“Dad changed his mind,” Lucien says, unbothered.
“He does that a lot, doesn’t he,” Cesar adds. “He can’t be trusted.” As he says that, he winks at me and slips into the office.
I blink, confused by the wink. Is he threatening me somehow? Warning me? But why would he?
“What’s that supposed to mean?”I ask Zeth.
“A den of vipers,”he growls.
“To put it plainly, Romy,” Lucien continues, “Dad doesn’t believe you can see this through, so he sent us to help. Don’t worry, we’re not here to steal your precious chemist. We won’t bother her, you have my word. But everything that needs to be discussed about the Flame has to stay in here, so come, join us. Let’s get started.”
Roman is fuming, his face red with rage. As he stomps toward the office to join his brothers, he yells:
“I am in charge of the logistics and distribution. I’m in charge of everything. This is my thing, and you better not mess it up.”
He shuts the door behind him hard, and their voices become muffled.
I stand there frozen, unable to believe what’s happening. The three Kyzer sons are cooped up in here with me. They’ve brought their laptops with them, and documents that couldcontain exactly what the FBI needs. And the cameras have been removed.
“What the hell?”I say to Zeth.“Do they want to be caught?”
Zeth laughs.“No, they have no idea. They think you’re for real.”
“They’re serving this to me on a silver platter.”
He turns serious, then.“Maybe, but we have to be careful.”
I start putting the ingredients together for the first batch of Crimson, measuring out the base chemical compounds.
“You’re right. I’ll keep my head down, pretend like I don’t care about what they’re doing in there. Logistics are boring to me. I’m just the chemist, and all I want is to get paid and order room service at the Ritz-Carlton.”
“A solid plan,”Zeth says.
I start cooking, fully immersing myself in the work. The familiar process grounds me and gives me something to focus on besides the fact that three members of the Kyzer family are arguing in a room twenty feet away.
For the rest of the day, I hear them coming out of the office and going back in, their voices rising and falling as they argue. Dale brings them food at regular intervals, then later, an entire espresso machine. He also brings me food, and I thank him warmly, but I spend the day pretending that I don’t care about what’s happening in the office. My apparent lack of interest encourages the guys to argue even more openly in my presence. Roman is especially careless, his voice carrying through the door as he shouts about distribution routes and profit margins.
I start humming to myself while I work, a tuneless melody that gives me an air of disinterest and contentment. Soon enough, they act like I’m not even there. They talk freely, argue loudly, and treat me like I’m part of the furniture.
This becomes a routine for the next several days. Dale brings me to the lab each morning, I cook batches of Crimson and thentransform them into Flame. The guys go in and out of the office constantly, arguing about distribution and logistics. Names start slipping during their heated discussions. I figure out these must be corrupt officials and cops on the Kyzer payroll, people who look the other way or actively help the organization. I do my best to memorize every name and detail they let slip. I hear bits and pieces of their plans, networks, and operations. Every evening, when I return to the hotel, Zeth unmerges and goes to report to Tom while I shower and try to process everything I’ve learned.
I start wearing a USB stick, tucked safely into my bra. Even though I have my phone back, I leave it at the hotel every time. No one has been searching me for a while, so I can afford to risk the USB stick in case someone leaves me alone with a laptop.
They all get progressively more careless as the days pass, their arguments growing louder and more detailed. By day six, they’re barely lowering their voices at all. By day seven, they leave the office door open while they argue.
Nothing significant happens until day nine.
I’m at my workstation, carefully measuring out vampire blood for another batch of Crimson, when I hear shouting that’s louder than usual. The office door slams open and Lucien and Cesar storm out, their faces dark with rage. They’re carrying their laptops, moving fast toward the exit.
Roman bursts out after them, yelling.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? We’re not done here!”
But they’re already at the door. Lucien throws curses back at Roman over his shoulder, and then they’re gone. Roman chases after them, still yelling, and the door to the lab slams shut behind him. Their voices echo down the corridor, growing fainter.
I find myself staring at the open door to the office. Roman’s laptop sits on the conference table, still open. Its screen glows in the dim light.
Chapter Twenty-Three
