The Hollows Series Books 1-4. Kim Harrison

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      I stood in confusion, my long, white-furred feet planted on the wire mesh of my cage. I felt betrayed, of all things. Faris looked ill. “You’re not serious,” he whispered, his fat cheeks turning white. “You’re really going to play her? You can’t!”

      “Why ever not?”

      Faris’s jowls dropped as he struggled for words. “She’s a person!” he exclaimed. “She won’t last three minutes. They’ll rip her to shreds.”

      Trent shrugged with an indifference I knew wasn’t faked. “Surviving is her problem, not mine.” He put on his wire glasses and bent his head over his papers. “Good afternoon, Faris.”

      “Kalamack, this is too far. Even you aren’t above the law.”

      As soon as he said it, both Faris and I knew it was a mistake. Trent pulled his gaze up. Silent, he eyed Faris from over his lenses. He leaned forward, an elbow on his accumulated work. I waited breathlessly, the tension making my fur rise. “How is your youngest daughter, Faris?” Trent asked, his beautiful voice unable to hide the ugliness of his question.

      The large man went ashen. “She’s fine,” he whispered. His rough confidence had vanished, leaving only a frightened, fat man.

      “What is she? Fifteen?” Trent eased back in his chair, set his glasses beside his in/out-box, and laced his long fingers over his middle. “Wonderful age. She wants to be an oceanographer, yes? Talk to the dolphins?”

      “Yes.” It was hardly audible.

      “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that the treatment for her bone cancer worked.”

      I looked at the back of Trent’s drawer where the incriminating discs lay. My gaze lifted to Faris, taking in his lab coat with a new understanding. Cold struck through me, and I stared at Trent. He wasn’t just running biodrugs, he was making them. I wasn’t sure if it horrified me more that Trent was actively flirting with the same technology that wiped out half the world’s population, or that he was blackmailing people with it, threatening their loved ones. He was so pleasant, so charming, so damned likable with his confident personality. How could something so foul lay next to something so attractive?

      Trent smiled. “She’s been in remission for five years now. Good physicians willing to explore illegal techniques are hard to find. And expensive.”

      Faris swallowed. “Yes—sir.”

      Trent eyed him with a questioning arch to his eyebrows. “Good afternoon—Faris.”

      “Slime,” I hissed, ignored. “You are a slime, Trent! Scrapings from under my boot.”

      Faris moved shakily to the door. I tensed when I smelled a sudden defiance. Trent had backed him into a corner. The large man had nothing to lose.

      Trent must have sensed it, too. “You’re going to run now, aren’t you,” he said as Faris opened the door. The sound of office chatter filtered in. “You know I can’t let you.”

      Faris turned with a hopeless look. Astonished, I watched Trent unscrew his pen and stick a small tuft in the empty barrel. With a short puff of air, he shot it at Faris.

      The large man’s eyes widened. He took a step toward Trent, then put his hand to his throat. A soft rasp came from him. His face began to swell. I watched, too shocked to be afraid, as Faris dropped to his knees. The heavy man grasped at a shirt pocket. His fingers fumbled, and a syringe fell to the floor. Faris reached for it, collapsing, stretching for the syringe.

      Trent rose. His face blank, he nudged the syringe out of Faris’s grasp with a foot.

      “What did you do to him?” I squeaked, watching as Trent put his pen back together. Faris was turning purple. A ragged gasp came from him, then nothing.

      Trent slipped his pen in a pocket and stepped over Faris to reach the open door. “Sara Jane!” he called out. “Call the paramedics. Something’s wrong with Mr. Faris.”

      “He’s dying!” I squeaked. “That’s what’s wrong with him! You freaking killed him!”

      The sound of worried chatter rose as everyone came out of his or her office. I recognized Jonathan’s fast footsteps. He lurched to a stop in the threshold, grimacing at Faris’s bulk on the floor, then frowning at Trent in disapproval.

      Trent was crouched beside Faris, feeling for a pulse. He shrugged at Jonathan and injected the syringe’s contents into Faris’s thigh through his slacks. I could tell it was too late. Faris wasn’t making noises anymore. Faris was dead. Trent knew it.

      “The paramedics are coming,” Sara Jane said from the hall, her footsteps coming closer. “Can I get—” She stopped behind Jonathan and put a hand to her mouth, staring down at Faris.

      Trent stood, the syringe slipping from him to fall dramatically to the floor. “Oh, Sara Jane,” he said softly as he drew her back into the hallway. “I’m so sorry. Don’t look. It’s too late. I think it was a bee sting. Faris is allergic to bees. I tried to give him his antitoxin, but it didn’t act soon enough. He must have brought a bee in with him unaware. He slapped his leg just before he collapsed.”

      “But he …” she stammered, glancing back once as Trent moved her away.

      Jonathan crouched to pluck a tuft of fuzz from Faris’s right leg. The fluff went into a pocket. The tall man met my eyes, a wry, sarcastic look on his face.

      “I’m so sorry,” Trent said from the hall. “Jon?” he called, and Jonathan rose. “Please see that everyone leaves early. Clear the building.”

      “Yes sir.”

      “This is terrible, just awful,” Trent said, seeming to really mean it. “Go on home, Sara Jane. Try not to think about it.”

      I heard her choke back a sob as her hesitant footsteps retreated.

      It had only been moments since Faris had been standing. Shocked, I watched Trent step over Faris’s arm. Cool as broccoli, he went to his desk and pushed the intercom. “Quen? I’m sorry to disturb you, but will you please come up to my front office? There is a paramedic team on their way into the grounds, and after that, probably someone from the I.S.”

      There was a slight hesitation, and Quen’s voice crackled from the speaker. “Mr. Kalamack? Yes. I’ll be right there.”

      I stared at Faris, swollen and prostrate on the floor. “You killed him,” I accused. “God help me. You killed him. Right in your office. In front of everyone!”

      “Jon,” Trent said softly, rummaging in apparent unconcern in a drawer. “See that his family gets the upgraded benefits package. I want his youngest daughter to be able to go to the school of her choice. Keep it anonymous. Make it a scholarship.”

      “Yes, Sa’han.” His voice was casual, as if dead bodies were an everyday occurrence.

      “That’s real generous of you, Trent,” I chittered. “She’d rather have her father, though.”

      Trent looked at me. There was a bead of sweat at his hairline. “I want to meet with Faris’s assistant before the day is out,” he said lightly. СКАЧАТЬ