine.

He peered at me, his cheeks flushed, his eyes
bright.

I slipped next to him in the bed and fitted
my body against his.

“You were amazing,” I breathed. “Just as I
thought you’d be.”

“You, too.”

I shook my head slowly, the sadness creeping
in. “I wish we had more time …”

“Time?” He grinned. “Babe, we got the rest of
our lives.”

His hand moved between my legs and began to
stroke.

I had no idea how my body had any more to
give, but again I began to respond, despite the specter of death
around me.

Or maybe because of it.

Sex affirms life.

He shifted, moving on top of me, keeping his
weight on his elbows. I wrapped my legs around him, sighing as he
entered me, burying my face in his neck as he began to thrust.

We were the only two people in the world.

Only one of us would see tomorrow.

I couldn’t think of a better way to go
out.

When we finished, we held each other.

Held each other, and looked at each
other.

The afterglow faded.

Dread crept back in.

The looking at each other became watching
each other.

I saw it first, and it felt like a punch to
the gut.

Just a small bruise on the back of the
hand.

But it hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Small. Black. Harmless looking.

Then it began to grow, spreading out, taking
only a few minutes to double in size while we both silently
stared.

The nosebleed came next. A trickle at first.
Then a steady stream.

“Aw … Chandler …” Kirk said.

I reached for the IV needle.

Hooked up the morphine.

Tried to be brave.

“It’s okay,” Kirk said, staring at me so hard
he must have seen my soul.

The whites of his eyes were bright red.

Subconjunctival hemorrhage.

“It’s not okay,” I said. “Not at all.”

I held his head to my chest.

After that, things happened quickly. The
progression of the virus, which normally took days, unfolded in
under an hour, right in front of my eyes.