LITMIR.BIZ

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Ten.

      He looked up to find the man staring down at him, blue eyes blazing. “I don’t see the problem—it clearly worked.”

      The man let out a sigh. “Not well enough. You told us it would sicken hundreds, not just ten people. Furthermore, the mortality rate is unacceptable.”

      “Wait just a minute,” George began, the affront to his professional pride getting the better of his fear. “How can you say this is my fault? Maybe you guys didn’t distribute it properly or store it correctly. I told you after I supplied you with the bug that it was your show. It’s not my fault if you didn’t follow my instructions.”

      The man took another step forward, forcing George back against his car. His bravado drained from his body like air from a balloon as the man leaned over him.

      “We followed your instructions to the letter, Professor,” he hissed, his breath warm on George’s cheek. “We did everything you said, and yet it did not work.”

      “But it did,” George protested weakly. “People got sick.”

      He jumped as a gloved fist landed next to his head.

      “As I said, not enough people were affected. We cannot use this as a weapon if it will be thought of as a natural outbreak.” The man pulled back slightly and reached into his coat.

      George let out a sob as his knees gave out, and he fell to the ground. Gulping for air, he tried to focus on Ruth, but he couldn’t conjure up her face. All he could think was that he was going to die here, in the parking garage, shot by the devil.

      The man rolled his eyes and withdrew his hand, holding out a business card. “I knew we shouldn’t have used you,” he muttered, reaching down and pulling George roughly to his feet. George leaned back against the car, not trusting his legs to hold him. He silently agreed with the man—he was not cut out for this. He had agreed to provide the bacteria in exchange for money to pay for Ruth’s treatments, but as soon as he had made the deal, he’d regretted it.

      “Here’s how it’s going to work, Professor. You’re going to give us another sample. I want you to call this number when it’s ready for pickup.” He pressed the card into George’s sweaty hand and continued, “You’re also going to come with us, so that there are no mistakes this time.”

      “What? No, I can’t—”

      “Yes, you can. And you will.” He reached into his jacket again, this time pulling out a photograph. “She’s looking much better, your wife.” He turned the photo around, and George blinked in shock as he recognized Ruth emerging from her doctor’s office, holding his hand. The picture had been taken as they’d left her appointment on Monday. “It would be a shame if something were to happen to her.”

      George crumpled at the threat, knowing this man wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Ruth. “I’ll do it,” he whispered, hating himself for the weakness that had made him agree to the deal in the first place. “But I need time to modify the bacteria.”

      The man stepped back with a satisfied smile. “I thought as much. Enjoy your weekend in Annapolis with your wife, but don’t keep me waiting. You have five days to deliver my product, or I will take it out on her.”

      George watched him walk away, despair settling over him with every breath he took. He dropped to his knees and dry heaved, then leaned back against the car, gasping lungfuls of exhaust-scented air like a landed fish. There had to be a way out of this. His thoughts raced as he tried to come up with a solution. Maybe he could take Ruth and leave, flee the city and never come back. But no, they knew about the B and B, which meant they probably had him under surveillance.

      They’ll find me. Of that he was certain.

      He briefly considered going to the police but quickly dismissed the thought. He was an accomplice. Even though he had modified the bacteria to be less lethal, he was still involved. At times, the guilt of that knowledge was overwhelming, but he wasn’t willing to leave Ruth. She was still so fragile, and he knew the authorities would not hesitate to put him in jail, away from his wife.

      Picking up his bag, George struggled to his feet, feeling every one of his fifty-five years. For Ruth’s sake, he was going to have to cooperate with the monster. He pulled out his keys and climbed into the car. His hands shook so badly that it took him three tries to get the key into the ignition, but he finally started the car and pulled out of the parking space.

      This will be the last time, he promised himself as he drove, merging onto the freeway as he headed home to his wife. The absolute last time, he repeated.

      But no matter how many times he said it, he didn’t believe it.

      * * *

      Caleb stood in the shadows, watching as Dr. Collins slowly picked himself up off the ground. The man was obviously flustered, and the pinched expression on his face communicated his distress as clearly as any words.

      “Thank God he didn’t piss himself,” Caleb muttered, shifting slightly from side to side and shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

      Collins had looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and in a way, he had. Caleb prided himself on staying behind the scenes, away from prying eyes. To be visible was to make yourself a target, and he had no intention of painting a bull’s-eye on his back. The fact that he’d had to make this little visit today was a nuisance but not a huge risk. Besides, some messages had to be delivered in person.

      Given the fear that had entered Collins’s eyes at the mention of his wife, Caleb figured he’d made his point.

      He waited for Collins to speed out of the garage before heading to his own car. He hadn’t bothered to forge a university parking pass—there were no guards or security cameras monitoring the area, so he wasn’t worried about being seen. Besides, there were so many students coming and going every day, no one was likely to notice or remember the nondescript black sedan he drove.

      He slid into the driver’s seat with a sigh. Someday, he promised himself, I’m going to upgrade this POS. He glanced up at the dog-eared picture taped to the sun visor. The sporty, sleek roadster winked back at him, taunting him with the promise of speed. It was a beautiful car, all curvy, graceful lines and paint so glossy that it looked wet. A car he deserved, and one he would have—just as soon as he retired. A car like that was for a man who wasn’t afraid to show off, not one who had to live in the shadows.

      His cell phone buzzed against his chest. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced down at the display, gritting his teeth as he recognized the glowing white number. Damn him!

      “I told you not to contact me.”

      There was a pause, as if his caller hadn’t expected such a harsh greeting. He heard the man suck in a breath.

      “I don’t think this is working out.”

      Caleb took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. God save me from whiny CEOs....

      “And why is that?” he asked, working to keep his voice calm and even.

      Dr. Glen Wilkins, CEO and heir extraordinaire of Wilkins Pharmaceuticals, lowered his voice. “Because I don’t think—”

      “Are you alone?” Caleb snapped, his patience running thin. Customer or not, Wilkins shouldn’t be calling if he had company.

      “What? Yes, of course I am.”

      “Then speak up,” Caleb commanded. “I can’t hear you when you whisper like that.”

      Wilkins cleared his throat. “I was saying I don’t think your methods are acceptable.”

      “Is that so?”

      “Yes. Did you see the paper today?”

      Caleb glanced over at the newspaper lying in the passenger seat. “I did. What’s your point?”

      “People are dying,” Wilkins said. “Doesn’t that bother you at all?”

      Caleb

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