Page 184 of Altius
Wyatt’s readings were a series of peaks and valleys, but nowhere near the amount of pheromones Nika had supposedly been exposed to.
“Check the rest of the team’s emissions,” Cal told Owen. “I’ll look at their exposure readings.”
Ten minutes later, they reached the same conclusion I had during the team’s first home meet: either there was a problem with the sensors that could trigger false pheromone spikes, or a seemingly innocent bystander was dropping a pheromone bomb every time Nika mounted the bars during a competition.
Rubbing his chin, Cal watched the next gymnast swing from bar to bar. “We missed something.”
Owen leaned back in his chair, restless fingers tapping his thigh. “Obviously.”
Cal gave him an apologetic look. “What happens if you run another round of quality assurance tests?”
“Finance will pull the plug,” Owen replied grimly. “They’d understand a few targeted tests, but nothing major.”
Crossing my arms, I watched Nika as she pulled on her warm-up gear and prepared to move to the balance beam. Leotards were featherlight compared to pounds of football pads. No one was going to tackle her or hurl a speeding ball into her chest.
Were the sensors more prone to damage than we thought, or had she accidentally done something to impact the readings?
“Any progress on getting a copy of the football team’s security footage?” I asked.
Owen shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Then let’s start by collecting Nika’s sensor,” Cal said. “Maybe your team can take it apart and see what’s causing the issue. We need to figure out which pheromone reading is wrong.”
Groaning, I planted my elbows on the table and buried my face in my hands.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I muttered. “We spent the whole football season looking for bombs, not the absence of activity. Our culprit could have the cleanest emission record out of all the players.”
After ensuring no one was looking in our direction, Cal placed his hand on the small of my back, rubbing comforting circles along my spine.
“At least we have a lead,” Owen said, his long fingers straying toward my thigh, hovering midair between our legs for a few seconds before withdrawing.
I glanced at Owen out of the corner of my eye, unsurprised to find that he was watching me intently. Who knew a few morning workouts would result in such a noticeable thaw between us?
“How quickly can you review the football data, finding all the readings that match Nika’s?” Owen asked, straightening his glasses.
Nope. I was wrong. Owen still didn’t have a flirty neuron in that big brain of his.
“That depends.” I leaned back, enjoying the continued weight of Cal’s hand as it slid lower. “Are you asking me as a medical fellow or a paid consultant?”
“Paid consultant,” Cal interjected, giving my hip a fond pat before pulling his hand away as a group of spectators carrying concession stand food settled into the seats in front of our box.
Owen’s eyelids flickered in annoyance. “Fine. But don’t go overboard.”
“I’m looking for distractions this week,” I said, my gaze flickering toward Wyatt. “Not more suffering.”
Focusing on PheroPass data would help make the next seven days pass more quickly.
Cal leaned forward, eyeing the array of snacks in the seats below. “Would nachos make you feel better?”
“Or maybe you could wait an hour, you human garbage can,” Owen sneered. “You can afford to feed her real food.”
Cal flashed a mischievous grin over his shoulder. “How about it, milady? May we treat you to authentic Mexican cuisine once your medical services are no longer required?”
Owen let out a single, strangled laugh, which he tried to mask with a fake cough, then went back to tackling his inbox—oldest messages first. One of his more annoying habits.
“I already have plans,” I said, biting back a smile.
“With who?” Cal turned to face me. “Did Alijah sneak in another date night?”
