Release

“Seth?”

She was looking at him again. Shit. “Yeah.”

“I talked to Noah. He’s going to be here in about twenty minutes, so why don’t you just lay low until he comes. When he’s done, you won’t have to worry about being recognized.”

“Why not?”

“He’s not your ordinary prosthetist. He used to be with the CIA, disguising agents in the field.”

Seth felt all his muscles tighten. “You do realize that Omicron is CIA.”

“I do. But you don’t have to worry about Noah. There’s a reason he’s not with them anymore.”

“So you want me to wear a disguise to work here?”

She nodded. “It’s going to be subtle, so don’t sweat it.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he said, not understanding her cavalier attitude. “It’s not a costume party, Harper. It’s my life on the line.”

She looked at him with her best doctor-in-charge expression. “I get that. It’s my life, too. So stop worrying about it. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

He believed she was, but he also believed that she had no idea who she was up against. Omicron would kill every person in her precious clinic if that’s what it took.

“Besides,” she said, “no one expects you to have only one hand.”

He swore under his breath, knowing she was trying to bait him.

She closed her file and stood. As she passed him she touched his shoulder, making him flinch. He didn’t think she saw.

“You can do something good here, Seth. You can be useful and get friendly with your new body. Don’t screw it up.”

He started to tell her exactly what she could screw, but what good would it do? Harper was Harper. “Fine. I’m assuming someone will tell me what my actual job is at some point?”

“Get through your session with Noah, then find me. I’ll point you in the right direction.”

He nodded, but she was already out the door, heading down the hall, her sneakers squeaking every third step on the stained linoleum.

He thought about waiting for Noah right there, but Harper might come back. So he headed out, looking for another safe place to hide. He hated being without a weapon. Without his left hand. The vulnerability never left these days, and he wondered if it ever would.

The blue hallway led past four different exam rooms, three of which were occupied, the doors closed. The fourth was empty and Seth walked in. There was one poster about STDs and another about HIV, both with stern warnings about always using a condom. Seth’s hand went automatically to his back pocket where he kept his handy Trojans, two at the ready no matter what. The moment of optimism fizzled as he moved his left arm, the weight of the prosthetic reminding him again that his days as a chick magnet were over. Not that he’d actually been one, but the uniform, when he’d worn one, had helped. Being with Nate helped even more. There were always women around Nate who needed comfort after being passed over.

He looked at the plastic again—five fingers, fingernails, little hairs on the knuckles, veins. No matter how masterfully the plastic was molded, it was still fake. Like a mannequin’s hand, like a G.I. Joe. He fought the urge to smash the damn thing into the wall.

“What can I help you with today?”

Seth spun at the feminine voice to find a doctor standing in the doorway. She was reading an open file and chewing on the end of a pencil. She looked young, as if she’d just gotten out of medical school and her long, curly brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. When she looked up at him, he looked down, giving her a good view of his baseball cap but not his face.

“I’m not a patient,” he said, darting a quick glance. She was pretty. Especially her eyes.

Her gaze went right to his fake arm. “No?”

He flushed hotly. “I’m new here. I’m an aide.”

“That’s great,” she said. She put the file back in a pocket on the inside of the door. “I’m Karen. Dr. Eckhardt. I was the new kid, until you.”

“Nice to meet you.”

She moved over to the exam table and leaned against it, trim in her blue scrubs, looking him over from bottom to top.

He needed to get the hell out of here, but he couldn’t just run. Instead he turned his side to her as he feigned interest in the supplies on the shelf. Tongue depressors, cotton balls…Yeah, this was a clever ploy. He should have just stayed in Harper’s office. What the hell was wrong with him?

“I didn’t know we’d found someone new. What brings you to the clinic?”

“I’m just here to lend a hand.”

“No pun intended?”

He wasn’t at all sure how to take that. Another quick glance found her smiling. He didn’t think she was making fun of him, so he smiled as he stepped toward the door. “Right.”

“Well, I think it’s great. We can use all the help we can get.”

Two women in scrubs were heading down the hall, so he stopped. “What about you?”

“Me? I switch-hit—I get paid for working at Kaiser Permanente, at the Sunset Hospital, but I spend a lot of time volunteering here.”

“Why here?”

“Someone needs to do it.”

“That’s it, huh?”

“Well, to be honest, my attending physician looks kindly on those who give back to the community.”

“I see.”

“So what am I supposed to call you?”

“Seth’ll do.”

“Okay, Seth’ll Do. Glad to have you on board.”

The hall was clear, so he headed out, glancing back just as he reached the hallway. Her gaze had moved down to his ass. It surprised him. Maybe he wasn’t a total turnoff. Then again, she did like charity work.

One of the exam room doors opened, so he slipped around the corner. An older Hispanic man and a middle-aged black woman sat behind a Plexiglas barrier in a large room overrun with files. Four phones, all of which were either ringing or blinking, were within arm’s reach, as were two old computers.

Outside that office was the waiting room. There were over a dozen people, three of whom were little kids, sitting in the ugly plastic chairs. He frowned seeing how many of the adults looked strung out and dangerous. Harper had warned him about the patient load here, but for some reason he hadn’t expected kids. Mostly that’s why the poor went to the doctor.

He leaned against the wall to watch. Surveillance. At least he could still do a visual. Of course, if something went wrong—say, someone should happen to recognize him—he couldn’t do a thing about it except perhaps throw his fake hand at them. It might freak them out long enough for him to run like hell.

His gaze went down again, to the weight at the end of his arm. He’d never get used to it. He’d had to carry heavy crap for years, sixty-pound packs through unrelenting heat and treacherous terrain. Nothing had ever felt this unwieldy.

And, of course, there was that incredibly annoying phantom pain. He’d heard about that, read about it even, but it was one of those things that had to be experienced. Kind of like being shot at. If it hadn’t happened to you, you didn’t know shit.

If the fake hand were more useful, he might have accepted the whole thing more readily. But all it did was squeeze and open. That’s it. And even though it was electric, he still had to move his shoulder to get it to do that.

When he saw Noah, he was gonna ask him for a hook. It had to be better than this. He might be able to do something with a hook. Hurt someone. Protect himself. And, besides, it would look a hell of a lot cooler than the mannequin hand.

A kid started crying in the waiting room, but the mother didn’t seem to notice. Seth didn’t know what she was on, but it was probably heroin, not meth, given her lethargy. Besides, she didn’t look like a meth addict. She still had reasonably nice skin and hair, although she could have used a bath.

The kid, who must have been about two, had dropped something underneath the table and he couldn’t reach it. The more he tried, the louder he screamed. Finally a little girl, older than the screamer but not by much, came to the rescue. Not one of the adults had even batted an eye.

It was a tough world all over. For kids, for addicts, for soldiers. And so what? None of it meant anything. Not a damn thing. He turned around. The coast was clear, so he headed back to his appointment, feeling as drained and tired as if he’d actually done something.

HARPER WALKED INTO her office as quietly as she could. She wanted to watch as Noah applied the facial prosthetics, but she didn’t want to make Seth more self-conscious than he already was.

Noah stood, while Seth sat in her chair with the desk lamp pointed at his face. A large toolbox was open, and inside she saw pieces of flesh-colored silicone and latex, paintbrushes and small bottles. Of more interest was Seth. He sat perfectly still, back tall, head straight, like the soldier he was. Noah was smoothing his chin with a paintbrush. When he stepped away, Harper could see the difference in Seth’s face. It was, indeed, subtle. But would she be able to swear it was the man on the poster? Maybe. But then, Noah wasn’t finished.

She continued to watch as the painstaking process went on. And on. Every time she thought he had to be finished with the chin, he did something else with it. Shading, painting, until she would swear it was all Seth. Finally Noah gave an approving nod.

“Take a break,” he said, his voice quiet and deep. “The nose will take longer.”

Seth’s head bowed for a long moment. Before looking up, he said, “You gonna stand there the rest of the day?”

“I might,” she said. “It is my office.”

Noah turned. “How are you, Dr. Douglas?”

“Harper,” she said, holding out her hand as she walked into the room. “I’m fine. Man, you do great work.”

He smiled as softly as he spoke. But that was all that was soft about him. She’d learned about his past in bits and pieces, mostly from other doctors. How agents in the field would refuse dangerous assignments unless Noah was the man in charge of their disguise. How he’d been offered everything and the moon to work in Kuwait. And, finally, how he’d given it all up to work with people who’d been broken either by disease, accident or at birth. He built faces that had been destroyed by fire. He brought humanity back to those who needed it the most.

“I do my best,” he said. “But right now I need to go wash out my brushes.”

When he left, Seth stood up and walked over to the small mirror on her left wall. He examined his face, skimming the fake part of his chin. “Shit.”

“I told you. You’ll be just different enough.”

“We could have used him in Delta Force.”

“I think he’s had enough of fighting and wars.”

“He told me he works only on medical cases now.”

“Yep. That’s how I met him. He came here to help a little girl who’d been burned in an apartment fire.”

Seth cursed, then turned to face her. She found herself looking at his eyes. This had been a good idea, this whole work thing. He looked more alive than he had in ages.

“I have to get going,” she said. “I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure everything was okay.”

He nodded. “I’ve asked him to take the hand back. I’ve decided to go with a hook.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “Ooh, neat. Gonna get a peg leg, too?”

“Very amusing.”

“No, I think a hook’s a good idea. You’ll get a lot of use out of that.”

“Still won’t be able to hold my dick with it, though.”

She smiled. “You say that now, but just wait. Where there’s a will…”

“Go to work, Harper.”

She nodded. “Introduce yourself to me when you’re done. I’m not sure I’ll recognize you.”

“I’ll be the guy with one hand.”

She went to the door. “Hey, I know—you can clap for me, and then we’ll finally know the answer.”

His curse followed her down the hall. Yep, this had been a damn good idea.

NATE PRATCHETT STOOD at the door of the abandoned apartment building, huddled in his jacket as he waited for Kate. It was her first time at that place, and he wanted to make sure she became familiar with the area. She was checking the back of the building, making sure they were alone. He’d already given the front a once-over. The only people he’d ever seen here were the homeless seeking shelter, but this place wasn’t a top pick even for them. Most of the walls were destroyed or rotted to the point of crumbling. Inside, it was drafty and the stench of mold overpowered.

He heard a crack, a stick broken by a footfall, and he pulled out his weapon even though he knew it had to be Kate.

It was. He was glad to see she had her weapon pointed at him. Better safe than sorry.

He nodded at her and they entered the building together. The stink hit hard, but it didn’t stop them from walking through the wreckage in the middle of the worst of East Los Angeles, until they hit what was once someone’s bedroom. Nate put down the bag he’d brought from home, opened the closet door. He glanced at Kate, who’d naturally expected to see a closet, not a dresser. He pushed the furniture back with ease, since it was just an empty shell. It hit the wall of the closet only to reveal a large hole in the floor. Propped against the rim was a ladder which would lead them down to a very large room below.

The place used to be the home of a particularly violent Colombian gang whose members had been deported or killed two years ago. He’d found out about this place from an old friend who dealt in weapons, one who’d already sold off everything of value by the time he hooked up with Nate. But Nate’s concern wasn’t weapons, it was the concealed nature of the place itself. And the size. There was water, heat, even a shower below, and no one the wiser above.

He sent Kate down first. He saw her shudder as she began the descent and he didn’t blame her. But then he thought about what was down there and he knew these precautions were necessary. He only hoped they were enough.

It was his turn to get the bag and climb down, pulling the cord on the back of the door to close it behind them. Then it was the kind of dark that stole a man’s senses. The only reality the ladder in his grip, the rungs underfoot.

Kate’s gasp told him she’d found the bottom. He hurried, and when he’d reached her side she whispered, “Tell me again why we can’t use the flashlight?”

“It’ll be light soon enough. Close your eyes or the light will blind you.”

“Blind me?”

“Temporarily.” He heeded his own advice, but the light when he swung the door open hurt even through his closed lids. He waited until the pain was gone, then he opened his eyes. His gaze turned immediately to Kate.

Her eyes grew wide, but not from the lighting. She gawked at the size of the room, at the equipment lining the walls. It was a laboratory, as well stocked as any major drug-company lab. But there was only one drug being studied here—an antidote to the most horrible death he could imagine.

“Well, it’s about time you got here.”

Nate spun at the voice behind him. “Tam,” he whispered as the sight of her knocked the wind straight out of his lungs. Dammit, it got worse every visit. She just kept getting more beautiful.

3

ONE WEEK FROM THE day Seth started working at the clinic, Harper realized it had been a really bad idea. Although each morning he dutifully put on his face mask, as he liked to call the three pieces of painted silicone that changed his features just enough, by the time he got to work, he was in such a foul mood that no one dared get close enough to recognize him. Yes, she understood that it was difficult for him. And, yes, he should have been out saving the world instead of cleaning up puke. But still. He was scaring the patients. And the doctors. All except Karen.

Every time Harper saw the two of them together, at least one of them was smiling. Mostly Karen, but sometimes Seth, so what the hell was that about? The last time he’d smiled in the house was…well, not recently.

They drove home together, and while it only lasted about ten minutes, it could be pretty tense. Then Seth would hit the shower, change into clean jeans and a T-shirt no matter that it was usually freezing because she didn’t want to heat an empty house, then head down to the basement. She’d pretty much given up on asking him if he wanted to join her for dinner.

Sometimes, just for spite, she hid the cheese so he couldn’t make his damn sandwiches. He just ate peanut butter and jelly. Some meal for a man trying to heal.

But the truly weird thing was the looks he gave her. No, it wasn’t looks, it was just the one.

She refocused on the chart in front of her. The patient was twenty-two years old, a young woman who was bright, confident and had the whole world at her feet. And she was HIV-positive. Her ex-boyfriend didn’t like condoms. Of course, the girl hadn’t known then that he was a cheating bastard. Instead she’d thought he was just like the great-looking guys in the movies, in the magazines. How could a hunk like him catch a disease? That didn’t happen, right?

Harper wrote the scrips for the appropriate drug cocktail, hoping this girl would be one of the lucky ones.

Then came the next chart and the next, and when she finally looked around her office, it was almost seven. She usually left around six, so how come Seth hadn’t come by to see where she was?

She stood and stretched her neck and back, wishing she could justify the expense of a massage, but her wages here were laughable. Which was okay, she supposed, because a doctor in this town couldn’t get more low-profile. The good part about working at the clinic was her hours with patients. The bad part was writing all the grants and the fund-raising to keep the place going. Combining the two kept her busy. Kept her from thinking about the mess she was in. For the most part, at least.

She put her stethoscope in her top drawer, then headed for the doctors’ lounge, which was more like a big closet with chairs and a coffeemaker than a lounge one would find at a private clinic. But Seth wasn’t there. After a quick chat with one of the volunteer doctors, she checked out the reception desk, the offices, the supply room. He was nowhere to be found and no one had seen him.

Karen had probably taken him home. Harper couldn’t imagine Seth being so stupid as to take her to their house, so it had to be Karen’s. But he was wearing the latex on his face, which would surely come off when they got down to it.

Goddamn him. What kind of a bonehead would let sex endanger his very life? The lives of all of them? Yeah, it had been a while, but so what? She wasn’t getting any either, and he didn’t see her lifting her skirt for the first decent pair of trousers to walk by. Karen wasn’t even that great a physician. So she’d smiled at him, big deal. Who wouldn’t? He was a really great-looking man. Especially now, with his hair down around his collar. A woman would have to be blind not to notice his muscles. Every time he mopped the floors, Harper caught some woman staring at his back. Or his butt.

On the other hand, maybe getting laid was just what he needed. Let him get his aggressions out on Karen. Then maybe he’d stop being such a pain.

She headed back to her office, her thoughts stubbornly staying on Seth and his muscles, despite three attempts to stop it. He was like a bad song in her head, playing over and over. No, he was more of a sore tooth. Yeah, Seth the toothache.

The thought made her grin, but that froze on her face the second she stepped into her office. Seth hadn’t gone home with Karen after all. He was standing by her filing cabinet, glaring her way.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Me?” she asked. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I had to take the trash out back. I thought…”

“That I’d gone home without you? Don’t be silly.”

He tugged his baseball cap lower down his forehead. “Fine. I’ll wait in the car.”

“Don’t bother, I’m ready. I just need my purse.” She hurried by him, pissed that he was pissed. Embarrassed that she’d gone straight to the gutter. Besides, he wouldn’t sleep with Karen. He liked being miserable too much.

She got her keys out as she walked by him again, and her shoulder brushed his. Brushed, not hit, but he stepped back, his mouth open, his eyes big. It hadn’t even been his left arm. “Come on,” she said. “I couldn’t have hurt you.”

His face turned crimson and he practically ran out of the office. She stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened. She must have done something to set him off, but hell if she knew what. It was worse than dealing with a teenager. And, frankly, she had too many real concerns to worry about Seth’s weirdness.

CORKY BAKER HAD A problem, and from what he could see, it wasn’t going away anytime soon. Sitting in the traffic jam known as the 405 gave him too much time to think. To worry. Ever since he’d listened to Vince Yarrow and Nate Pratchett, he’d been hip-deep in lies, some so outrageous that only the government itself had the balls to go there.

He wondered for the hundredth time what the hell he was doing. He loved his job at the L.A. Times. He loved being an investigative journalist. He just wasn’t crazy about being a walking target. The more he found out about Omicron, the clearer it became that there was, in fact, a conspiracy. Could he prove it? Not yet. But he would. If, that is, he lived long enough.

He’d become almost as paranoid as Vince and his friends. His notes were coded, with copies in his safe-deposit box. He kept his associates and his editors pretty much in the dark. He’d sent his wife and son out of the state, although he was beginning to think that wasn’t far enough.

A smart man would leave it alone. Hell, he’d done more than he should have by exposing the cache of nerve gas in the paper and on national television. It sure hadn’t taken Omicron long to turn that around. Senator Raines had stepped right up to the plate and named the Delta Force men as the people responsible. The official story had holes all over it, but he couldn’t get a soul to go on the record. Nobody wanted to touch this, not in the military, not in Washington. They all ducked when they saw him coming. Not that he wasn’t used to that, but these people, all of them connected in some way to Omicron and the CIA, had let him know in not-so-subtle ways that if he continued to poke around there would be consequences.

Well, screw them. Corky Baker might not believe in much, but he did believe in a free press.

He advanced another few feet on the freeway, then stopped again. Reaching over to the passenger seat, he grabbed the small tape recorder he kept there. Without looking, he hit Record. “Tell Eli to come to the house in the morning to talk about the interview with George Page.” He clicked the machine off, then on again as he thought of one more thing. “Ask N about the lead chemist in Kosovo.”

This time he put the tape recorder back on the seat. He inched his way along the freeway as his thoughts turned to Pulitzer prizes and big damn paychecks. All he had to do was stay alive. Shouldn’t be all that hard. He was a public figure. People would ask too many questions. He’d live, and those Omicron bastards would go down in flames. In fact, he’d be the one to light the first match.

SETH WAITED UNTIL Harper was done in the kitchen before he made his ham-and-cheese sandwich. Not only did he not want her to see how much trouble he had with the knife, with the mayonnaise, with every goddamn thing in the kitchen, but being anywhere near her was getting more and more difficult.

It wasn’t just his dreams anymore. The woman haunted him in the daytime now, too. Even when she was in the next room, in the same room, his thoughts went places they had no business going.

He’d tried to talk himself out of it. He had a million reasons not to want her, but his body wouldn’t listen. He didn’t even have the excuse that she was the only woman around. Not anymore. It was even conceivable that the other doctor, Karen, was interested in him. Probably for the novelty of sleeping with a cripple. But what did he care? He should go for it. Ask her out. It wasn’t natural for a man to go this long without sex. No wonder he was going insane.