Rough Edge (The Edge #1)(34)

RIGHT: A dead fish on the shore.

LEFT: A dog with cigarette burns in its eyes.

(click left)





I was coping. I changed my methods as often as I could think of a new way to drive it away. Running out of ideas wasn’t an option, and Ronin’s call had come just in time.

RIGHT: The blood and guts of surgery.

LEFT: A butcher cutting a side of beef.

(click right)





The lights went on. I took the electrodes off my head. A young tech came in from the back and helped me with the wrist monitors. She was Korean without a trace of an accent. Her name was Mimi, and it belied her seriousness.

“Did I pass?” I asked.

“There’s no pass or fail,” she said.

I knew that. They kept saying it as if it was true.

I looked to the right, where a small one-way window hid the camera. “Ronin, did I pass?”

His voice came over the speakers. “I’ll meet you in the hall.”



* * *



Blackthorne Solutions could mean anything. The corporate name was so generic, and its parent company’s holdings so broad, you could research your heart out and never find out what was going on. But the offices took up three high floors in an expensive office building overlooking the East River.

Ronin met me by reception, dressed in jeans and a crisp white shirt. He led me to a stairway he accessed with a thumbprint. “Hope you don’t mind walking up two flights.”

“I think I’ll make it.”

I hadn’t spent long in the military compared to Ronin and Greyson, but I’d been there long enough to know I was considered some kind of indolent ass for not enduring basic training.

He had to use his fingerprint to get onto the next floor, and my retinas had to be scanned to get into the back offices. Everything was white and dark gray wood, glass, and chrome. Ronin walked slightly ahead, saying nothing until we arrived in his corner office and he closed the door.

He took a folder off the desk and sat on a tweed couch, indicating I should sit in the love seat opposite him. “Do you want anything? Coffee? Tea?”

I wanted coffee, but it was late in the day. I wanted him to just get to whatever was in that folder. “Water’s fine.”

He nodded but didn’t get up or call for anything. “So here’s the deal. You heard a little about what we do here.”

“You invent new ways to kill people.”

“We like to call it defense development.”

“How slippery.”

“You expected any less?” He looked up as if alerted. “Come in.”

There had been no knock, but the door behind me clicked open. A man in his early twenties brought in a tray with a coffee carafe, two cups, a bottle of water, and a glass of ice. He set them on the table between us, poured, and left without a word.

“That’s a neat trick.” I looped my finger in the cup’s handle. If he’d gone to the trouble of reading my mind, I might as well acknowledge it by having the coffee.

“Not really.” He dumped cream into his and drank.

“Greyson says you guys dated.”

“We met in basic.” He shrugged. “We were nineteen.”

“She was eighteen,” I corrected. He should have this shit down cold. “Do you have any feelings about what we told you?”

“I didn’t marry her. You did.”

“You’re not concerned about her on a personal level?”

“Have you met her?” His question came out with a cough of a laugh. “She can handle herself.”

“Then why take me on if you’re not doing her a favor?”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t my friend. I’ll do her favors, but you’re also a good candidate. Believe me, I couldn’t do a thing if you weren’t right for it.”

“Can you tell me what makes me right for it?”

“No. We’re under contract with a few government agencies. The program you’re looking to enter is paid for by Defense.” He put down the cup. “The DoD’s real particular about who we test on.”

“Liability, right?”

“Right. There are some pretty risky trials running right now. What we’re thinking for you isn’t on that list, but there are still hoops and a very strict NDA.” He pushed the folder toward me and picked up his coffee. “You might want to take it home, but if you leave it in the cab and the Times prints it, you could wind up in Leavenworth.”

“This isn’t Kansas anymore.” I opened the folder and skimmed. Hold harmless. Liability release. Federal arbitration in the DC courts. FOIA clause. I wasn’t a lawyer, but I’d seen versions of most of it before.

“There’s one thing that’s not in there because it’s a prerequisite.”

“What?” I closed the folder.

“You have to be active service.”

I tossed the folder on the table. It landed with a slap. “That’s out.”

“I can probably swing it with you on reserve duty. You’re IRR, right?”

“I was on a four-year MSO.”

“Crap,” Ronin said. “Surgeons get blown when they sign on.”

“Not quite.”