Intimate Danger. Amy J. Fetzer

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      She let out a long breath, knowing she was preaching to the wrong crowd. They couldn’t turn back after taking the plunge with human trials.

      “What pushed the schedule up to this?” She gestured to the cloaked cage housing Boris as the men pushed it around the equipment. The pod was stable, but the insertion was only a few weeks old.

      “Look, Clancy, I agree with you, it needs further testing, and that’s where Boris comes in. If you’d just go with the flow…”

      Clancy blinked, then scowled. Go along when human lives were at stake?

      “Fine. Stick to your high moral grounds,” Francine said tightly. “But understand that I have a career I love and I got this far because I’m willing to play their games.” She touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry you can’t.”

      This wouldn’t sting so much if Clancy didn’t respect and admire Francine. Aside from being a tall, leggy brunette, Francine Yates was a genius, a doctor, a U.S. Army major, and head of a billion-dollar project. What’s not to admire about that? Just staying afloat in a generally man’s world was tough enough. Francine excelled. For both of them, it was all about the strides they were making to help troops in the field. But going ahead without monitoring Boris thoroughly first was insane and could bring the whole project down—and kill four decorated Marines.

      Clancy felt her stand against this strengthen, and she reminded herself that they’d done this without her, yet put her name on all the reports. Forging her signature wouldn’t be difficult. If she tipped her hand now, she’d be fired. Then the Marines would have no one watching their back.

      In stocking feet, she took a step away from the desk, her gaze locked on Francine as she said, “The review board doesn’t know this like we do, Francine. You’re letting outsiders make decisions and I want to go on record that I’m opposed.”

      Francine nodded. “Duly noted.”

      The orangutan stirred in the cage, sitting up, and looking between Clancy and Francine. Seeing Francine, the animal immediately rose and reached a clawlike paw for her, letting out a high-pitched scream and hopping wildly inside the cage. Francine jumped back and quickly ordered the men to remove it.

      Clancy went back to the desk and grabbed her shoes from underneath. As she put one on, she pretended to drop it, then hit the OFF/ON button on the computer. From her position the screen blinked and started a reboot.

      “I can’t understand why he does that to me all the time.”

      “Change your perfume and see what happens.”

      Francine’s brows shot up. “Maybe he just likes redheads.”

      Dark auburn, she wanted to correct, but let it go. “Now what? No test subjects? The others aren’t up to his timeline yet, nor his level. If he doesn’t survive, then you just canned a month’s worth of this project.” Clancy slipped the service record book pages from under the keyboard and carefully folded them. “Your tax dollars at work, I guess.”

      “Natasha was implanted at the same time, too,” she reminded her.

      Discreetly, Clancy stuffed the papers in her shoes. “And a female orangutan is supposed to tell us about the effect on human males?” Testosterone levels alone changed the data. This was a smokescreen and not a very good one.

      “It’s the progress of the pod first, then the remaining stress tests with the other candidates.”

      She wasn’t telling Clancy something she didn’t know. “Better keep a good supply of apes on standby. You’ll be running out.”

      As almost an afterthought, she opened her desk drawer and grabbed the deactivation device, the Terminator, and slipped it into her purse. She stood, removed her lab coat, and grabbed her bag.

      “I’m not coming in tomorrow.”

      Francine sighed and came to the desk, resting her hand on the monitor. It was still rebooting and Clancy hoped Francine didn’t notice the flickering screen.

      “You won’t attend the surgery?”

      Clancy shook her head. As far as she was concerned, two years of work was going down the toilet under the scalpel. “A piece of advice.”

      Francine arched a brow, changing her expression from friend to superior.

      “Just be very careful who and where you put your faith, Francine. It’ll come back to haunt you, trust me.”

      Francine’s brows kitted, her gaze questioning where that bit of acid advice came from. Clancy didn’t share and headed out the door.

      Her steps feeling awkward, Clancy tried to leave the building without much notice—-with the Terminator in her purse and classified material padding her shoes.

      Eleven days prior

      Virginia

      Mike followed orders. Sometimes.

      Right now, taking up a hospital bed when there were wounded coming back from the Middle East all the time just didn’t wash. He pulled on his shirt and felt only a twinge in his shoulder from the infection he’d contracted in Libyan waters. At least the stitches were out.

      “You can’t leave yet, Gannon,” he heard and kept his back to the nurse as he tucked in his shirt.

      “Watch me.” He was looking forward to a beer and a night without someone waking him to check his eyeballs or inject him with drugs.

      “I have to sign you out.”

      “Then get to scribbling, Ensign.”

      “You have to complete the psychological interviews, you know that.”

      He turned, eyeing the small young woman from head to foot. “My mental health is fine. Not like it’s the first time I’ve been shot.”

      Her shoulders pushed back as she said, “That’s an order.”

      Christ. Newly commissioned ensigns were a pain in the ass. Especially ones being trained for classified clearance. “Yes, ma’am.”

      She gestured to the door. Mike grabbed his duffel bag and advanced, but when he was close, she slipped back a quick step. He froze at the door, frowning. Christ, she’s afraid of me. It put him on edge and he gestured for her to lead the way.

      “Don’t put that clipboard away, Ensign Durry, I’ll be leaving.”

      Down the next corridor, she ushered him into a conference room, barely able to look him in the eye. Mike recognized the man behind the table and smiled slightly. Dr. Figaroa was a round, dark-haired man with a big Italian nose and easy humor.

      “You’re a frequent guest, Gannon.”

      “Let me save you the time, Dr. Figaroa. Read the last entry and we’re done here.”

      The shrink pointed to the chair. Mike dropped the bag and sat.

      “What are your plans?”

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