2024
“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Dennis said.
“You got a better one?” Melinda asked. “We need answers—okay, I need answers—and this may be our only shot at finding out just what the heck we’ve stumbled onto here. We have to take it.”
And not just for Cetacean, but for her own peace of mind. Everything she thought she knew about what was fact and what was fantasy had been thrown into question. The shape of the world depended on her replacing some of those question marks with periods, which meant getting solid, indisputable answers, no matter what.
A private limo, dispatched by Orlando Wilder, carried them toward Hiberna House, the elusive millionaire’s personal residence in San Francisco, only a helicopter ride away from Amaranth’s corporate HQ in San Jose. The space-age, modernist-style mansion was perched on a rocky cliff overlooking the Bay. Melinda could only imagine how much Wilder must have paid, and what strings he might have pulled, to secure such prime real estate.
“So it doesn’t bother you that we may be walking right into a trap? Whatever happened to being more careful from now on?”
Wilder had taken the bait she’d left for him on Wilmer Offutt’s answering machine. His terms had been nonnegotiable: a face-to-face meeting, off the record, on his home turf, where he could guarantee his privacy and security. Her counteroffer of meeting on neutral ground, as they had with Halley, was a nonstarter. And honestly, she’d been in no mood or position to haggle; no way was she passing up this opportunity.
“Don’t be so melodramatic,” she teased him, adopting a light tone to allay his anxiety. “He’s a camera-shy tycoon with a murky past, not a Bond villain. Probably has more lawyers than assassins on retainer.”
“Or he’s an alien or a time traveler, who already had our home bugged and burgled. And we’re strolling right into his lair?”
It’s that or never know what’s real again, she thought. “You didn’t have to come along,” she said gently. “You could’ve let me do this by myself.”
“No, I really couldn’t. Watching over you remotely isn’t an option this time, and I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you while I stayed safe at home.” He wolfed down a couple of Tums. “Somebody has to have your back when you get like this and let your curiosity get the better of caution.”
“And don’t think I don’t appreciate it.” She looked him over, concerned by his drawn features and the bags under his eyes. “You get any sleep at all last night?”
“Not really.”
“Me either,” she admitted, although in her case she was more wired than apprehensive. Manage your expectations, she told herself. There was no guarantee that Wilder could or would provide solutions to every mystery surrounding Gillian’s disappearance.
In the meantime, she couldn’t fault the efficiency of Wilder’s arrangements—and security precautions. A formidable-looking steel gate opened automatically at the limo’s approach, admitting them to a long private drive that eventually dropped them in front of the mansion before turning around and leaving them behind. A short flight of steps led up to the open front door, where Wilder was on hand to greet them.
“Right on time. I’d compliment you on your punctuality, but of course, that was all my doing.” His voice was as sonorous as ever. “I trust the ride went smoothly.”
Compared to his brusque demeanor when she’d ambushed him before, he seemed to be making an effort to be a bit more cordial this time around. His attire consisted of a neatly pressed blazer, turtleneck sweater, slacks, and loafers.
“Like clockwork.” She’d put on a jacket, jeans, boots, and a plain black T-shirt for the occasion, and redyed her hair magenta. “I’m sure I don’t need to introduce my partner, Dennis Berry. You probably already have full files on both of us, along with samples of our DNA.”
“I plead the Fifth,” he said dryly. “Still, in the interest of good manners, I’m pleased to finally meet you, Mister Berry.”
He held out his hand to Dennis, who, after a moment’s trepidation, accepted. She noticed it was shaking a bit; she hoped his palm wasn’t too sweaty. He’s braving this for my sake, despite his fears. Don’t forget that.
Wilder turned toward her. “For that matter, I don’t believe we’ve ever been formally introduced, Ms. Silver.”
“Call me Melinda.” She gave him a firm handshake and a steady gaze, noting again that he and she were roughly the same height. “But I’m unclear. Should I address you as Orlando Wilder… or Wilmer Offutt?”
His smile grew strained. “Orlando will do, but let’s table that… misunderstanding… until after we’ve settled in and made ourselves comfortable.” He glanced at the sky, which was cloudy and threatening rain, and gestured toward the door. “If you please.”
“All right,” she said. As long as I don’t have to wait too long for some real talk.
She had no intention of being strung along by Wilder’s attempts at hospitality. She was here for answers, not evasions. They followed him through the doorway into a tiled vestibule with a long vertical mirror on one wall and an abstract painting on the other. No sooner had he exited the foyer than a high-pitched klaxon went off, startling Melinda and nearly causing Dennis to jump out of his skin. A transparent glass or plastic barrier shot up from beneath the floor in front of them, cutting them off from Wilder and the rest of the house. The front door closed automatically behind them, shutting with an ominous click. Glancing back, she noticed the absence of any obvious door handle or control panel.
“Oh, crap!” Dennis tried the door anyway, which naturally refused to open. “I knew it! I knew this was a trap!”
“No need to be alarmed.” Wilder addressed them from the other side of the barrier, which had perforations to permit sound to pass through it. “Simply a routine security measure, which I neglected to mention.”
Sure you did, Melinda thought. “Not exactly making a good first impression here, Orlando. Paranoid much?”
She rapped the barrier with her knuckles, producing an oddly metallic ring. Not glass or plastic then, but some kind of transparent steel alloy?
“A man in my position can’t afford to take chances. Nothing personal.” He raised his voice to be heard over the klaxon. “Iduna, mute weapons alarm.”
The shrill keening fell silent.
“Done,” a bodiless female voice confirmed.
“Voice operated.” She guessed the handleless door was programmed to respond to Wilder’s spoken commands as well. “Very slick.”
“State-of-the-art smart-house technology, Melinda. This is the twenty-first century after all.” He gestured at the mirrored vestibule, which was starting to feel more like an interrogation chamber—complete with one-way mirrors? “A discreet scanner detected possible weapons on your persons.”
A panel beneath the mirror slid aside, revealing a concealed compartment about the size of a standard microwave oven.
“Please deposit any problematic items in the niche,” Wilder instructed.
“Didn’t realize I’d be going through airport security today,” she said. “Do I need to take off my shoes, too?”
“That won’t be necessary, provided you’re not hiding a shiv in one of your boots.” He glanced to one side as if to get confirmation of that assumption from someone monitoring the scanner results. He nodded at the waiting compartment. “The sooner we get this rigamarole over, the sooner we can get down to the business at hand.”
Can’t argue with that, she thought. Figuring the scanner had flagged her Mace, which she’d pretty much forgotten she had on her, she placed the cannister in the compartment. “There you go. Brought it with me out of force of habit, honestly.”
“I’m sure,” Wilder said affably. “Mister Berry?”
Dennis went pale. He glanced around anxiously, looking trapped. His hand fumbled in one of the many overstuffed pockets of his rumpled coat. He was sweaty and twitchy and generally a bundle of nerves. “This was a bad idea. We should go.”
Melinda was confused. Sure, Wilder was going a bit overboard with the security theater, but that was hardly reason enough to turn around and go back home now that they’d literally gotten past his front door. And what was the holdup anyway? As far as she knew, Dennis never carried anything more lethal than a Swiss Army knife.
“Dennis?”
“We’re waiting, Mister Berry.” He looked again to the side. “Kindly surrender the firearm.”
Firearm?
“What’s he talking about, Dennis?”
“I… I’m sorry, Melinda,” he stammered, “but… I needed to be ready for anything. You keep taking these crazy chances, despite every warning. It’s like I said before: somebody has to protect us—protect you—from whatever danger we’re in.”
He sheepishly drew a handgun from his pocket. No gun nut, she couldn’t name the make or caliber, but she knew a real gun when she saw one. Her eyes bugged out.
“What the freak, Dennis? Since when do you even own a gun?”
“Since this stopped being just another retro cold case. I kept telling you we were taking this too far, but you didn’t want to hear it.” His voice quavered. “I had to do something. We weren’t safe!”
“And you thought this was a good idea?”
She took the gun from him, despite his plaintive protests. Handling it gingerly, keeping her fingers well away from the trigger and making sure it wasn’t pointed at anyone in the vicinity, she placed it carefully in the compartment before turning back to Wilder, afraid that the meeting had gone down the tubes before it had even truly begun.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, mortified. “I swear, I had no idea.”
“That much is obvious.”
The compartment closed, vanishing back into concealment. The gun and pepper spray went with it, like library books dropped off after-hours. Dennis gazed forlornly at the now-pristine wall, as though already regretting giving up the weapon.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“We’ll talk about this later.” She had to try to salvage this meeting, if possible. “But under the circumstances, maybe it would be better for everyone if you did head home now. Let me handle this on my own.”
“No! I’m not going to leave you here! There’s no telling what could happen to you!”
“Ahem,” Wilder said. “If I may intervene here, I think it best that you both stay until we can get various matters sorted out.”
He nodded at an unseen presence, and the transparent barrier receded back beneath the floor, opening up the interior end of the vestibule.
“Please come in, now that we needn’t concern ourselves with security issues.”
“Your security,” Dennis muttered.
Wilder took the remark in stride. “You’re in no danger, Mister Berry. I’ve devoted my existence to prolonging and preserving life, not ending it. Death is my enemy.”
“Amaranth,” she said, nodding. “Miracle cures.”
“Precisely. I’m no mafioso or arms dealer. I’m a medical innovator.”
“Who occasionally employs private detectives?” she observed.
“Only for the greater good. Health and healing, not harm.” Wilder beckoned them in. “But let us make our way to my study, unless you care to linger in the foyer all afternoon?”
“Lead the way.” She tugged on Dennis’s arm, torn between being seriously pissed off at him for buying a gun behind her back and feeling guilty for pushing him to the point where he felt that was necessary. “Chill, dude. It’s going to be okay.”
“Wanna bet Gillian felt the same way?”
Exiting the vestibule, and none too soon, she glanced to the left. Just as she’d suspected, another individual was stationed in front of a security monitor. Big and beefy, with a stony expression, the guy’s intimidating proportions and body language practically screamed hired muscle. He made that muscular chauffeur back in San Jose seem like a scarecrow in comparison. Turning away from the monitor and one-way window, he glowered at her and Dennis. A tight black T-shirt strained to contain his steroid-sized chest.
Melinda declined to cower. “More security?” she asked Wilder.
“As noted, one can’t be too careful—for obvious reasons.” He looked pointedly at Dennis, who all too clearly wanted to be anywhere else. “In any event, we can speak freely in front of Vasily. He doesn’t understand a word of English.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” She had no way of verifying Wilder’s claim, but after the business with Dennis and his gun, she was in no position to object to the bodyguard’s presence. “Anyone else lurking around we should know about?”
“Only the house itself.” Wilder lifted his eyes and voice to address a built-in presence. “Iduna, prepare the study for our guests. Fireplace, music, the usual amenities.”
“Done.”
Wilder smirked, clearly proud of his smart house. “Iduna helps me keep staffing down to a minimum, as I prefer. Fewer people underfoot, more privacy.”
The better to protect his secrets?
Accompanied by Vasily, he led them to the study, which was probably bigger than their entire apartment, in height as well as floor space. High ceilings looked down on elegant contemporary furnishings. Towering picture windows offered a panoramic view of the Bay. A cozy gas blaze crackled in the fireplace, thanks to Iduna. A fully equipped bar was surely well stocked with first-class spirits. An oldie from the eighties played softly in the background, issuing from hidden speakers. It took Melinda a moment to place the tune:
“Forever Young.”
Cute, she thought, if deliberate. Or maybe just a personal favorite?
“Very posh. Biotech clearly pays better than podcasting.”
“That may be something we can discuss later,” Wilder said, “if this conversation goes as I hope.”
Was Wilder planning to throw money at her to make her go away? Melinda couldn’t say she was surprised.
They settled in to talk. Wilder occupied a throne-like wingback chair, while she and Dennis shared a settee across from him. More minutes were eaten up by pleasantries as they were offered drinks and refreshments. Dennis refused to touch anything, no doubt terrified of being drugged or infected with some sort of insidious biotech, but Melinda accepted a glass of wine as a show of good faith and, honestly, to soothe her nerves after all the drama with the gun. Vasily, playing bartender as well as bodyguard, left the open bottle on a low coffee table between them and Wilder. Growing impatient, Melinda was about to insist they move things along when, unexpectedly, something small and white and furry scurried out from beneath the settee, right past her feet.
“Ohmigosh!”
Beady pink eyes looked back at her. Whiskers twitched. A long pink tail could be seen at the rear of the creature. Melinda yanked her feet off the floor and gaped at Wilder in confusion.
“A rat? This deluxe domicile has rats?”
“A lab rat, actually, albeit retired at this point.” He made a clicking sound with his mouth, and the rat came toward him. He gently scooped it up off the floor and set it on his knee, where the rat nestled down, looking quite at home. “Meet Enkidu.”
Melinda wasn’t familiar with that name; she made a mental note to Google it later just in case it offered some insight into Wilder’s background. “So what’s the deal with the rodent? He your emotional-support rat?”
“Something like that.” He stroked the rat, which noisily ground its teeth. Pink eyes boggled happily. “I’m quite fond of Enkidu. We go back a long ways.”
“How long?” she asked, seeing an opening. Another classic eighties tune started playing. “I see you like the oldies. Just how old are you, Orlando? Really?”
“First things first. In your message on… Wilmer Offutt’s… answering machine, you claimed to have found the source of the pill that regrew Mildred Coates’s kidney. Do tell.”
Melinda had debated when to come clean about that little white lie. Perhaps she could still work it a while longer? “How about some quid pro quo? You answer my questions, then we get to Miracle Milly?”
“Let us save us some time. You don’t actually know where the pill can be found, do you? That was just a ruse to get this meeting?”
“What makes you say that?”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Melinda. Far from it.”
“If you think that,” she asked, not admitting anything, “what are we doing here?”
“It should be obvious by now that I value my privacy. As it happens, you’ve been digging into matters of family history that I would rather not be shared with your many subscribers, and since you are clearly nothing if not persistent, it’s become increasingly apparent that we did need to have this talk.” He leaned back in the chair. “As you said when you confronted me outside my offices, there may be something to be gained by comparing notes… and perhaps coming to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“Quite a change of heart,” she said. “I remember you telling me to never bother you again. Not that I’m complaining.”
“You had me at a disadvantage before, a situation I neither relish nor take well. You’ll forgive me if I was overly curt, but I could hardly be expected to welcome being interrogated without warning or invitation.” He indicated their plush surroundings. “These circumstances are much more conducive to a productive discussion.”
“On your turf, where you’re in control?”
“Just so. I’m in the longevity business after all, and part of achieving a long life is minimizing risk and avoiding hazardous situations.”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “The way I see it: no risk, no reward.”
“The motto of many who go out in a blaze of glory, long before their time. Not a threat,” he added quickly, perhaps to avoid alarming Dennis. “Merely an observation.”
She shrugged. “We all have to go sometime.”
“Do we? I refuse to accept that. Why should any life, no matter how long or accomplished, have to come to some inevitable termination, regardless of what we do? At Amaranth, we work to preserve and prolong life, yes, but that’s just the beginning. Our ultimate goal—my ultimate goal—has always been to someday conquer death entirely.” His deep voice rang with conviction. “I have, to quote the Bard, ‘immortal longings.’ ”
Melinda gazed at him in disbelief. “You really think you can find a cure for death?”
“Why not? It won’t be easy, of course, but if there’s a way to regrow human organs, swiftly and painlessly, as with Mildred Coates’s kidney, what else might we achieve through science and technology? History proves, time and again, that science can accomplish wonders once deemed impossible. Splitting the atom. Breaking the sound barrier. Putting a man on the moon. Maybe even someday finding a way to travel faster than the speed of light?”
“Or building an invisible aircraft?” she suggested.
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that.” He raised his right hand as though taking an oath on the stand. “I swear on my life-span, which I hold sacred, I was unaware of any alleged UFOs connected to the Mildred Coates affair until Cetacean came along. I knew about Gillian Taylor going AWOL, of course, due to her illicit activities at Mercy General when Milly was cured, but the garbage man’s story, the mysterious depression at the park, and that Russian whaler’s story about witnessing a UFO appear out of nowhere over the Bering Sea? All of that flew beneath my radar until your series brought it to light. Probably because I was looking to solve an earthbound medical mystery, not searching the skies. UFOs were not something that ever crossed my mind.”
“Back when you were calling yourself Wilmer Offutt?”
“And we’re back to that again.” Irritation edged his voice. “Very well. Let’s address that confusion, since you’re clearly not going to rest until it’s resolved to your satisfaction.”
“You’ve got that right. You ready to come clean there?”
“I hate to disappoint you, but the awkward truth is simply that Wilmer Offutt was my father. Like me, he was dedicated to the cause of extending human life-spans by unconventional means. Alas, he took some, shall we say, ethical shortcuts, as well as making some dubious alliances that would not hold up well to scrutiny these days. As a result, I would prefer not to have my own more legitimate efforts, including Amaranth, sullied by association with my father’s potentially controversial legacy.” His eyes sought out Melinda’s. “As a media personality, you must surely understand that. Perhaps even sympathize?”
Could he be telling the truth? Was this simply a case of Wilder wanting to bury an embarrassing skeleton in his family tree? After so much suspense and speculation, that was frankly a bit of a letdown, but she had to admit it made more sense than any more fantastic explanations…
“Bullshit!” Dennis blurted. “I researched both you and Offutt up and down the internet, staying up all night until my eyes bled, and ‘Orlando Wilder’ is as much a hoax as ‘Wilmer Offutt.’ They’re both just well-crafted fictions, good enough to stand up to pretty close inspection, but you can’t fool me. Who are you really? What are you?”
Vasily responded instantly to Dennis’s outburst, coming up behind Dennis and placing two heavy hands on Dennis’s shoulder, pressing him down into the seat cushions, just in case Dennis had any intention of acting out against Wilder, who signaled the hulking bodyguard to stand down. Scowling, Vasily unhanded Dennis but remained close at hand, looming menacingly behind the seated guests. Melinda hoped Dennis got the message, for everyone’s sake.
“What am I?” Wilder echoed incredulously. “How am I supposed to take that?”
“You tell me.” Dennis was literally shaking. “Are you an alien? A mutant? A time traveler?”
Wilder laughed out loud. “Is that what’s worrying you?” He turned toward her. “What about you, Melinda? Are you entertaining the same absurd notions?”
“I don’t know.” She felt obliged to stick up for Dennis to some degree. “Dennis has taken me through his very in-depth background checks on both you and Offutt, and I trust his research. You’re certainly not who you say you are… and the evidence does point strongly to you and Offutt being one and the same. I can’t explain it, given how young you appear, but you do seem to be pretty much the same person. Same looks, same voice, same personality, same agenda, the same answering machine.” She waved a hand at the oldies wafting through study. “Maybe even the same taste in music.”
“No crime in liking vintage tunes,” he said, “and I’ve already explained why I’ve taken pains to dissociate myself from my roots, right down to rewriting my biography.”
“Not good enough.” Her doubts receded as she recalled just how readily both Todd Coates and Jane Temple had recognized Offutt when shown Wilder’s portrait. “Give me one reason to think you aren’t Wilmer Offutt.”
“Besides the fact that I’m obviously not in my fifties?”
“Yes, besides that. Heck, you just gave us a whole spiel about how science—and Amaranth—is capable of extending human lives in ways that seem impossible. Are we supposed to not connect the dots there?”
“I was speaking theoretically.”
“Uh-huh. And we’re supposed to believe that because…?”
“I note you haven’t shared this particular theory on Cetacean yet. Perhaps because you know just how ridiculous it sounds?”
That’s one reason, yes, she thought. “Or maybe I was holding on to it as leverage to get you to talk to me. Unless you’d rather I share it with all my listeners?”
He frowned. “That would be less than ideal.”
“I thought as much, so… spill. Tell me something worth keeping quiet about, then maybe we can come to that mutually beneficial arrangement you alluded to before.”
She wasn’t actually looking for hush money, but if Wilder wanted to think so… well, she could work with that.
“I see.” His eyes narrowed. “If this is about money…”
“Not just about money.” She deployed sincerity as a lure, speaking from the heart. “If you must know, Orlando, this case is driving me nuts. UFOs, a magic kidney pill, Russian spies, and now a guy, in search of immortality, who may or may not have aged in forty years. I honestly don’t know what’s impossible anymore, or how I’m supposed to distinguish common sense from craziness. But I do know this: If I don’t get some answers soon, just for the sake of my own sanity, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Have a nervous breakdown, probably.”
And Dennis was already halfway there, it seemed.
“So give me a break, okay?” she said. “Be straight with me for once, put my mind at rest, or I’m never going to be able to let this go. Then, afterwards, we can talk about just how much my discretion is worth.”
Wilder fell silent, mulling over her heartfelt appeal. Melinda chose to take this as a good sign, that he was weighing precisely how much he needed to tell her to get her to back off. He stared into the flames dancing within the fireplace while absently stroking Enkidu. She kept quiet, giving him time to think about it. She held her breath, mentally crossed her fingers, and placed a hand on Dennis’s knee to steady him, hoping against hope he wouldn’t say or do anything to mess things up. Give Wilder a chance to open up.
“Eugenics,” he said finally. “That’s the answer.”
Dennis started at the word. Melinda rushed to reply first. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“Back in the day, a couple generations ago, there was a concerted effort to improve the human species through applied scientific techniques: selective breeding, genetic manipulation, and so on, with the aim of accelerating evolution by increasing human intelligence, strength, endurance—”
“The Chrysalis Project!” Dennis exclaimed.
She gave him a puzzled look. This sounded vaguely familiar, like something Dennis had expounded upon at some point, but most of his fringier conspiracy theories blurred together in her head, if they lodged there at all. A lot of them went in one ear and out the other.
“I told you all about this,” he insisted, no doubt accurately. “Chrysalis was an early, top-secret attempt to create a new breed of superhumans back in the seventies. The Powers That Be suppressed the truth about whether they succeeded or not, but the untold story can’t stay buried forever… and it all began with Chrysalis.”
At least according to the internet, Melinda thought.
“Be that as it may,” Wilder said, “Chrysalis—or projects like it—spawned various splinter programs, including one focused more on longevity than superhuman strength or intelligence. So when it comes to me looking somewhat younger than my years… let’s just say I have very good genes.”
“By design?” Melinda asked. “Thanks to… eugenics?”
If nothing else, that struck her as somewhat more plausible than space aliens, even if she still wasn’t sure where the stealth UFO fit in.
Wilder nodded. “Unfortunately, that word has acquired very ugly connotations, in large part because of its unfortunate associations with Nazism and other vile racial-purity agendas, but also because, as Mister Berry just demonstrated, of various wild rumors and conspiracy theories involving human genetic engineering.” He stopped petting Enkidu, who squeaked in protest. “Can you blame me for not wanting my life’s work, and personal history, tarred with that brush? I can assure you the word ‘eugenics’ appears nowhere on Amaranth’s website, let alone in my bio.”
“Probably a good call,” she conceded.
“I knew I could count on your media savvy.” He poured himself some more wine and lifted his glass to her. “Not to mention your instincts and initiative. Tell me, would you be interested in taking over as Amaranth’s new social media director? I’m certain we can offer you a highly attractive salary and benefits.”
And there it was: flattery and a bribe wrapped up in one sweet package. Too bad she wasn’t for sale.
“Of course, you would have to sign an NDA,” he added. “And Mister Berry as well.”
Naturally, she thought. “Thanks for the glowing endorsement and tempting offer, but I’m an investigative journalist, not a PR flack.”
Wilder scowled. “I had no idea podcasters had such elevated professional standards, but perhaps I’m showing my age, figuratively. Are you sure you won’t reconsider? I’m quite amenable to sweetening the deal to make it more than worth your while.”
It was tempting. A cushy, well-paying position at Amaranth certainly beat returning to the mind-numbing drudgery of corporate videos, but that once-urgent concern felt distinctly trivial at this point. As Dennis kept reminding her, they were playing in the big leagues now. And the bigger the story, the bigger her duty to the truth. Dropping the investigation now would mean becoming part of a cover-up. In a very real sense, she’d feel like she was letting Gillian down.
Plus, who was to say that Wilder wouldn’t throw her under the bus later on, once he got her signature on that NDA?
“No thanks. Nothing personal, but it wouldn’t feel right. Think of it as a conflict of interest.”
Wilder turned his attention to Dennis. “What about you, Mister Berry? Do you feel the same way? I’d rather have you working for me than against me. Perhaps you’d feel more comfortable that way too?”
Was that a veiled threat? Or was Wilder just trying to exploit Dennis’s paranoia to his own ends?
Dennis swallowed hard before answering.
“I’m with Melinda.” Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and looked longingly at the exit from the study. His foot tapped nervously against the floor. “Are we done here? Can we go now?”
Melinda stayed where she was. “Soon, I promise, but I still have questions.” She took a sip of wine before engaging Wilder again. “Just because I passed on your generous job offer doesn’t mean we don’t still have matters to discuss. I might be persuaded to present your story in a more favorable light, maybe even soft-pedal the eugenics angle, in exchange for more of your time and whatever else you may have learned about Gillian’s disappearance over the years. Perhaps even an actual interview at some point, on the record?”
“I’m not sure that would be in my best interests,” he said dourly.
“Then you’ll just have to trust us to report what we already know as we see fit, along with whatever else we may dig up on the connection between Wilmer Offutt and Orlando Wilder.”
How was that for playing hardball?
“C’mon, Melinda,” Dennis pleaded. “It’s no use. He’s not going to tell us anything he doesn’t want us to know. Let’s get out of here, please!”
She didn’t budge.
I walk away now and Wilder will think I’m just bluffing. I have to play this out without blinking.
“Wait for me outside,” she told Dennis. “Orlando and I aren’t finished yet.”
“No,” Wilder said. “I think not.”
His coolly emphatic tone spooked Dennis enough that he started edging toward the door, very obviously torn between staying with her and bolting for safety. He couldn’t take much more of this, she realized; he was on the verge of running out on her, which might just make things easier in the short term. She couldn’t handle him and get tough with Wilder right now.
I really need to make it up to him when all of this is over.
“Iduna, seal study.”
A door slammed shut automatically, locking them in. “Done,” the house answered.
Apparently Wilder wanted Dennis to stay put for the time being.
“Crap, crap, crap!”
Dennis clutched his head, running both hands through his hair. He looked even more trapped and panicked than he had in the vestibule earlier. Frantic eyes searched desperately for a way out, zeroing in on the tall picture windows.
“Don’t even think about it, Mister Berry. Those windows are transparent aluminum, all but unbreakable. And even if you could breach them, they lead only to a long, fatal drop to rocks below.”
Not surprisingly, Wilder’s words did little to calm Dennis. He reeled about the study, practically tearing his hair out while venting to himself. Vasily watched Dennis like a hawk, taking care to always stay between him and Wilder.
“How is this happening? How did I let this happen? What are we going to do…?”
Melinda didn’t blame him for losing it.
“What the freak, Orlando? You’re taking us hostage now?”
“Hardly. As I stated before, I mean you no harm, but I can’t have either of you storming off, even just as a negotiating tactic, before I make my position absolutely clear.”
“Which is?” she asked warily.
“I’ve proffered the carrot, now here’s the stick. You two do not want to go to war with me, and, no, I’m not threatening any crude gangster methods. I’m talking lawyers and money and influence. Trust me when I say that I’m not without friends in high places. You embarrass me in any way, and I’ll drag your reputations through the mud, discredit everything you say, bury you in lawsuits, and generally make you laughingstocks, which, truthfully, won’t be difficult given the bizarre, far-fetched nature of your claims. You want to be taken seriously as an ‘investigative journalist’ or whatever?” He chortled. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be lucky to find work writing X-rated fortune cookies.”
Melinda’s blood pressure rose. “Are you serious?”
“Use your brain, Melinda. Think about your future. Which would you prefer: a lucrative career with plenty of perks and opportunities for advancement, or an excruciating trial by media that’s bound to cost you dearly? Not to mention your loved ones?”
She didn’t have to think about it. She wasn’t about to be bribed or bullied.
“Listen to me, you smug, vermin-loving son of a boomer!” She leaped to her feet, alarming Enkidu, who sprang from Wilder’s lap and scurried for safety as she got in Wilder’s face in a big way. “If you think for one minute that—”
Vasily seized her from behind, grunting something in what sounded like Romanian. She experienced a moment of déjà vu, recalling the muscular limo driver pulling her away from Wilder on the sidewalk outside Amaranth. Must be nice, she thought, to always have hired help on hand to keep people from invading your space.
“Get your paws off me, King Kong. This is between me and your boss!”
Glass shattered loudly against Vasily’s skull, splattering her with wine. His grip loosened as his hefty body slumped heavily against her, almost knocking her over as he collapsed to the floor. Spinning around, she spotted Dennis standing behind the fallen bodyguard, gripping a broken wine bottle by its neck.
After smacking Vasily over the head with it.
“He was distracted. It was our only chance!”
Ohmigosh, she thought, horrified. This was all her fault. She should have realized how close Dennis was to snapping, especially after she saw that gun. But I never thought he’d actually resort to violence. That’s not who he is!
Until now.
“Are you totally insane?” Wilder lurched to his feet, his face flushed with anger. “I’ll have you charged with assault!” He stared at the sprawled form of Vasily, who thankfully still appeared to be breathing. “Iduna, call the—”
“Shut up! Don’t say another word!” Dennis brandished the jagged end of the broken wine bottle. “You’re going to let us out of here… now!”
Wilder went pale, anger giving way to alarm. He held his palms out defensively. “Stay back, you maniac! Don’t come any closer!”
“I said shut up!”
“Put that down, Dennis, please.” Melinda tried to talk him down before anyone else got hurt. “Don’t make things worse than they already are. You’re not thinking straight. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I’m trying to save us both… before we vanish like Gillian!”
Melinda didn’t know what to do or say. Things were happening too fast, spiraling out of control. On the floor between them, Vasily moaned, stirring slightly; Melinda thanked goodness he was still alive, but wasn’t sure she wanted him to wake up too soon. That could just escalate an already precarious situation.
“Please, Dennis, this isn’t you. You don’t want to do this. You’re not saving us; you’re scaring me. Put the bottle down.”
“Listen to her!” Wilder was trying to put up a brave front, but failing badly. “You want to go? Fine. Iduna, unseal the study! Open all doors to the outside!”
The door to the study swung open. “Done.”
Melinda felt a twinge of hope. Maybe Dennis would choose flight over f ight, leaving Wilder unharmed. She could calm him down once they were free of the mansion, maybe convince him to turn himself in and plead temporary insanity. They were going to need a good lawyer, that was for sure.
But instead of taking the offered escape route, Dennis kept his sights on Wilder, menacing him with the jagged end of the bottle. He licked his lips nervously.
“Go!” Wilder urged him. “You wanted to leave, do it!”
“And then what?” Dennis stepped over Vasily, waving his makeshift weapon. “I can’t let you keep after us. Haunting us, hounding us, never giving us a moment’s peace, never letting me sleep…”
“I’m warning you! Stay back!”
An ashen Wilder reached beneath his blazer—for a weapon?
“I knew it!”
Dennis lunged at Wilder with the broken bottle. Melinda’s mind flash-forwarded to a vivid image of him plunging the jagged glass into Wilder’s face or throat, destroying both men’s lives forever. Desperate, she tackled Dennis, slamming into him while frantically groping for the arm holding the bottle. Knocked off-balance, he stumbled over Vasily’s prone form, causing both him and Melinda to tumble to the floor. She landed on top of him, his rangy body cushioning her own. Glass broke against the floor, much to her relief. Dennis gasped out loud.
I did it, she thought. I stopped him from killing Wilder. Kept him from becoming a murderer.
The fall knocked the wind out of her, but adrenaline and necessity gave her barely a moment to catch her breath. Scrambling clumsily off Dennis, she looked urgently for the bottle, hoping that that the crash had shattered it completely, but she couldn’t immediately locate it. Still dazed from the impact, it took her a second to grasp that the arm that had been holding the bottle was beneath him, that he must have landed on it… hard.
A wet, agonized gurgle escaped him.
Her heart plummeted. “Oh, fuck, no.”
Praying she was wrong, she rolled him over to discover it was even worse than she feared. The neck of the bottle was jabbed deep into his abdomen, right below his rib cage. Bright arterial froth bubbled from the edge of the wound and spurted from the hollow glass shard like water from a tap. He coughed up crimson, bleeding internally.
He was dying, right before her eyes.
Because of her. Because of Cetacean.
“No, don’t die on me! Hang on! You always have my back, remember? This isn’t how it’s supposed to go…”
She crouched over him, freaking out and not knowing what to do. Should she remove the glass from his gut or would that do more harm than good? Blood and wine soaked through her clothes. Sobbing, in shock, she dimly registered Wilder coming up behind her.
“We’re losing him! We have to do something!”
“It’s too late, Melinda. I’m sorry, I truly am.”
He pressed something cold and metallic against her jugular vein. Air hissed and she felt a sudden sting.
Then the world mercifully went away.