The genetic research facility where Nina and her cloned sisters had been born—made?—followed strict and efficient naming conventions for their subjects that could be broken down and decoded. Nina, for example, was HS-Gen16-A. HS, those were the initials of the long-dead person who’d provided the DNA material that made the Center’s work possible. Gen16 denoted that she was part of the sixteenth iteration of that particular DNA strain. And her A meant that Nina was a soldier, a warrior, engineered to fight.
Her sister Ava’s designation was B, indicating that she was a strategist. She could analyze patterns, account for all possible outcomes, and plan operations with the deft skill of an experienced military general. And there had been a C once, a third clone named Zoey who had died during an op. Nina still spoke of her with sad, shining eyes, describing her vast kindness and deep empathy.
The Professor hadn’t offered a letter.
“I don’t have one,” he explained, the words casual and conversational, as if he wasn’t staring down the barrel of a pistol. “I don’t have a cluster, either. Back then, the Center was still trying to make each of us … well. All things to everyone, I suppose.”
Gray’s skin crawled. “They gave you all the modifications.”
“Yes.” Slowly, the man smiled. It should have been a horrible expression, ironic and dull, but it was utterly sincere. It was only creepy because of how out of place it was. “It didn’t work out as they planned.”
“Made you crazy, didn’t it?” Conall’s tone was light, but he watched the Professor with the same wary attention he usually reserved for venomous animals. “The TechCorps tried that, too. Didn’t end so hot for them.”
“You’d like that explanation, wouldn’t you? It’s simple. Easy. Makes you feel safe.” He shook his head and turned his attention back to Nina. “It worked, perhaps too well.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “It made us impossible to control.”
Nina sucked in a sharp breath. “So you broke out.”
“We didn’t have to. We’d convinced the scientists that we wanted to be there. We bided our time, and eventually we just … walked out.” He paused. “It was beautiful, actually.”
“I guess they learned from their mistakes.” Her finger tightened on the trigger. “I spent my entire childhood being treated like a criminal. Locked up like an animal. Is that part beautiful, too?”
“Nina.” Knox took a step forward, the movement putting him in position to intervene—or take down the Professor with a flying tackle. “The girl.”
That wiped the smile from the Professor’s face. “That was my miscalculation, leaving behind my DNA. It wasn’t important enough to include in my plans. I didn’t realize it would ever matter.” He gestured to a chair at the end of the table. “May I?”
“This isn’t a fucking tea party,” Maya muttered under her breath.
But Knox was already nodding curtly. “Sit,” he ordered. “And talk. No more vague rambling. Tell us what the hell you got us into.”
The man took the chair, swung it around, and sat without taking his gaze from Knox’s face. The movement displayed perfect awareness and somatic control, a lazy grace that could turn lethal in a heartbeat.
If Gray ever had to kill this motherfucker, he wanted to be half a mile away with his favorite rifle and clear line of sight.
“My strain was one of the first to be decommissioned,” he said flatly. “You have some experience with that, don’t you, Nina? They learned that early, too—if you have problems with your subjects, you discard them and start over. The fault must be in the DNA. It’s bullshit, of course, but I understand the impulse. Anything to regain some measure of control.”
Nina stared at him with growing horror.
“Decommissioned DNA is wasteful. Maintaining it uses up valuable resources, but they can’t simply throw it away. Just in case.”
“So they sell it,” Nina breathed.
He nodded. “To other research centers, hospitals, biotech companies. Even private concerns.”
Gray clenched his fists. “Anything to make a buck.”
“You have no idea, Sergeant Gray.” He reached inside his jacket, prompting a warning growl from Knox. The Professor raised both eyebrows and slowed his movements in a placating gesture.
Then he pulled out a cigarette case and tossed it to Gray.
He caught it reflexively, then immediately wanted to drop it. The man knew Gray wanted a smoke. It didn’t matter if he’d found the information in a dossier, talked to an old acquaintance of his, or plucked the knowledge out of the fucking air based on nothing more than intuition or a lucky guess.
Gray didn’t like it.
He threw the case back with more force than strictly necessary. “No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” The Professor tucked the case back into his jacket’s inner pocket. “Emerge BioCore Systems has been buying decommissioned strains from the Center for a while now.”
“Why?” Slowly, Nina holstered her weapon. “What’s their game?”
“Children.” The word fell into the room like a flash-bang grenade. “Full customization, with a wide range of alterations.”
“For what purpose?”
“Any? All?” He shrugged. “I’m quite sure they don’t ask. But they do a brisk business. The facility you hit tonight is a final handling point. They do outbound shipping. That’s why I had to convince you to do it, Nina. It was my last chance to retrieve the girl.”
It was good that Nina had put her gun away, because her hands were shaking. “You should have told us, John.”
“You already said you wouldn’t have done it.”
“I wouldn’t kidnap a child,” she countered. “But this? This was a fucking rescue mission.”
He blinked at her. “There’s a difference?”
She turned away with an exasperated groan.
The man rose. “In that case, you should know that Emerge is shipping additional cargo through that facility—”
Gray moved. It wasn’t one of those things where he didn’t mean to or he was so full of righteous anger that he didn’t realize he was going to until it happened. He planned it, and he meant it.
The plan, however, was to grab the man by his jacket and haul him to his feet. Instead, Gray locked a hand around his throat and lifted him.
“They’re not cargo,” he growled. “They’re kids. And you’re just now telling us there were more of them locked in those cells?”
John stared at him, unperturbed by the violent threat inherent in Gray’s grip on his throat. “My mistake.”
“How many?” Knox asked flatly.
“According to my intelligence, at least five others in this shipment.”
Motherfucker.
Nina gripped the edge of the table. “Let him go, Gray.”
“I don’t particularly want to, Nina.”
“Do it anyway.”
Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, Gray relaxed his fingers. Instead of scrambling back, the Professor stood there until Gray dropped his hand.
Nina turned. “Get out, John.”