Lasher - By Anne Rice Page 0,69

polish that Lark had admired so much over the phone.

“Glad to see you, Mr. Lightner, but I have to tell you, I had a run-in with one of your colleagues in San Francisco. Not so good.”

Lightner was clearly surprised. They walked up the concourse together, Lightner’s profile rather grave for a moment and distant. “Who was this, I wonder,” he said with unconcealed annoyance. He looked tired, as if he had not slept all night.

Lark was feeling better now. The headache was dissipating. He was fantasizing about coffee and sweet rolls, and a dinner reservation at Commander’s Palace, and maybe an afternoon nap. And then he thought of the specimens. He thought of Rowan. That embarrassing excitement overcame him, and with it, an ugly feeling of being involved in something unwholesome, something all wrong.

“Our hotel is only a few blocks from Commander’s Palace,” said Lightner easily. “We can take you there this evening. Maybe we can persuade Michael to go with us. There has been…an emergency. Something to do with Ryan’s family. Otherwise Ryan would have been here himself. But this colleague of mine? Can you tell me what happened? Do you have luggage?”

“No, just my valise here, loaded for a one-night stand.” Like most surgeons, Lark liked being up at this hour. If he were back in San Francisco, he’d be in surgery right now. He was feeling better with every step he took.

They proceeded towards the bright warm daylight, and the busy gathering of cabs and limousines beyond the glass doors. It wasn’t terribly cold here. No, not as bitingly cold as San Francisco, not at all. But the light was the real difference. There was more of it. And the air stood motionless around you. Kind of nice.

“This colleague,” said Lark, “said his name was Erich Stolov. He demanded to know where the specimens were.”

“Is that so?” said Lightner with a slight frown. He gestured to the left, and one of the many limousines, a great sleek gray Lincoln, crawled out and towards them, its windows black and secretive. Lightner didn’t wait for the driver to come round. He opened the back door himself.

Gratefully, Lark climbed into the soft velvet gray interior, shifting over to the far seat, faintly disturbed by the smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the upholstery and stretching out his legs comfortably in the luxuriant space. Lightner sat beside him, and away the car sped instantly, in its own realm of darkness thanks to the tinted windows, suddenly shut off from all the airport traffic and the pure brilliance of the morning sun.

But it was comfortable, this car. And it was fast.

“What did Erich say to you?” asked Lightner, with deliberate concealing evenness.

Lark wasn’t fooled by it. “Stood right in front of me, demanding to know where the specimens were. Rude. Downright aggressive and rude. I can’t figure it. Was he trying to intimidate me?”

“You didn’t tell him what he wanted to know,” said Lightner softly and conclusively and looked out the darkened glass. They were on the highway, turning onto the freeway, and this place looked a little like any place—squat suburban buildings with names blaring from them, empty space, uncut grass, motels.

“Well, no, of course not. I didn’t tell him anything,” said Lark. “I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it at all. I told you Rowan Mayfair asked me to handle this confidentially. I’m here because of information you volunteered and because the family asked me to come. I’m not in a position really to turn over these specimens to anyone. In fact, I don’t think I could successfully retrieve them from the people who have them at this point. Rowan was specific. She wanted them tested in secret at a certain place.”

“The Keplinger Institute,” said Lightner gently and politely, as if reading this off a cue card on Lark’s forehead, his pale eyes calm. “Mitch Flanagan, the genetic genius, the man who worked with Rowan there before she decided not to stay in research.”

Lark didn’t say anything. The car floated soundlessly along the skyway. The buildings grew denser and the grass more unkempt.

“If you know, then why did this guy ask me?” Lark demanded. “Why did he stand in my path and try to force me to tell him all this? How did you find out, by the way? I’d like to know. Who are you? I would like to know that too.”

Lightner was looking away, weary, saddened.

“I told you there was a family emergency this morning, did I

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