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How long before the specimens made the leap from composting the dead to capturing and devouring live human prey?
Forget the fucking contract. He had to get off the island. When the noon ferry left tomorrow, he was going to be on board.
Relief slammed through him when he emerged from the underworld gardens and stepped into the conservatory. This would be the last time he had to make the trek.
He closed the vault door, locked it, and gave himself a moment to overcome the disorientation that always hit him when he returned to the surface. When he felt steady he made his way through the glass-walled jungle, following the glowing stone path. He entered the air lock. The door hissed shut behind him. The key device pinged. Black crystals illuminated. There was a muffled thunk as the large bolts of the outer door slid aside.
He went outside into the labyrinth gardens, pausing to lock the door. Night had fallen hours ago. The grounds were illuminated thanks to bioluminescent greenery and the glowing stones of the path, but the lodge was dark and there were no lights in the windows of the cabins. He remembered that the guests for the new session of the Experience had been expected on the noon ferry. He wondered how they would react if they learned about the dangerous world down below. Some would no doubt be curious or even thrilled, just as he had been at first. They would probably view the old lab as a twisted version of Alice’s Wonderland. The smart ones would pack and escape on the next ferry. That was exactly what he intended to do.
He shoved the key into the leather tool belt draped around his waist. Tonight was the last time he would need it to access the conservatory and the underground lab. The realization brought another rush of relief. He would miss his mushrooms, though. If he could have published the results of his studies he would have become a legend in botanical circles. But his work with the fungi wasn’t worth his life.
He hurried along one of the dimly lit footpaths that wound through the labyrinth gardens. The guest cabins scattered about the grounds were marked by porch lights, but for the most part they were obscured because of the tall, thickly packed plants. The specimens up here were not dangerous, but he suspected it was only a matter of time before the forces at work down below reached the surface.
He was taking a shortcut behind cabin number seven when he saw the figure dressed in dark clothes prying open a rear window. He came to an abrupt halt, more bewildered than alarmed. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was watching a burglary in progress.
This was not his problem. His only goal was to get off the island and as far away as possible.
He started to move on down the path, but it was too late. The figure turned and saw him.
The invisible, ice-cold knife struck with stunning force. He could not move. He could not breathe. He had never been so cold. He would not have believed such cold existed. His blood was freezing in his veins.
He was vaguely aware that there was something wrong with his heart. He sank to his knees and tried to call for help, but it was too late. He fell into the depths of the frozen sea.
•••
For a headymoment the assassin savored the intoxication of the kill. There was nothing like the thrill that came with having the power of life or death.
But in the next beat reality descended. Decisions had to be made. Move the body or leave it there in the bushes? On the plus side, there would be no indications of violence. Cause of death would look like a heart attack or a stroke. Reasons not to move the body included the possibility of accidentally depositing some trace evidence. Best to leave the dead man where he was and let him be found by chance when someone happened to pass by the rear of cabin number seven.
The assassin turned back to the window with a sense of regret. It would not be a good idea to carry out the plan now. It would take time to recharge. Every kill was exhilarating, but they were also exhausting. It would not be smart to confront the target at less than full power.
The assassin took a moment to close the window with gloved fingers and then faded into the shadows. There would be other opportunities. Besides, half the fun was toying with the target before the kill. Making the hunt a game of cat and mouse delivered the biggest rush of all.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Talia watched, impressed,as Luke did something creative to the lock on the door at the rear of the lodge. It was obvious he’d had some experience with breaking and entering.
She made a note to interrogate him about his extremely vague past. But the questions would have to wait. It was after midnight, and what they were doing was illegal and probably dangerous. They both needed to focus.
She followed him into a hallway and waited while he closed the door and switched on a penlight. Her senses were jacked up. She could literally feel the silence and the emptiness inside the lodge. She was aware of something else as well—the whisper of energy that told her Luke was running hot, too.
“The office is halfway down this hall,” Luke said quietly.
“Where did you learn how to pick locks?” she whispered.
“YouTube.”
“Oh, right.”
He worked more B and E magic on the door of the office. Once inside, he closed the door and swept the penlight around the smallspace. There were a couple of battered metal filing cabinets, a desk equipped with an ancient mechanical calculator, a typewriter, and a landline phone.
“Talk about a time warp,” Talia whispered. “No computer. No printer.”
“And no high-tech security system, because modern tech doesn’t work here on the island,” Luke said. “That’s a good thing for us, because it means that if there are any records to be found they will be in paper format. No need to try to guess passwords.”
“Hard to imagine running a modern business without tech,” Talia said. “What, specifically, are we looking for?”
“Anything that points to a money trail would be helpful.”
