“A genius who adheres to some radical credo—”
“No!”
“You’re right. A bomb doesn’t sound like him. Too militant. Too ballsy. Not scientific enough.” He stroked his chin as though considering. “You two are going to poison Atlanta’s water supply? Contaminate the CDC with a smart virus? Inject one into the hot dogs at Turner Field?”
She bent her head down and rubbed the space between her eyebrows.
“Am I warm?” he asked.
“Nowhere near.”
“Then open the box and show me what’s under the foam lining.”
“There’s nothing under there.”
“Then prove it. Let me see.”
“No.”
“Brynn—”
“No!”
He held her stare while seconds ticked off, then he squared up the box with the edge of the dresser and dialed in the four numbers he knew. She placed her hand on his wrist. “Wait. Don’t. Please. The contents could be compromised. I swear that’s the truth.”
“Okay. I’ll believe that much. But we’re not talking about blood samples, are we?”
“They did come from possible donors.”
“I’ll even buy that. Keep going.”
She looked at him with appeal. “Can’t you be satisfied with knowing that it’s vital I get this to Atlanta with all due haste?”
“Tell me why it’s vital.”
“I can’t.”
“Because you’re involved in something illegal.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Silence means yes.”
She came back with asperity. “Silence means it’s impossible to give you a simple yes or no. But I swear that it’s not illegal in the sense you mean.”
“Then tell me in what sense it’s illegal.”
“I can’t!”
“Why?”
“Because it’s delicate and complicated, and I don’t trust you.”
She could have answered him in any number of ways that wouldn’t have surprised him, but this did, probably because it sounded truthful and unmitigated. “How come?”
“I don’t even know you.”
That sparked a reaction from him as automatic as an alarm from a cockpit instrument. “Well, we can fix that.”