placed some cyber-litter for his cover. It made sense that a woman like Skye would check him out on the Internet. Especially if she was hiding something.
He leaned heavily on his cane, looked down at the dog waiting patiently at his feet. “We’d better use the doctor’s dolly to unpack that computer gear and get connected.” He limped over to where his jacket hung across the back of the sofa. “That is, once we’ve made sure work is where she really is headed this morning.” He picked up his keys, bounced them once in his hand. And he couldn’t help grinning. The woman was a challenge he didn’t mind right about now. She was up to something, sure as hell. And he’d find out what. He’d prove Agent Armstrong still had what it took. This little game was gonna buy him a ticket back out into the field.
The real field.
The jitters in her stomach were still there. And her neighbor wasn’t helping matters. Skye pulled into the Kepplar parking lot, dismounted, yanked off her helmet. She should never have taken him that dolly. But seeing that big pile of boxes still in the back of the truck this morning had tugged something inside her. She’d wanted to reach out, to help. She’d also been curious. Because when she’d come back from the lab in the dark hours of dawn, his truck had not been there. And that only added to the strange cocktail of anxiety skittering through her system.
But taking him that dolly was definitely a mistake. Because seeing Scott McIntyre at the door, ruffled, sleepy, and all get-out sexy, in the same clothes he’d worn the night before, had stirred something else deep within her.
Something that manifested in a potent fusion of basic female desire and a maternal need to care. Both were parts of herself she’d locked away more than ten years ago.
In a few short hours Scott McIntyre was digging them out. Scratching at her veneer. And she knew what lay beneath was too raw and malignant to ever be exposed.
Besides, she couldn’t afford to be distracted now. Her beetle project was close to completion.
And she was getting married in the morning.
Skye shoved her emotions aside, pushed open the lab door and shrugged into her white coat. She was early, but Charlotte, her assistant, had arrived even earlier and was already busy at her microscope.
“Hey, Charly, getting a head start?”
The blond woman looked up, smiled. Skye had allowed herself to get close to Charly, closer than she really was comfortable with. A part of her craved the kind of open, genuine and honest friendship so many women shared. The other part of her was afraid she’d let something slip. She wished, at times, she could let her guard drop, her hair loose and just be free to share. Staying vigilant required energy. Concentration. Sometimes she just got tired.
Very tired.
Maybe that’s why she was marrying Jozsef. She could be with him, play the part of a regular woman, without opening up. He was like that. And marrying him would help seal her cover. Help her hide.
“What’re you doing here, Skye? Working right up until the day of the wedding? You should be pampering yourself at the spa, hon. Not poking at beetles and grubs.”
Skye made a face, motioned with her eyes to the ceiling. “Marshall wanted to meet with me this morning, discuss the project. Besides, I need to check on their progress.”
“The critters are doing just fine. You’ve worked magic again, Doctor. There’s nothing more for you to do but wait for the first shipments to mature.”
“Let’s hope they can stand the cooler temperatures.”
“That little gene seems to have done the trick. The control group is still thriving.”
The phone on the wall rang. “Yeah,” said Skye, reaching for the receiver, “but the ultimate test will be in the field. Dr. Van Rijn,” she said crisply into the receiver.
“Marshall, here. You ready to meet?”
“I’ll be right up.”
She hung up, rolled her eyes heavenward. “God has spoken.”
Charly grinned. “Have fun…oh, I almost forgot, Jozsef was here earlier.”
Skye stopped dead in her tracks. “Jozsef?”
Again?
“Why?”
“Looking for you.”
Skye frowned. “He knew I was home.”
“He probably forgot. The guy’s excited. Give the poor man a break. Tomorrow he gets a wife.”
Skye turned, started to push the lab door open but stopped midway, her mind racing. “What time was he here?”
“Jozsef?”
“Yes. Jozsef. Who else?” She heard the snip in her voice. So did Charly, from the look on her face.
“I don’t know. He was already in the lab when I arrived. Security let him in like always.” Charly stood. “What’s eating you?”
Skye shoved the door fully open. “Nothing. Wedding nerves.” But that little niggle was back, biting, probing deeper into the dark depths of her subconscious. She forced it down. She had work to do. An agricultural epidemic to halt. She strode down the corridor to the elevator.
The director of Kepplar Biological Control Systems was waiting.
Chapter 3
Marshall Kane stood at his office window, heavy brow crumpled down low over small dark eyes. Skye noticed the lines on the sides of his mouth were etched deeper than usual.
“Dr. Van Rijn, come in. Take a seat.”
Skye sat, noting the formal use of her title.
Marshall remained standing, a hulking silhouette in front of the gray morning light. “Thanks for coming. I know this is a busy time for you what with the wedding and all.”
Skye nodded. “What’s up?”
He rubbed his jaw. “Last year this was a purely Canadian problem. Now it’s a bloody international one. I got word last night that the whitefly epidemic has found its way into southern Washington greenhouses. And this morning, I’m told it’s been detected in Northern Oregon. Inside and outside the greenhouses. It’s like a goddamn army marching south. It’s like nothing I’ve seen.”
“It’s nothing any of us has seen, Marshall.”
“It’ll be hitting the U.S. produce basket before we know it. If California takes a hit, the whole damn nation will take a hit.” Marshall moved from the window, seated himself behind his massive glass desk. “Think a minute about the financial implications, Dr. Van Rijn. A Japanese-only embargo of California fruits and vegetables could cost more than 6,000 jobs and over $700 million in lost output. An international embargo of California fruits would cost the state maybe 35,000 jobs and more than $3.8 billion in revenues.”
Marshall leaned forward, elbows on his desk, hands spread flat out in front of him on the glass. “But a total quarantine of California fruits, in which shipments and sales within the United States are embargoed, would result in hundreds of thousands of jobs lost and up to $20 billion in lost revenues.”
“You’re forgetting the hit the Canadian greenhouse industry has already taken, sir. And with all due respect, we are not responsible for the spread of the whitefly to the U.S.”
“No. We are not.” He raised his hand, leaving a steamy imprint on the glass. “But just think about the implications for Kepplar if we are successful in halting the little bastards.” Marshall had a greedy gleam in his small dark eyes. Beetle eyes, thought Skye. He was like a fat hungry bug himself. He picked up his silver pen, punctuated the air as he spoke. “There’s a lot riding on your project, Dr. Van Rijn. The U.S. Department of Agriculture is watching us. Our first beetle shipment goes out to Agriculture Canada for mass dispersal in two weeks, right?”