Page 7 of Perfection

“Hey!” The reporter lunged forward with a searing glare. “Lieutenant”—the guy dipped his gaze to read York’s ID—“Richmond.” He stepped back. “Whose side are you on?”

“The child’s.” Why did people always reduce genetic issues toourside versustheirside? The shadow of a beard and slightly darker expression told York that, like himself, the reporter was a Coder. The reporter was sturdy and muscular. York forced calm as his instincts prickled. He glanced about.

“Wait. Richmond. Isn’t your mother one of the leaders of the anti-GEI movement?” one reporter asked.

The other reporters closed ranks on him, like ants after a legs-up beetle. They spit out question after question.

“Is it true a GEI child died?”

“Isn’t that unheard of for Artificial Womb Engineered babies?”

“Can you give us a name? A quote?”

“From which generation? C? D?”

“What does Fredrick B-Gastion have to do with this?”

York felt his spine tighten one vertebra at a time. He lowered a shoulder and shoved the tall reporter out of the way, ready to linebacker his way to the air-car if necessary. Central in his mind were the wordswhyandhow.

Why B-Gastion’s child and how did this happen?

Vi grabbed a fistful of the back of his shirt and pulled him to her, saying under her breath, “Easy, York. Captain will be pissed if we’re on the twenty-four-hour news.”

He glared at her. “Don’t give a shit.”

“Well, you better.”

She was right. He fought his anger as he sucked in a deep breath. With his steely gaze fixed on the reporters, he said, “You’ll know when we know.” To Vi, he muttered, “Happy?”

She gave him a smart-ass smile. Her light-brown hair was cut in the latest style—short on one side and angled down and around to hang long on the other side. Her appearance was sharp, like a person who had it together, but she seemed tired. Her green eyes locked on his a second too long, and he glimpsed sadness. Like him, she’d lost a kid after trying some new genetic-enhancement crap. God, if Vi could keep it together working a case like this, he damn well had to.

He turned his attention to the reporter in front of the pack. Setting his jaw and fisting his hands, he stared the guy down until he stepped back, creating an opening.

“Let’s go.” He gestured for Vi to step through the line.

They’d no sooner made it to the air-car when his QuL trilled again. This time the call was from B-Gastion, asking York if he would personally monitor events at the morgue.

B-Gastion had come to York’s aide when he’d been desperate to find help for his son and no one else gave a damn. Now it was time to repay his debt.

He closed his eyes. “Of course. It would be an honor.”

* * *

When Kindra arrived at Seville, she surged through the door of the large laboratory. Late, in a lousy mood, and worried about Brianna’s unusual outburst, she dropped her satchel on the long, curved table with alternating glass partitions that separated the workstations and comfort stations. Automatically, she took her lab coat off its customary hook and shrugged it on.

An unfamiliar baritone penetrated her thoughts. “I’m looking for Dr. B-Zaika.”

Glancing across the room, she froze as she spotted her lab assistant directing a deeply tanned, rock-solid-looking man her way. She had half a second to scrutinize the stranger: Coder race. Dark hair. Shadow of beard. Oozing an air of mystery.

He turned toward her, and her knees nearly buckled under the onslaught of his gaze. Exotic and unfamiliar energy fired through her. Being GEI, she was used to perfection. And given she worked at the top genetic lab surrounded by some of the greatest GEI minds in the world, it took a lot to knock her off-kilter. But there was something compelling about this Coder.

In a few great strides, he left B-Watson and crossed the distance between them to stand only inches away. His earthy male scent fascinated her—a paradox, considering the near-lethal accusation in his black-brown eyes.

He looked…angry. She fell back a step, then realized her mistake. He eased closer, and she stared up at him.

“Dr. B-Zaika?” He lifted a thick, raven-black eyebrow.

“Yes. How can I help you?”