Page 10 of Sloth
“Actually,” Flint said gingerly, cutting through the thick silence. “There are some names of technicians and scientists I’ve not given you. Mary and I can get together to brainstorm a few others. See if we can come up with a list.”
“Good idea,” Mary added.
“Start with Barry Pinkerton. He was another geneticist who showed promising potential, but he was never allowed into the main lab so I assumed he was ignorant like me.”
Parker tapped Sloan. “There you go. Start there.”
Grumbling, Sloan’s fingers hit her keyboard with dizzying speed. She whipped through programs—secure government programs she should have no business accessing—like they were a fourth grader’s computer system. Damn, he knew she was good. Just didn’t know how good. She’d kept a lot from him when they’d dated. If you could call their online relationship dating. They’d never once touched in real life, but online, over video stream, they’d done plenty.
The memory of her lush, half naked body flashed before his eyes. He wondered what she would look like today under those clothes. How much had changed?
His cock stirred.
Shit. He cleared his throat and forced himself to think of footy. Aussie rules. Essendon versus Carlton. Grand Final. Last five minutes. He mentally replayed the match, play for play, until his blood cooled.
Sloan’s search stretched into minutes. Flint and Mary retreated to the workshop corner where Flint continued to pull apart a small gray drone. Mary spoke to him in a hushed, urgent tone.
Parker soon retreated to a row of glass cabinets containing their combat suits on mannequins. He had one cabinet open and a soldering iron ready to use on inbuilt tech.
The Lazarus family was one talented mob.
Evan was the warrior of envy, so it made sense when he shot Max a quizzical look, and went to stand next to Parker. Max must have let his envy flare.
“Call me when you get a hit,” Liza said, gathering her leather jacket and slipping it on. She tugged her long brown hair from the trappings of her collar. She also cast Max an odd stare before flicking her gaze back to Sloan, and then to Max. Then she rolled her eyes. “I gotta go to work.”
No secrets in this family.
He had to remember to guard his emotions. Conjuring up a compartmentalization technique he’d learned in the army, Max put all his lust, envy and other inessential emotions into a box, locking up tight. He’d unpack later that night. Maybe.
Soon, it was just Max and Wyatt standing behind Sloan, much to her chagrin, but he’d be damned if he stepped away first. She’d already demonstrated she liked to cut corners.
Max stood back, hands folded, and watched Sloan do her thing. Wyatt stood arms folded, watching Max.
The longer the search took, the more his gaze strayed away from the screen and back to Sloan. She still wore the same expression when she concentrated. Her little wet tongue tip stuck out the side of her lips, giving him just the hint of pink. Her nose scrunched up. Black eyebrows flicked up every few minutes, as though she’d come across something surprising, then puckering with a frown when she hit a road block. The only thing he hadn’t seen her do recently was chew her hair. When they used to game together, her hair lived in her mouth. And when she’d shout something, it would pop out. At first, he’d thought it was disgusting, then, he’d come to associate it with her, and everything he’d associated with her back then came with the warmth of dopamine.
“He’s alive,” she said, screen footage coming to rest on the face of an older man of Indian descent.
“This the bloke, Flint?” Max asked, waving him back from the workshop.
Parker and Evan rejoined them.
Flint came back with Mary and peered at the screen. “Yeah, that’s Barry.”
“And where does he live?” Max asked, even though he could see on the screen. He just wanted Sloan to say it, to admit she was wrong.
“Twenty clicks from the black site,” she mumbled.
Damn straight.“It can’t be a coincidence.”
Parker rubbed his designer stubble, scratching up the jaw. “What else did you find out about him?”
Sloan tapped a few keys, bringing up the man’s private email and social media accounts. “Well, you can see he’s a Leftie in public, but—get this—he’s a closet Trump supporter, decidedly right-wing. Barry doesn’t want to admit it, but he likes all the appropriate political candidates’ posts. See?”
“Something useful, Sloan,” Parker rumbled.
“What? I thought that was funny. Okay, fine. Here. Let’s take a look at his rsvp’d events.” She scrolled through some information Max was sure only this Barry dude should know. “Looks like he’s going to a charity gala supporting science in the environment this weekend. He’s scheduled to speak.”
“That’s your man,” Max stated. “That’s your vulnerability. Get to him at the gala. Grab his biometrics. Get into the site.”
