Page 8 of Perfection
Did she know this man? She didn’t think so. But the intensity of his gaze suggestedheknewher. She looked past his large shoulders to where Harry was hurrying to catch up.
“This is Lieutenant York Richmond, Chicago PD,” Harry B-Watson said as he reached them.
An invisible capsule of tension crackled around them. Lieutenant Richmond offered her a tight nod. Police didn’t frequent genetics centers. What was going on?
Her anxiety escalated with his silent, critical glare. Did she measure up? No, she didn’t think so. Different standards. He was of the Coder race—people who descended organically from one generation to the next as far back as the beginning of time. The foolish debate regarding gene manipulation that raged between his people and her own GEI race had been going on forever. Still, Kindra got the impression the cosmic heat shield of hostility he emanated arose from far more than basic ideological differences. Somehow this was…personal for him.
“You’re the genetics specialist?”
“Yes.” She put on a winning smile, then turned to B-Watson. “Is the Samuel Experiment complete yet?”
He indicated it was not and trotted off. The clack of his shoes echoed in the cavernous lab. Good or bad, she didn’t want her assistant meddling in whatever the police were here for.
She faced the handsome lieutenant. “It’s most unusual to have a detective visit Seville. What brings you here?”
“I’ve been instructed to escort you to the Lakeshore District morgue.”
Her stomach flipped and made a hard landing. Not in a million years would she have expected that. “The morgue? Why would I need—”
“Tell me about D Generation,” he cut in.
A prickle of fear skated along her spine. “D Generation?”
Brianna.She resisted the urge to scream,Is my baby okay?Tension darted through her, out of control. When she finally looked him in the eye, he stared at her as if anticipating more information.
“Yes, D,” he said.
She drew a calming breath and forced composure to overrule her shaken nerves.Be reasonable. In an instant, she could display the top-secret details on the overhead instructional computer.
“Perhaps I should check with—”
“I have the required authority,” he said.
“Secure ID level?”
“Yes.” He sighed impatiently. “Crescent M.”
She should ask him for his credentials. She eyed him, hesitant, then shrugged, deciding he’d earned at least the lightning version. “The main difference between C and D generations is that the Committee narrowed the physical choices—”
“Incredibly, you scientists keep doing that.” He utteredscientistsas though it were a filthy occupation.
She ignored his tone. “And they increased the intellectual potential by three standard deviations.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“These children are beyond genius level.” She smiled, thinking of her own daughter, then reminded herself she’d better find out what this was all about. She could think of only one reason to visit a morgue. “Why are genetics of interest to you, Lieutenant?”
“There’s been a D Generation death.”
“An accident?” She struggled to conceal her distress.
“No. Not that we can tell.” His gaze homed in on her. “We don’t have answers yet. But we need to start with natural causes.”
“That’s impossible. Why, a D Generation child would be no more than—”
“Two. The girl would have been three in a few weeks.” His jaw tensed, creating a chain reaction of muscles that rippled to his dark brow. “A prominent and very distraught family is insisting on an investigation. It’s a requirement, regardless. These things aren’t supposed to happen.”
“No. No, they’re not.” A rush of relief filled her lungs. Thank God it wasn’therlittle girl. At once, a rain of guilt drowned the thought. Somewhere in the city, another mother had to be inconsolable.
