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Helen handed her an empty vial. “A cheek swab is the best method, taken at least an hour after he’s had food or drink. Barring that, a hair sample, so long as there are follicles still attached. Gum might suffice. Blood would also work.”
“What about his half-brother?” she asked, her mind spinning over the prospect of finding such samples at the shop.
“It’s better than nothing, but it won’t be as precise. Contact me when you have the sample. I’ll wait until Rosemary is working in the lab. She’s discreet.”
“Thanks.” Lila hopped off the table. She snatched up her clothes in the corner of the room, dropping them onto the exam table with a splat. “I’ll pay you back for the tests.”
“I know you will. I’ve known you a long time, and I know you’re good for it. I’m not adding this to your medical record, by the way. The data from these appointments will remain in my personal files at home, your name unattached.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
Helen paused at the door. “I see lots of women come through the clinic, madam. I know what you’re doing and why.”
“Perhaps you could tell me, then.”
Helen smiled gently. “I’ll see you in a month for your next exam, whether you have the DNA or not. Unless you wish to see me earlier, of course.”
The doctor left her alone after that, disappearing to the lab so that Lila could put on her clothes and escape the building unseen. Lila slid her coat around her shoulders and tugged her hoodie low over her eyes, staring at her feet as she jogged downstairs and slipped through the hospital’s back door.
She trudged across the parking lot toward her car, tucked away in the back corner, far away from the cameras. If she’d been as successful as she hoped, then no one had seen her enter or exit the hospital.
After threading through traffic, she reached the parking garage two blocks from the shop, sunrise still an hour away. She parked on the second floor and hopped out, shivering as she locked her door and trudged past the shadows in the concrete garage.
A cat meowed a few cars away.
Lila’s keys jangled in her hand.
She’d only taken a few steps before she landed upon the ground with an oof, her cheek raking against the rough concrete, her palm clattering to the ground. The fall became a slam as someone picked up her body, smacking her forehead into the concrete, rattling her brain.
She smelled gasoline.
The cat hissed and yowled. His brown paws blurred under the cars, dodging oil puddles, splashing through a puddle in his haste to run away.
While she lay stunned upon the ground, her attacker yanked her arms behind her roughly, trapping her hands with a plastic zip tie. It cut into her wrists, and her fingers throbbed. By the time she realized what had happened, she couldn’t move.
“What do you want?” Lila asked, shaking her head free of fluff.
A tearing sound cut through the air. Duct tape pressed against her mouth, and she sucked in a deep breath through her nose.
Her assailant pulled back her neck, took out a knife, and settled it against her skin, just like Reaper. The figure said nothing, pressing just hard enough for her to feel the cold blade, but not hard enough to break the skin.
She breathed in and out heavily, unable to do a thing to defend herself. It was worse than Reaper, worse than the Italian mercs, worse than La Roux and her assassin.
All at once, her attacker dropped the knife. It plinked on the concrete like one of Helen’s instruments. The figure shoved her head down, putting pressure on her neck, and dug into her pocket for her keys. Then the thief unlocked her car and began to rip out the rugs and panels inside.
After a few moments, the back door opened with a creak.
Lila angled her hands to her pocket, trying to reach the dropped knife or her palm. Dixon would come if she sent him a message.
A steel-toed boot stepped on her upper arm. The thief pinned it to the ground, threatening to break it.
She screamed under the tape, a muffled, impotent cry for help.
“Shhh!” the figure hissed.
Lila closed her mouth, her arm throbbing now, pinched under the boot. The plastic tie dug into her wrists, worse now that the boot’s force pried her hands apart.
Was that blood dripping down her forearm?
