The Peyti Crisis: A Retrieval Artist Novel: Book Five of the Anniversary Day Saga (Retrieval Artist series 12) Read Online Free

beginning to realize that maybe he was just unbelievably cautious.
    “I don’t sell things. I don’t want to make money,” she said. “I just want out of here.”
    “We’re talking millions,” he said.
    Her gaze met his. Millions?
    “And you wouldn’t collect right away, so no one would ever know what you did here. If you get busy doing.”
    Millions. Never getting caught. She was already half a step close to trouble. And she hated it here. She hated it period. Imagine if she were in charge of her own destiny. Imagine if she…
    She was lightheaded and not thinking clearly.
    But she knew this much: she knew that she would be asked about everything anyway, and the best way to protect herself was to pretend to participate. That way, Didier wouldn’t blame her. He’d see her as a co-conspirator.
    She could report him after everything was over.
    Whatever “over” meant.

 
     
     
     
    FOUR
     
     
    JHENA’S EYES WERE getting used to the flaring red light. Except that as the light increased and decreased, it created shadows in corners. Shadows that looked like they moved.
    Maybe they were moving.
    Or maybe she was hallucinating from stress and lack of oxygen.
    She had a headache. One hand still covered her mouth and nose, but she’d stopped pinching her nostrils, for what good it did her.
    Bile rose in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, hoping she wouldn’t vomit right now. She couldn’t vomit. She had no idea what Didier would do to her if she did.
    “I’m not touching that man,” she said. She was looking at Frémont’s corpse, its head still hidden from her by the bunk. She thought maybe she saw the foam that Didier had mentioned, although she couldn’t be sure.
    What she was sure of was that some kind of stain was inching its way toward the only good pair of shoes that she owned.
    “I don’t want you to touch him,” Didier said. “You’re strictly the help in this instance.”
    The…what? She had never heard that phrase before, but it didn’t sound good. She didn’t like it at all. She took a deep breath, then wished she hadn’t, since that foul taste accompanied it.
    It didn’t matter what Didier wanted. She would be passing out soon, whether he liked it or not.
    “Then can I leave?” she asked.
    “No.” He crouched. “Hand me the bags when I ask for them.”
    Bags. Evidence bags. Which she was still clutching. Getting her own DNA all over them. DNA, fingerprints, hair, fiber, all kinds of things that would identify her, but not Didier.
    Too late now. It was all too late now. She was here, she was involved, and she would betray this son of a bitch before he knew what hit him.
    “Oh, hell,” he said. “Just give me the damn box.”
    Had she missed an instruction? It sounded like she had. His irritation suggested it.
    Which was good, because his DNA, his prints, his hair and fiber, would be on the box as well.
    “DNA,” she said. “That’s what you want.”
    It wasn’t quite a question, or maybe it was. She struggled to wrap her sluggish mind around what was going on.
    “You want to sell DNA?” she asked.
    “Something like that.” He pulled a scooping tool she hadn’t seen before out of one of the many pockets of his uniform, and set to work.
    He didn’t scrape up the fluids (oh, thank God, because she wasn’t sure her stomach could handle it), but he did scrape the skin on the back of Frémont’s hands.
    Didier put the scrapings inside the first bag. She couldn’t see anything, but the bag’s exterior changed color, like it was supposed to when something went inside it, going from clear to pale yellow.
    Then he reached backwards, the bag dangling from his hand.
    “Take the damn thing,” he snapped.
    “And do what?” she asked.
    “Hold it until I tell you otherwise. What happened to your brains? Move it.”
    She took a step closer, careful not to walk in anything, and took the bag. It was warm against her skin.
    He didn’t look at her. He was touching