Road Less Traveled (17 page)

“Then Henry never found out about the mistake in his plan,” Allison finished. She glanced at her other self, who was watching them go back and forth. The fact that she was clutching at her locket suggested she knew what they were talking about but couldn't follow all the details. But Allison and Carter did. If Henry hadn't corrected his calculations in time, the trip through the SRT would have killed Kevin. And Henry would have been put away for murder as well as for causing a fake emergency. Which was why the other Dr. Baker had said Henry wasn't supposed to come back. In their world, he'd been sent to prison for good.

“What about Vincent?” Carter asked, remembering what Allison had told him about her encounter with the curly-haired chef. “How did my not being here make Café Diem disappear and Vincent wind up working for GD?”

“I don't know,” Allison admitted. “It could have been any of the times the restaurant was almost destroyed and you saved it. Or any of the threats that you stopped before they could get out of hand. We'd have to trace all of those outcomes to see which it was. But somewhere along the line, your absence caused that change.”

Carter rubbed at his face. “Okay, so now what? Does knowing that help anything?”

“Absolutely,” both Russells answered. “Now that we know the point of divergence,” the other reality's Russell continued, “we have a better sense of how our two realities connect. Which means hopefully we can figure out what's drawing them closer together.” They both grimaced. “Before it's too late.”

A sound near the door made them all turn. Allison—the other Allison—was saying something. But they couldn't tell what it was, because her words were fading. Along with the rest of her. Carter watched as her outline blurred and she seemed to wash out, like an old image being erased. He could see through her now, to the door beyond. What was happening to her?

On a hunch, he turned and glanced at the lab's main monitor. Sure enough, a hazy image was forming behind that Dr. Russell, over near the door. Squinting, he could just make out a long ponytail. It was the other Allison; she was returning to her own world!

“Fascinating,” the two Russells breathed, cutting their gazes between monitors and room. Carter had to admit it was impressive, in a creepy sort of way, to watch her vanish from here and reappear there. In a way, the process showed more than anything else so far just how close their two worlds had become.

And apparently that was far too close for comfort.

In less than a minute their Allison was entirely back in her own world. She glanced down at her hands, brushed them against her face as if reassuring herself that she was all there, then stared at the monitor. Her eyes zeroed in on Allison, and for a second they just locked gazes. Then she turned and fled from the room.

“What was that all about?” Carter asked Allison quietly.

She shook her head. “I'm not entirely sure. Part of it is seeing herself in another life, of course. And part of it is knowing that I still have Kevin. But the rest—there's more to it than that, I think.”

“She lost Kevin, but you lost Stark,” Carter pointed out. “I'm not sure which of you got it worse.”

“She did,” Allison answered without hesitation. “You were married, Carter. And you have Zoe. Think about it.”

He did, and saw at once that she was right. He could live without Abby; he'd certainly managed all right, especially once he'd moved here. But losing Zoe? That would kill him.

“What was she trying to say when she got pulled back across?” he asked, changing the subject. “It seemed important to her, judging by the way she was gesturing.”

Allison shrugged. “I have no idea. It could have been anything. It might just have been shock and fear from hearing about our realities colliding.” Allison smiled. “She was never GD's director, so she hasn't had to deal with as many near-catastrophes as I have.”

“Yeah, well, let's see what we can do to avert this one, okay?” Carter asked her and the Russells. The twinned blond researchers nodded. “I'm going to go check in with Jo, see what's going on with the Thunderbird egg.”

Allison nodded. “All right. Keep me posted. And I'll let you know if we figure out anything over here.”

Carter waved vaguely with one hand as he headed to the door. Then he was gone, and Allison turned back to her Dr. Russell and the twin in the monitor.

“And we are going to figure things out, aren't we?”

Both of them nodded quickly, and neither of them met her eyes.

 

“Got it!” Fargo smacked his hand on the desk in tri
umph, and immediately yelped and shook it. “Ow!”

Jo snorted at him, then sobered. “What've we got?” She leaned over him to peer at the screen.

“We've been invited to conference privately with each of them,” Fargo answered, calling up the messages. “They've given us video chat log-ins. I'm guessing they're single-use only, which is how they keep from getting traced. Each time they contact someone, it's with a new log-in, and probably through a different set of servers. Clever.”

“Yeah, well, let's hope we don't have to trace them, then,” she reminded him sharply. “Set it up, and let's find out what they know.”

Fargo enabled the scramblers he'd set in place, and then opened a window to the first video chat and entered the login. The screen cleared almost immediately, to show a shadowy figure against a hazy background. “He's using similar scramblers,” Fargo whispered. Obviously these fences knew what they were doing.

“I got your message,” “John Beardsley” said at once, leaning back against a chair or couch they couldn't see. “What can I do for y'all?” Despite the filters, Jo could determine a few things: “John Beardsley” was definitely a man, for one thing; a tall, long-limbed fellow at that. Not skinny but not fat, just medium build. Square head, slightly long jaw, lots of hair on top that stood up in every direction. Relaxed, laid-back, and very in control.

“We're looking for something we hear you might have,” Jo replied, talking into the tiny mike built into the top of Fargo's laptop. “A Thunderbird egg.”

John Beardsley tilted his head to one side. “A what, now?”

“It's an egg,” Jo repeated. “Bioengineered. Stolen from GD a day or two ago . . .” But Beardsley was already shaking his head.

“Sorry, little lady, but you've got the wrong cowpoke,” he drawled. “I don't handle livestock—too messy. And I haven't heard anything about any Thunderbird.”

Jo studied the shadowed figure for a second. “Well, thanks anyway,” she said finally. And she closed the window.

“That's it?” Fargo demanded, turning in his chair so he could see her properly. “You ask him about the Thunderbird, he says he's never heard of it, and we're done? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Jo agreed. “He was telling the truth, Fargo.”

“How do you know?”

She peered down her nose at him, one eyebrow cocked. “I'm a cop, Fargo. That's what I do. I'm certain he was telling the truth. So, on to the next one.”

Fargo grumbled for a few more seconds before calling up a new video chat window. “Okay, Rose Kenning.”

This time the image was clear, as was the person facing them—but it wasn't a real person. At least, Jo had never seen a real person with tiger-striped rose-and-lilac skin, glittering silver hair, and huge crimson eyes that matched her tiny, bow-shaped lips. Rose, indeed! She sat on an enormous faceted throne in what looked like an elegant restaurant. A handsome tea service was laid out in front of her, complete with scones and crumpets and jam.

“Hi!” “Rose” burbled enthusiastically. “You were looking for me? What can I do for you?”

“We're looking to buy something that just came out of GD,” Jo explained. “A Thunderbird egg.”

Rose shook her head, which sent sparks flying from her eyes and her hair. “GD? Never heard of it. Sorry!”

Jo pursed her lips. “You're lying,” she said carefully. “You've dealt with GD merchandise before.”

“Who are you?” Rose's large eyes narrowed to impossibly thin slits. “Are you the law? If so, this is entrapment!”

“We're just interested parties,” Jo insisted. “We heard you could get GD goods; that's why we contacted you.”

“Sorry, I don't think I can help you.” Rose reached for something past the screen, which Jo was sure was the disconnect button.

“Wait!” Fargo lunged forward as if he could stop her physically. “Look, we'll make it worth your while!”

The narrow gaze flattened out, looking just like a cat pretending indifference. “Oh, really? How, exactly?”

Fargo glanced around, then up at Jo, then away, then back at the screen. “Cloning algorithm,” he said quickly, as if hoping Jo somehow wouldn't hear him. “Lets you duplicate files in a fraction of the normal time, no data loss, no file degradation even over multiple copies.”

“Show me,” the animated painted lady demanded.

Fargo hit a few keys, and his laptop chimed as it transmitted the information. On their screen, they watched as Rose pulled a monitor into view and scanned it.

Then she smiled, her whole face crinkling. “Lovely! Thanks ever so much! Now, what were we talking about?”

“GD. Thunderbird,” Jo reminded her through gritted teeth.

“Oh, yes. You'd heard I could . . . acquire GD material.” She all but purred as she tossed her long, shimmering hair back over her shoulder. “Well, I can, sometimes.” She blinked insanely long lashes that hadn't been there a second ago. “But I don't know this Thunderbird. What sort of project is it?”

“Bioengineering,” Jo answered. “Biological and bioelectric.”

“Ooh, clever!” Rose's eyes had gone huge. “That does sound intriguing!” She pouted. “But I'm afraid I haven't seen it. And nobody else has mentioned it to me.”

“Could they have taken it to somebody else?” Fargo asked.

For just an instant, Rose bristled, all of her hair standing on end. Then she huffed. “I can't imagine who! Everybody knows I'm the best when it comes to dealing with biologics!”

“Will you tell us if you do hear anything?” Jo asked. “We'd be very interested in making an offer on it.”

“I will, I will,” Rose assured them. “And thanks ever so much for the lovely gift!” She winked, then the window winked out as well.

As soon as the image was gone and she was sure the connection had been cut, Jo swatted Fargo on the arm. Hard.

“Ow, hey!” he complained at once, shrinking away from her and raising both hands to fend off any more blows. “What was that for?”

“Bargaining with her? Giving her GD software?” Jo hissed. “That's a felony, Fargo. I could arrest you for that!” She was pissed. You don't sink to a criminal's level, even when you're trying to catch another criminal. And despite all his quirks and faults, Fargo was a decent guy. He should know better.

But Fargo just smirked at her. “It wasn't GD software,” he corrected, rubbing his arm.

“Oh, really? Then whose was it?”

“It was mine,” he told her, looking her straight in the eye. “I wrote it myself, in my spare time. So it belongs to me, and I can trade it away if I want to.”

“Oh.” Jo frowned. “Well, sorry, then.” She punched him in the arm to show there were no hard feelings, but he only winced again.

“Ow! Too bad it didn't get us anything,” he said, hopping out of the chair before she could decide to hit him for anything else. He moved to the desk across the room instead, to maintain a safe distance.

“Don't be so sure,” she corrected. “We know whoever has the egg hasn't tried to sell it yet, so that's something. It's still here in Eureka, which means we have a little more time to find it. And, if your new girlfriend sticks to her word, she'll let us know if it ever does go up for sale.”

“Right.” Fargo shook his head. “But what do we do in the meantime?”

The sound of the door opening interrupted them. Both of them looked over in time to see Carter enter. He stopped when he saw them.

“Great, I was going to come looking for you,” he said. Then he looked at Fargo. “Comfy?”

Which is when Fargo realized he was sitting at Carter's desk.

“Might as well make yourself at home,” Carter muttered, perching on the corner of Jo's desk instead. “The other you certainly has.”

Fargo and Jo exchanged glances. What the hell was Carter going on about?

Then he told them.

“I'm sheriff?” Fargo asked. “Me? Really?” He grinned.

“He's sheriff? Really?” Jo groaned and sank into her chair. “So not only am I still a deputy over there, I have to work for . . . him?”

“Hey!” Fargo lifted his chin. “That's Sheriff Fargo you're talking to!”

“Not over here, it isn't,” Carter reminded him. “Over here, you're sitting in my chair.”

Jo chuckled as Fargo grumbled to himself, but he did get up and sulk back across the office.

“Hey, Vincent,” Carter said as he pushed through the
door to Café Diem. “Can I get a—Oof, sorry!” That last was for the guy he bumped into, who was heading out just as he stepped in. “I didn't see you—”

Then he stopped and stared.

Average height. Average to slim build. Long face. Mostly bald. Glasses. A lot like a younger, slightly heavier version of Dr. Baker. With less interesting shirts.

And Carter knew him.