The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)(93)

A sudden tapping followed by two long scratches sounded at the door, and I whirled, my gun leaping out of the holster under my jacket, the sights trained on the door.

“Get ready,” I whispered softly.

I heard the muffled sound of voices, but it was difficult to make out what they were saying. Jeff and Cad stepped next to me, aiming for the door as well. A familiar beep sounded, followed by the metallic thunk I recognized from earlier. And then the door swung open, toward us.

The tech strode in, flanked by two guards, and then paused, her eyes widening, as she saw us. The guards behind her nearly slammed into her, the whole group a tumble of chaos as they reached for their weapons.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” said Ms. Dale from behind them. Her announcement was punctuated by a click as she pulled back the hammer of her own gun.

The women froze, and, in a moment of déjà vu for me, raised their hands up. The technician regarded us. She was short, and pretty, with a round face and hair so blond it was almost white, cut artfully around her face in a short bob. She licked her lips, clutching the black case in her hands.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her blue eyes watching us warily.

Ms. Dale and Amber reached into the guards’ holsters, disarming them, and exhaled slightly.

“My name is Jacob,” I said. “And I’m terribly sorry about the inconvenience, but my associates and I need the black box you are holding.”

“Just over a minute ‘til broadcast time,” announced Thomas through the earbud.

The woman looked down at the box in her hands and back up to us. I noticed the quiver in her chin that indicated her fear, but she seemed to push it back. “And if I refuse to give it to you?”

I applauded her bravery, however misguided it was. It occurred to me how threatening we were, and the impression that might leave. Even though they were the enemy, I couldn’t bring myself to leave that sort of lasting impression on these women. Better to muddy up their perceptions with politeness.

“Miss, I cannot accept your refusal, but I promise you, my associates and I would never hurt you and your friends, unless it’s in self-defense.”

She swallowed and then looked around the room.

“Sixty seconds,” Thomas barked at me.

I moved closer to her, and she flinched back a bit, but managed to keep her feet planted on the ground.

“The case, please, miss,” I said, holding out my hand.

Eying my hand nervously, she seemed to struggle with her indecision, when Amber’s voice piped up from behind the guards.

“Jacob doesn’t kill women,” she said. “And he’s not good at threatening them, either. But as a woman myself, I don’t have his moral inhibitions.”

The tech stiffened, and I frowned at Amber over her shoulder, but then the blond girl held out the case to me. I passed it over to Cad just as Thomas announced there were thirty seconds left to go. I heard Cad kneel down, but my eyes were focused on the three women in front of me.

“Over there,” I said, pointing with the gun.

The women filed over and sat down next to Cruz and the other two guards. Ms. Dale stepped farther into the room, her gun trained on them all while I pulled out the zip ties.

“Fifteen seconds.”

I glanced over to where Cad was quickly connecting leads into the box, Jeff watching him closely. “Jeff!” I breathed. I yanked the box containing our video clip from my pants pocket and held it out to him. He grabbed it and moved over to Cad.

“Five, four, three, two… one.”

The stadium went dark, and in the dim red light of the control room, I froze, wondering if, after everything, we had screwed it all up.





36





Violet





“So, Violet, not to be rude, but the whole boy look you have going on is a bit much.”

I heard Dr. Tierney’s appalled gasp, but I couldn’t help but crack a smile at Henrik’s quip. Turning from my work, I made my mouth into an ‘o’ of surprise.

“Oh, darn—here I was hoping it would help me blend in with the locals.”

“Well, now that you mention it, you do make a very fetching boy,” said Henrik, a merry twinkle in his eye.

“Well, at least that makes one of us,” I shot back with a wink.

Henrik chuckled, and then began to cough, a wet, racking thing, and I immediately took a step closer. Dr. Tierney was already there, the scanner in her hand, her eyes on the screen. “Fluid is still building up in your lungs,” she tsked at him. “I’m going to have to up that medication after all.”

Wheezing, Henrik fell back on his pillow and nodded weakly, his energy seeming to desert him. “You said if you did, I would also have to start using a blood thinner,” he replied in a hoarse voice after catching his breath. Dr. Tierney frowned, looking at him.

“You will,” she said. “But it’s a risk we have to take. It’s been some time since the surgery, plenty of time for the holes Dr. Arlan patched to start to heal up. We’ll keep monitoring it.”

Henrik nodded, and Dr. Tierney reached out to touch his shoulder. He smiled at her, his white-speckled beard breaking apart like the clouds after a storm. I watched the exchange, worry gnawing a hole in my stomach. Even though Henrik was doing better—sitting up, eating, making jokes—it was clear he was still struggling on his road to recovery.