The Chemist

Closer, her blood pulsed. Closer.

And then he suddenly jerked away, his mouth sliding from hers with a choked gasp. An anxious whine sounded at her feet. She leaned over and saw Einstein with his jaws locked on Daniel’s ankle. Einstein whimpered again.

“Einstein, at ease,” he growled, kicking to free his foot. “Get off.”

Einstein let him go, looking to her nervously.

“At ease!” Her voice was husky. “It’s okay.”

With a hesitant huff, Einstein dropped out of the open hatch.

Daniel rolled up and slammed the door shut. He turned toward her on his knees, his pupils dilated and his eyes wild. He gritted his teeth as if he were fighting for some kind of control.

She reached up for him, her fingers stretching to hook into the waistband of his jeans, and he collapsed into her with a low groan.

“Alex, Alex,” he breathed against her neck. “Stay with me. Don’t leave.”

Even in the frenzy of the moment, she was aware what he was asking. And she meant what she said when she answered, knowing it could be the worst kind of mistake.

“I will,” she promised roughly. “I won’t.”

Their mouths locked together again, and she could feel his heart drumming a syncopated rhythm against her own, aligned beneath their skin because his mirrored hers.

The shrill peal of the phone pierced through the lower register sounds – the double heartbeat, the gasping breaths – and had her pushing away from him in a different kind of panic.

He shook his head quickly once, eyes closed, as if trying to remember where he was.

She sat up, looking for the source of the sound.

“I’ve got it,” Daniel said, gasping. He shoved his hand in his jeans pocket as the phone pealed again.

He looked at the number, then hit Answer with his thumb. With his left hand, he pulled her back against his chest.

“Kev?” Daniel answered between pants.

“Danny – hey, are you guys safe?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get some sleep.”

“Sounds like you’re running a marathon.”

“The phone scared me. Nerves a little frayed, you know.” He lied so smoothly that she almost smiled in spite of the tumult inside her.

“Oh, right, sorry. Let me talk to Oleander.”

“You mean Alex?”

“Whatever. Give her the phone.”

She tried to slow her breathing, to sound normal. “Yes?”

“What? Don’t tell me the phone scared you, too.”

“I am not a black ops agent. And it’s been a very long night.”

“I’ll keep it quick. I found my guy. Does the name Deavers mean anything to you?”

She thought for a second, working to pull her mind back to the things that mattered. “Yes, I know the name. It was on some of the files when information was being extracted for the CIA. He never came in to monitor an interrogation, though. Is he a supervisor over there?”

“He’s more than a supervisor. He’s second in command these days, with an eye to moving up. He was one of several potentials I was monitoring. Early this morning, Deavers gets a call, punches a few walls, then makes his own call. I know this guy – he loves to make the peons scurry. He doesn’t leave his office; he sends an aide to bring the person he wants to him. Always the power play. But after that second call, he goes running out to see your man Carston like a gofer. They met up at a random little residential park miles away from both their offices and then went for a leisurely and sweaty walk, looking like they wanted to murder each other the whole time. It’s Deavers, for sure.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Hmm. I think I still want the e-mail. I need to see who else knows about this. Taking out Deavers won’t be too hard, but it just tips the other guys off if he’s not alone. Have you got a pen?”

“Gimme a sec.”

She crawled to the front seat and located her backpack. She dug for a pen, then scribbled the e-mail address he gave her onto the back of a gas receipt.

“When?” she asked.

“Tonight,” he decided. “After you’ve gotten some sleep and have your nerve back.”

“I’ll send it from Baton Rouge. Do you have a script or do you want me to wing it?”

“You know the gist. Don’t make it sound too cerebral.”

“I think I could channel some caveman.”

“Perfect. Once you trade cars with the McKinleys, start heading up here.” He switched to his library voice, but Daniel was so close it was a wasted effort. “Danny going to give you trouble about staying behind?”

She tilted her face up toward Daniel’s. It was easy to read his reaction.

“Yeah. I’m not so sure it’s a good idea anyway. Call me paranoid, but I don’t believe in safe houses anymore.”

Daniel bent down to press his lips hard against her forehead, which made it difficult to pay attention to what Kevin was saying.

“…figure a place for Lola. How bad is your face? Oleander?”

“Huh?”

“Your face. What does it look like?”

“Big bandage across my left jaw and ear.” As she spoke, Daniel leaned closer to examine her wounds and then drew in a sharp breath. “Plus all the original fun.”

“That could play,” Kevin said. “Lola’s injured, too. I’ll feed them a story that will keep them satisfied.”