He rested his elbows on the table. If it were Orion or Janet, I’d think they were fishing for information. His casual demeanor feltdifferent. When the edge of his lip curled, I wondered what mischief he hinted at.
“I can be convinced.”
He sorted through the profiles and tossed one across the table. “Mr. Marks said something interesting. As he was spilling his guts, remember his comment about the vials?”
Had that been the first scientist or the third? Wearingtheir lab coats, they all looked the same. “I’m starting to confuse them.”
“Blue glasses.”
Did he know I remembered their color palettes more than their faces? It hadn’t dawned on me that while he studied the people across the table, he might do the same to me. It reminded me of Orion’s conspiracy. Not that I believed it, but Booker did work for the government, and if I wanted to keep my identity a secret, I’d have to be better at hiding in plain sight.
“I think it’s time we took a field trip.”
I would have done anything to avoid another interview today. When Ricardo asked me to help, I assumed there’d be sleuthing. I didn’t expect a trench coat and magnifying glass, but I thought it’d be more exciting than this. Corporate espionage might very well be duller than reviewing brand partnership contracts.
“Anything to get out of here,” I blurted out.
Booker scanned the file before jumping to his feet. He paused at the door, holding it open like a gentleman. I stepped out of the interview room, thankful he hadn’t interrogated me. With how well he did his job, he might have found out that it was me who sometimesborrowedWyatt’s fudgy bars.
I followed him through the hall, weaving from one corridor to the next. The moment the clock struck five, Synergy turned into a ghost town. We passed theoccasional guard, flashing our badges as we went. I found it ironic that human security was overseeing a lab that focused on supers. If something bad happened here, they wouldn’t be much more than tragic headlines in the making.
My eyes drifted until I snuck a peek at Booker’s khaki-covered ass. I’d describe him as burly, even chubby. They fit him like a glove, and I couldn’t help but think of him in one of the superhero uniforms. He’d look good in leather—even better in spandex.
“Interviewing sets the baseline,” he explained. “Bad guys never give the answer you’re looking for.”
“So, Mr. Marks is the bad guy?” I tried to hide my confusion.
He slowed. We had reached the genetics lab. Here, every cubicle was made of glass and steel, making privacy impossible. He stood in front of glass doors leading into what I had to assume was a lab. He flashed a smile, and the level-headed investigator vanished. Up to this point, I didn’t have an opinion of Booker. He hadn’t revealed enough of his personality to think he’d be anything other than a government paper pusher.
“Not at all,” he said, the grin growing.
“I’m missing something.”
He gave a nod to the lab. “Bad guys don’t give themselves up. They’ll give just enough information to pass detection. But hiding in plain sight isn’t easy.” When hewaggled his eyebrows, I couldn’t tell if his observation had another purpose. “Chances are, the good guys know who they are. They just don’t realize it.”
“The missing vials. Mr. Marks isn’t the problem.”
Booker nodded. “He doesn’t realize he’s already spotted our target.”
“How can you be sure?” It wasn’t quite conspiracy-level, but it was a logical leap. Orion would have jumped on this and claimed the Illuminati was part of it. “It could just as easily be the guy who mentioned stolen pens.”
“Call it intuition.”
He flashed his badge at the scanner, and the door slid open. I followed him inside and couldn’t believe how pristine the scientists kept the lab. There were microscopes and logbooks on every surface. Computer monitors were mounted everywhere, and at more than a few stations I found machines I couldn’t describe. If a supervillain with a doctorate were going to begin his reign of tyranny, it’d start here.
“What are we looking for?”
Booker didn’t answer as he walked toward a cooler in the back with a glass door. Inside, there were rows of vials with subject numbers attached. It took a moment to realize the crimson color inside was blood.
“What are they?”
“Blood samples from supers.”
Catman, Cryptid, and Cyclone were written on labels. Ihad never spoken to any of them, but sitting on the rooftop eating ice cream, I had seen Cyclone on patrol before. Were the heroes willingly donating their blood, or was it collected byothermeans? I’m sure there were plenty of times I left blood at the scene.
Booker left me to search for my superhero identities. Everything in the case was kept in perfect order, every block of test tubes at a ninety-degree angle. There must have been hundreds of vials in tidy little rows. On the third rack down, a square of vials was missing.
“Is that what he was talking about?” I asked, finger pressed against the glass.
