demanded, holding open a brown steel door. As they were ushered into a brick building, Sam caught a glimpse of the outside. There were steel bars over the windows and a heavy industrial lock on the door; an unmistakable feeling of finality jolted him as the door slammed shut behind them and they were left in a dimly lit room.
Chapter 13 A Greeting
“I’m Lieutenant Harding. Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Clarisse sat on the metal chair inside a quarantine room as he questioned her through glass.
It had been a while since they’d seen anyone alive—too long—and before he’d begun any questioning he had observed her. She had been checking out the room with an educated eye; this woman was trained, and that made her dangerous. He couldn’t take any chances.
Clarisse’s eyes again darted around the room. She noted his sidearm, the laboratory behind him, and the microscopes on the table, though she squinted a great deal as she tried to gain focus.
Her dark hair had come loose during the struggle, and she kept attempting to get it out of her eyes, but with her hands in restraints behind her Clarisse found the task difficult.
Harding rather liked the way her hair spilled down over her shoulders; otherwise he might have given her a chance to fix it. Still, the offer would be too risky; this woman had fought with tenacious skill. Whoever these people were, they were here for a reason, and he needed to find out what it was—and fast. Something told him his own people were in danger, and he’d spent a lot of time and effort protecting them; one slip now and they could lose everything. As it was, the pretty woman opposite the glass could kill him with one breath.
“You’re not going to answer me, are you.”
Clarisse locked eyes with him, adding a slight smile.
Damn, she’s dangerous. Christ! He coughed.
She leaned back and crossed her legs. “Where are the men?” she asked.
Startled by her sweet-sounding voice, Harding glanced at her in surprise. He’d expected her voice to be more direct, even harsh. “They’re safe. But their remaining so depends on you.” He tapped the eraser end of his pencil on the table.
“I’ve got something you want.”
He coughed again, and tapped the eraser faster against the paper pad. You sure do , he thought, but caught himself, instead saying, “I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate, lady.” He swung his pencil in a radius around the room. He smiled a little, but she hadn’t cracked; not a twitch or even an eyelash out of place, just the same steely gaze. Damn, she knows something I don’t.
“Where did you come from? We tracked you coming in.” She still hadn’t moved. He leaned back, feigning a relaxed posture, and turned at an angle in his chair. She was making him nervous. “Look, give me some information, and then we can talk,” he almost begged. Sheesh, who’s interrogating who here? Moments passed in silence, and she still had that damn smile. But suddenly Clarisse stood up and walked to the door, her metal chair screeching along the concrete flooring.
“What? We’re done?” Harding rose from his own chair, causing it to screech backward. This woman has some balls. Clarisse stood at the exit door and without looking at him or acknowledging his existence, just waiting.
The guard looked at Harding through the glass for some direction. He shook his head. “Go ahead; take her back.” Turning to Clarisse, he said, “When you’re ready to talk, tell the guard. Otherwise, enjoy your confinement.”
She was out the door before he finished the sentence. He gathered up the papers strewn over the table when someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” he said gruffly.
“Hey Harding, Gordon wants to see you,” the guard said.
“Of course he does.” Harding dropped his pencil on top of the papers he had just assembled into a tidy stack. They’d taken in people before, not long after the lockdown; they’d been tested
Chapter 13 A Greeting
“I’m Lieutenant Harding. Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Clarisse sat on the metal chair inside a quarantine room as he questioned her through glass.
It had been a while since they’d seen anyone alive—too long—and before he’d begun any questioning he had observed her. She had been checking out the room with an educated eye; this woman was trained, and that made her dangerous. He couldn’t take any chances.
Clarisse’s eyes again darted around the room. She noted his sidearm, the laboratory behind him, and the microscopes on the table, though she squinted a great deal as she tried to gain focus.
Her dark hair had come loose during the struggle, and she kept attempting to get it out of her eyes, but with her hands in restraints behind her Clarisse found the task difficult.
Harding rather liked the way her hair spilled down over her shoulders; otherwise he might have given her a chance to fix it. Still, the offer would be too risky; this woman had fought with tenacious skill. Whoever these people were, they were here for a reason, and he needed to find out what it was—and fast. Something told him his own people were in danger, and he’d spent a lot of time and effort protecting them; one slip now and they could lose everything. As it was, the pretty woman opposite the glass could kill him with one breath.
“You’re not going to answer me, are you.”
Clarisse locked eyes with him, adding a slight smile.
Damn, she’s dangerous. Christ! He coughed.
She leaned back and crossed her legs. “Where are the men?” she asked.
Startled by her sweet-sounding voice, Harding glanced at her in surprise. He’d expected her voice to be more direct, even harsh. “They’re safe. But their remaining so depends on you.” He tapped the eraser end of his pencil on the table.
“I’ve got something you want.”
He coughed again, and tapped the eraser faster against the paper pad. You sure do , he thought, but caught himself, instead saying, “I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate, lady.” He swung his pencil in a radius around the room. He smiled a little, but she hadn’t cracked; not a twitch or even an eyelash out of place, just the same steely gaze. Damn, she knows something I don’t.
“Where did you come from? We tracked you coming in.” She still hadn’t moved. He leaned back, feigning a relaxed posture, and turned at an angle in his chair. She was making him nervous. “Look, give me some information, and then we can talk,” he almost begged. Sheesh, who’s interrogating who here? Moments passed in silence, and she still had that damn smile. But suddenly Clarisse stood up and walked to the door, her metal chair screeching along the concrete flooring.
“What? We’re done?” Harding rose from his own chair, causing it to screech backward. This woman has some balls. Clarisse stood at the exit door and without looking at him or acknowledging his existence, just waiting.
The guard looked at Harding through the glass for some direction. He shook his head. “Go ahead; take her back.” Turning to Clarisse, he said, “When you’re ready to talk, tell the guard. Otherwise, enjoy your confinement.”
She was out the door before he finished the sentence. He gathered up the papers strewn over the table when someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” he said gruffly.
“Hey Harding, Gordon wants to see you,” the guard said.
“Of course he does.” Harding dropped his pencil on top of the papers he had just assembled into a tidy stack. They’d taken in people before, not long after the lockdown; they’d been tested
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