Last Violent Call (Secret Shanghai, #3.5)(32)

Meanwhile, she stayed standing, making a slow perusal of what she could discern about the apartment. One pair of shoes by the door. Bare walls save for the diploma. In the kitchen, which was separated by a divider, a single dirty bowl stained the table. In the bedroom, only an unmade bed occupied the space.

The most interesting matter, however, was the bookshelf next to the bedroom door. A miniature safe sat on the top shelf, its small door swung open.

There were two vials inside, containing a clear liquid. Both were half filled and plugged with a stopper.

Juliette must have made a noise or started toward the discovery, because Pyotr quickly shuffled in the bookshelf’s direction. Though Roma was still talking, his words started to slow as Pyotr’s attention grew distracted, coming to a complete stop when the man reached for the safe and slammed its door shut, the echo reverberating loudly into the apartment.

Abrupt silence.

Juliette tilted her head. “Is there a problem?”

“Problem?” Pyotr echoed. “Of course not.”

“That’s a shame.” Juliette reached inside her qipao skirt. “Because I have a problem. And I thought you offered your help.”

She leveled her gun at him. A moment passed while the scientist stared at her in shock, digesting the turn of conversation and the weapon pointed in his direction. Then his hands flew up, palms outward in plea.

“Please be sensible about this,” he said calmly. “There is no reason to point your gun at me.”

Roma dropped his nice demeanor. “She never needs a reason to point her gun anyway. Hands on your head, away from your clothes.”

Pyotr followed the instructions slowly. Though he had his palms out, they had been very close to his jacket pocket, as if he had been about to reach for a weapon.

“I have some very simple questions.” Juliette wandered closer. “Let’s start with why you’re here. Why are you following Mila?”

From behind, Roma came to stand at her side, his arms crossed. Pyotr’s eyes flickered once more, eyeing his possibility of escape.

“I can answer your questions—please watch the trigger,” he said calmly. “I am a scientist. I am here for my research, not to harm Milyena.”

“And yet all four of her friends are dead,” Roma cut in.

“That is not my fault,” Pyotr shot back. “I split from the research facility because of a difference in opinion. They didn’t think it a big deal when our first batch of experiments fled. Very well—I swallowed my concerns, even if I didn’t think we could replicate the same findings.”

“What findings?” Roma interrupted. “Brainwashing?”

Pyotr hesitated. “If you need to call it that, I suppose so. A better term is chemical conditioning. It had never been done before. It wasn’t easy to get the right conditions. So the board didn’t like that our second group failed, demanded we keep studying and studying to no avail. Then they blamed me when it was the first group’s information they wanted after all, three years after the fact.”

Juliette watched his expression very carefully. He looked like he was telling the truth. The timing matched up too.

“Then you came down to get them back.”

“No,” Pyotr replied. “I told you: I split. The board members are obviously the ones coming after her. All I want is my research. I tried to warn Milyena. I am the only one who can help her.”

“Wait a second.” Roma did a little circle on his heel. He perched on the armrest again, looking effortlessly casual while Juliette held the weapon. “Why are you after your own research? Did you not already possess it before experimenting on the girls?”

Pyotr hesitated. Juliette narrowed her eyes.

“It wasn’t your research,” she said, making the guess before he spoke. “It was Lourens’s.”

At once, Pyotr’s attention snapped up in shock. “How do you know Lourens?”

Juliette frowned, waving her gun. “I am asking the questions. What was it, then? You stole his research, gave it to the girls? He found out and decided to leave?”

“Look, how about this?” Pyotr used his chin to gesture at one of the low tables beside the couch, directing Roma’s attention over while Juliette kept her eyes pinned on him. “There is paper and pen over there. I know where Lourens is, so I can give you his address. Go to him, and he will have the answers you seek.”

“I would rather like Lourens’s location….” Roma made his way to the table, then tugged open its single drawer and retrieved a sheet of paper. “However, that doesn’t get you off the hook. Why are you the only one who can help Mila?”

Pyotr looked like he was barely stopping himself from straining forward. He had some plan up his sleeve—Juliette could smell it. But she allowed it to unfold. She was rather curious what he wanted to try.

“Answer the question,” Juliette prompted.

Roma found the pen in the drawer. He didn’t bring it to Pyotr yet. He held on to it. And Pyotr exhaled tightly, saying, “Lourens and I worked together. Maybe he invented most of the chemical conditioning, but I contributed work too. Critical work.”

Juliette and Roma exchanged a glance. Equal wariness passed back and forth.

“Well?” Juliette said. “What sort?”

Pyotr swallowed hard. “The details are too complex.”