think I’d check the time? I knew you were going to do something with my memory, so I’ve been keeping track of these numbers as they change.”
The male narrowed his eyes. “What you don’t understand is that there are people who would torture you for the information about where to find us. And they can read your mind and know what you know in the blink of an eye. So yes, it’s for your safety.”
Jo looked back out the window. There wasn’t much to see. Just concrete, asphalt, parking spaces, and no open-air anything.
As he got out of the truck, she followed suit. “Are we underground?”
“Yes.” He indicated an unmarked metal door. “And we’re heading over there.”
Following him—because really, what was her other option?— she ended up in some kind of corridor, going by . . . what seemed to be classrooms. Meeting rooms. And then some medical facilities that looked every bit as state-of-the-art as any hospital she’d ever seen.
He stopped in front of an open door. “I think Doc Jane wants you in this exam room.”
Jo crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not consenting to any kind of medical procedures, FYI.”
“Not even a blood test to prove that the man you think is your brother is actually related to you?” When she didn’t reply to the rhetorical, the male nodded. “That’s what I thought. Manny—Doctor Manello—is right behind us. I know you two didn’t get a lot of time to talk at the scene. And then you can meet Jane and find out if you’re his kin.”
Before she could ask him anything further, he gave her what looked like a little bow and backed out of the room. After he closed the door, she expected to hear some kind of lock get turned. That didn’t happen. And a few minutes later, when she tried the knob, she was able to open things just fine.
Leaning out, she looked left and right. The corridor continued beyond the room she was in, and she was surprised at the extent of the facilities. This was not anything cobbled together, and it sure as hell couldn’t have been cheap to build or maintain—
Down to the left, the reinforced door she had come through opened and she stiffened. Syn limped in first, and right behind him was Manuel Manello. Both men—males, whatever—stopped dead as they saw her, the heavy panel they’d used shutting with a solid thunch behind them.
Jo stepped out, figuring she had every right to take up some space. Then she noticed the huge red spot that had grown on the white bandage around Syn’s thigh.
“Are you okay?” she asked as they approached. Which was a stupid question.
“He’ll be fine.” Dr. Manello stepped between them. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m just going to stitch him up and then we’ll talk, okay?”
“Yes. Please.”
Standing next to the doctor, Syn was a silent, looming presence that kept his eyes lowered and his head down. But just before he went into the treatment room next door, he glanced sideways at her. And then he was out of view.
As she retreated back into her own exam room, she realized she expected him to say something. Maybe break away and come talk to her. Explain . . .
Well, what did she expect him to say, anyway?
Pacing, she made a circle around the examination table. Then she went over to the stainless steel sink and cabinet setup. Opening the cupboards, she checked out the orderly sterile supplies and equipment—
The voices in the room beside her were low at first. But then they got louder. And louder still, as an argument intensified.
Jo went over to the wall and put her ear to the Sheetrock. The doctor and Syn were going at it hard-core—and there were so many reasons to just stay out of whatever the fight was about.
Even though, come on, she could guess.
And because she had an idea what they were bumping heads over, she walked out, hung a left, and ripped open the door to the other treatment room.
“—she’s damn well going to go through the transition!” Syn yelled.
“You don’t know that!”
“You’re human, you wouldn’t know—”
“Fuck you—”
The two of them were on opposite sides of the examination table, leaning in, forehead to forehead, arms planted—at least until they noticed her at the same time. That shut them up quick, and the two bags of testosterone straightened, pulled their clothes back into place, and played at total composure.