Dahlia moved fast, running toward the row of what looked almost like safety-deposit boxes. Each was large and deep, able to hold most anything a research team needed to leave in safety. She bent to open one nearest the floor. In amongst the stacks of paper and zip drives, she found the precious disks holding the data on stealth torpedoes. There were no identifying marks, but she recognized the strange red circle the professor at Rutgers liked to use on his correspondence.
Dahlia tucked the disks into a Ziploc bag and shoved it inside her tightly woven jumper where she had a hidden pocket. Once it was safe, she arranged everything to look exactly as it had been, closed the vault, and took to the vent. She was going out toward the side entrance where the bushes were close instead of back up toward the roof. It was easier to get through the vents. She simply had to remember to be cautious of the motion sensors.
She had to take a few minutes to orient herself in the maze of vent tunnels before choosing the one she needed that would take her directly to the side entrance facing the narrow street. There was a yard to the back, and dogs were often left loose to guard it at night. The side entrance had less light and only two cameras. Dahlia unscrewed the screen and slipped out of the vent into the office. She could hear the guard talking to someone in the distance. Grateful that she just missed the guard and his dog, she hastily deactivated the alarms at the window and opened it. It was a fair distance to the ground, but she jumped, landing in a crouch close to the wall. She took one step toward the bushes when she heard the door hinges squeak. Men’s voice intruded into the night.
Dahlia shrank back against the wall, stilled, and closed her eyes as two men emerged through the side door. Obviously in the middle of an argument, they remained close together, halting just a foot from her. She recognized Trevor Billings, one of the researchers reputed to be a boy genius. The man Jesse Calhoun had been investigating. He glared at Roman Howard. “I told you not to come here anymore.”
Roman shoved Trevor so hard, the smaller man had to grab his glasses to keep them from flying off his nose, and at the same time, he flung out a hand to grab the wall to steady himself. Dahlia could see his fingers only a scant few inches from her shoulder. She stared at them with a kind of sick horror. It seemed impossible that they wouldn’t see her, but she concentrated on keeping her image as blurred as possible.
Trevor held up a placating hand as Roman stepped close to him. “We’ve got a good thing going. You bring me the research, and I develop it, and we can sell it to the highest bidder. You’re going to blow it if you keep this up. What’s wrong with you? The research was taken and unless we can recover it, we have to focus on the next step.”
“Don’t talk to me like you’re a somebody, Billings. You were nothing, a pissant gofer no one noticed until I brought you the idea and set the entire thing up. My people are the ones taking all the chances while you sit in your little office and get the glory, looking like the genius. We both know you couldn’t think your way out of a paper bag.”
Dahlia couldn’t get past the two men. She was trapped in the dark corner very near the bushes, but light from the streetlamp bathed the path in yellow. They would see her moving and know they weren’t alone. She dared not even breathe with Trevor gripping the wall so close to her.
“We lost this one, Roman. I don’t understand why it’s so important that you’d risk everything. You’re hurting people. Sooner or later they’ll come after us.”
Roman smirked at him. “We’re killing people, Billings. That’s an important part of the work and you’re too much of a weasel to do it yourself. Get the hell out of here and don’t be telling me where I can or can’t go. I tell you what to do.”
Dahlia was suddenly hit hard with the ferocious violent energy, the urge to kill. The mass of energy swarmed around Roman, raced to hammer at Dahlia. She felt the rising need as it gained force. She wanted to shout at Trevor Billings to run. He must have seen the promise of death in Roman’s eyes because he pulled himself away from the wall and began to edge away, stumbling toward the street.
Roman took a couple of steps after him, but then stopped abruptly and turned back as if he caught sight of something—or someone. She was certain he sensed someone close.
Dahlia froze, pushing her small body hard against the side of the wall, using every ounce of experience she had to control her breathing so that there was nothing to give her away. She kept her image blurred, but Roman Howard was close. So close she could reach out and touch him. He was furious. His anger radiated from him. He turned his head this way and that, sniffing the air, wanting to ferret out his enemy. He paced away from her, about five steps, and the light from the street lamp spilled over him for just an instant as he turned. Dahlia saw the knife blade laid flat against his wrist, the hilt in his closed fist.
Her breath caught in her throat. She pressed closer to the wall, wishing there was a crevice she could crawl into. Not only could she feel his anger, but violent energy poured from his body. Surrounded him. Ate at him until he was mumbling beneath his breath, hissing in retaliation, certain he was being watched and wanting to kill. Air slammed out of his lungs. He wanted to kill. Even needed to kill something or someone. The craving was so strong she feared for any innocent passersby.
The energy hit her in waves and she could read the ugly truth of Roman Howard’s life. Always one step behind his brothers, yet a brilliant man who believed he could outwit everyone. He hated. The emotion boiled and churned in him, poisoning and eating away at him until he could barely control and conceal his actions. Dahlia felt it all, and the energy massed around her, choking her, filling her until the pressure was unbearable. She bit down hard on her wrist, concentrating on the pain, trying to block out the violence of Roman’s emotions.
A shadow stepped from the wall not more than six feet from where she was concealed. Roman spun around and froze. Mesmerized, she watched his fingertips stroke the knife hilt.
“Martin, what are you doing here?” Roman cleared his throat and attempted a faint smile. “I thought you were on some big investigation. Louise told me you were in Atlanta.”
“I was on my own investigation. I started wondering how anyone could have found out about Dahlia Le Blanc.”
“Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I wish that were true, Roman, but only a very few people knew about Dahlia. We buried her under layers of flags and not one of those flags was ever raised. That’s how I knew whoever went after her didn’t find her through the computers, and they couldn’t have had personal knowledge of her. Jesse knew where she lived, but it would be ludicrous to think he tortured himself.” Martin ran both hands through his hair, dark shadows in his eyes. His face was etched with pain. “Dahlia paid Louise a little visit last night. Jesse’s condition wasn’t common knowledge, but you knew. How would you know, Roman? You didn’t think I’d be talking to Louise so soon after you told me, did you? You let me believe she told you, but she didn’t know anything about Jesse and was shocked when I gave her the news.”