Release. Jo Leigh

      ONE WEEK FROM THE day Seth started working at the clinic, Harper realized it had been a really bad idea. Although each morning he dutifully put on his face mask, as he liked to call the three pieces of painted silicone that changed his features just enough, by the time he got to work, he was in such a foul mood that no one dared get close enough to recognize him. Yes, she understood that it was difficult for him. And, yes, he should have been out saving the world instead of cleaning up puke. But still. He was scaring the patients. And the doctors. All except Karen.

      Every time Harper saw the two of them together, at least one of them was smiling. Mostly Karen, but sometimes Seth, so what the hell was that about? The last time he’d smiled in the house was…well, not recently.

      They drove home together, and while it only lasted about ten minutes, it could be pretty tense. Then Seth would hit the shower, change into clean jeans and a T-shirt no matter that it was usually freezing because she didn’t want to heat an empty house, then head down to the basement. She’d pretty much given up on asking him if he wanted to join her for dinner.

      Sometimes, just for spite, she hid the cheese so he couldn’t make his damn sandwiches. He just ate peanut butter and jelly. Some meal for a man trying to heal.

      But the truly weird thing was the looks he gave her. No, it wasn’t looks, it was just the one.

      She refocused on the chart in front of her. The patient was twenty-two years old, a young woman who was bright, confident and had the whole world at her feet. And she was HIV-positive. Her ex-boyfriend didn’t like condoms. Of course, the girl hadn’t known then that he was a cheating bastard. Instead she’d thought he was just like the great-looking guys in the movies, in the magazines. How could a hunk like him catch a disease? That didn’t happen, right?

      Harper wrote the scrips for the appropriate drug cocktail, hoping this girl would be one of the lucky ones.

      Then came the next chart and the next, and when she finally looked around her office, it was almost seven. She usually left around six, so how come Seth hadn’t come by to see where she was?

      She stood and stretched her neck and back, wishing she could justify the expense of a massage, but her wages here were laughable. Which was okay, she supposed, because a doctor in this town couldn’t get more low-profile. The good part about working at the clinic was her hours with patients. The bad part was writing all the grants and the fund-raising to keep the place going. Combining the two kept her busy. Kept her from thinking about the mess she was in. For the most part, at least.

      She put her stethoscope in her top drawer, then headed for the doctors’ lounge, which was more like a big closet with chairs and a coffeemaker than a lounge one would find at a private clinic. But Seth wasn’t there. After a quick chat with one of the volunteer doctors, she checked out the reception desk, the offices, the supply room. He was nowhere to be found and no one had seen him.

      Karen had probably taken him home. Harper couldn’t imagine Seth being so stupid as to take her to their house, so it had to be Karen’s. But he was wearing the latex on his face, which would surely come off when they got down to it.

      Goddamn him. What kind of a bonehead would let sex endanger his very life? The lives of all of them? Yeah, it had been a while, but so what? She wasn’t getting any either, and he didn’t see her lifting her skirt for the first decent pair of trousers to walk by. Karen wasn’t even that great a physician. So she’d smiled at him, big deal. Who wouldn’t? He was a really great-looking man. Especially now, with his hair down around his collar. A woman would have to be blind not to notice his muscles. Every time he mopped the floors, Harper caught some woman staring at his back. Or his butt.

      On the other hand, maybe getting laid was just what he needed. Let him get his aggressions out on Karen. Then maybe he’d stop being such a pain.

      She headed back to her office, her thoughts stubbornly staying on Seth and his muscles, despite three attempts to stop it. He was like a bad song in her head, playing over and over. No, he was more of a sore tooth. Yeah, Seth the toothache.

      The thought made her grin, but that froze on her face the second she stepped into her office. Seth hadn’t gone home with Karen after all. He was standing by her filing cabinet, glaring her way.

      “Where’ve you been?”

      “Me?” she asked. “I’ve been looking for you.”

      “I had to take the trash out back. I thought…”

      “That I’d gone home without you? Don’t be silly.”

      He tugged his baseball cap lower down his forehead. “Fine. I’ll wait in the car.”

      “Don’t bother, I’m ready. I just need my purse.” She hurried by him, pissed that he was pissed. Embarrassed that she’d gone straight to the gutter. Besides, he wouldn’t sleep with Karen. He liked being miserable too much.

      She got her keys out as she walked by him again, and her shoulder brushed his. Brushed, not hit, but he stepped back, his mouth open, his eyes big. It hadn’t even been his left arm. “Come on,” she said. “I couldn’t have hurt you.”

      His face turned crimson and he practically ran out of the office. She stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened. She must have done something to set him off, but hell if she knew what. It was worse than dealing with a teenager. And, frankly, she had too many real concerns to worry about Seth’s weirdness.

      

      CORKY BAKER HAD A problem, and from what he could see, it wasn’t going away anytime soon. Sitting in the traffic jam known as the 405 gave him too much time to think. To worry. Ever since he’d listened to Vince Yarrow and Nate Pratchett, he’d been hip-deep in lies, some so outrageous that only the government itself had the balls to go there.

      He wondered for the hundredth time what the hell he was doing. He loved his job at the L.A. Times. He loved being an investigative journalist. He just wasn’t crazy about being a walking target. The more he found out about Omicron, the clearer it became that there was, in fact, a conspiracy. Could he prove it? Not yet. But he would. If, that is, he lived long enough.

      He’d become almost as paranoid as Vince and his friends. His notes were coded, with copies in his safe-deposit box. He kept his associates and his editors pretty much in the dark. He’d sent his wife and son out of the state, although he was beginning to think that wasn’t far enough.

      A smart man would leave it alone. Hell, he’d done more than he should have by exposing the cache of nerve gas in the paper and on national television. It sure hadn’t taken Omicron long to turn that around. Senator Raines had stepped right up to the plate and named the Delta Force men as the people responsible. The official story had holes all over it, but he couldn’t get a soul to go on the record. Nobody wanted to touch this, not in the military, not in Washington. They all ducked when they saw him coming. Not that he wasn’t used to that, but these people, all of them connected in some way to Omicron and the CIA, had let him know in not-so-subtle ways that if he continued to poke around there would be consequences.

      Well, screw them. Corky Baker might not believe in much, but he did believe in a free press.

      He advanced another few feet on the freeway, then stopped again. Reaching over to the passenger seat, he grabbed the small tape recorder he kept there. Without looking, he hit Record. “Tell Eli to come to the house in the morning to talk about the interview with George Page.” He clicked the machine off, then on again as he thought of one more thing. “Ask N about the lead chemist in Kosovo.”

      This time he put the tape recorder back on the seat. He inched his way along the freeway as his thoughts turned to Pulitzer prizes and big damn paychecks. All he had to do was stay alive. Shouldn’t be all that hard. He was a public figure. People would ask too many questions. He’d live, and those Omicron bastards would go down in flames. In fact, he’d be the one to light the first match.

      

      SETH WAITED UNTIL Harper was done in the kitchen before he made his