The Gender Experiment: (A Thriller) Page 4

  “Give me fifteen.” A pause. “What are you wearing?”

  Jake glanced down at his stained hoodie, embarrassed by his appearance, but relieved that Taylor had never met Zion. “A blue Broncos sweatshirt and jeans. What about you?”

  “Red sweater, black pants. See you soon.” The call went dead.

  Taylor was a woman, Jake decided. Men didn’t wear red unless it was a football jersey. His own dirty sweatshirt bothered him even more now. How could he make a good impression? He had more clothes in a small storage locker downtown, but they were all just as crappy. Reflexively, his hand went to his chin. He could shave. That would help.

  In the bathroom, he searched for a razor and finally found a small, unopened package of disposables. Zion didn’t keep any shaving gear on the countertop, so bar soap would have to suffice. The leisurely shave in the bright lights of a clean private bathroom was the best grooming experience he’d had since he’d lost his apartment. For months, he’d been using the Catholic Community Center, a crowded space he couldn’t get out of fast enough. Did he have enough time to shower? No. He would do that when he got back. Jake grabbed his backpack and headed out. He felt upbeat for the first time in ages. Taylor and her mysterious circumstances might be just what he needed to pull himself out of this slump. He was so ready for a comeback.

  Chapter 5

  Taylor stood outside the coffee shop, zipping and unzipping her sweater, having second thoughts about going in. Warning Zion that he could be in danger was the right thing to do, but he would probably think she was a nutty drama queen. Now that she was out of high school, she wasn’t bullied or humiliated anymore, but if he mocked her, she didn’t know how she would handle it. Everything she’d learned about Zion from social media indicated he was a troubled, but decent, human being. Just do it and move on! She could always walk away if things got uncomfortable.

  Taylor reached for the door and stepped in. At nine on a Friday night, the coffee house was nearly empty, and she spotted the man in the blue Broncos sweatshirt immediately. Something wasn’t right. He was too big, too masculine. Only the side of his face was visible, but he wasn’t Zion. She froze, and a bolt of fear shot through her. He could be the hit man. Maybe he’d killed Zion, taken his phone, and listened to her message. She spun toward the door and bolted outside.

  Why would an assassin meet her openly in a coffee shop? Wouldn’t it be smarter to follow her and attack her somewhere private?

  The door opened behind her, and a voice called out. “Taylor?” Low pitched, but kind and soothing.

  Her mind screamed Run! But her body turned back. “Who are you?”

  He blinked, started to speak, then stopped. After an uncomfortable pause, he said, “Jake Wilson. Please come in and sit down. We have a lot to talk about.”

  His voice was like a salve that penetrated her defenses.

  He held open the door, and curiosity drove her through it. She eased over to the booth where he’d been sitting and slipped in.

  Jake sat across from her.

  “Where is Zion?”

  His eyes pinched with distress. “There’s no way to put this gently. He was shot.”

  No! “Is he dead?”

  Jake nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  She was too late. Why hadn’t she called him earlier? An ache settled into her heart. She hadn’t known Zion, but she’d felt connected to him. They were both part of an accident or cruel experiment that she suspected was still going on. “How do you know Zion? And why didn’t you tell me on the phone?”

  “This is complicated.” Jake leaned toward her and kept his amber eyes locked on hers. His face was pleasing, except his mouth was too big and he’d cut himself shaving. His dirty-blond hair was getting long enough to show a curl at the end.

  Taylor was suddenly aware of his smell—sweaty clothes and unwashed hair. Was he on the run? “Tell me the truth. At this point, not much surprises me.”

  “I tripped over Zion’s body in an alley.” Jake touched her hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Reflexively, she pulled back. “You didn’t know him? How did you get his phone? Why are you here?”

  A darkness washed over Jake’s face. “After I found the body, I took the phone, looked up the address, and went to his house for a place to sleep tonight. I know—” He held up his hands. “I’m ashamed of all that. But I’ve had some tough breaks and just needed to feel human for a moment. Then you called, and your message was so urgent and intriguing, I had to meet you.”

  He was homeless? Yet Jake seemed articulate and clear-eyed. She wanted to walk away from this confusing stranger, but not yet. “I want Zion’s phone.” The assassin might have contacted his target to lure him out. Or Zion might be in touch with other people on the list. She desperately needed information. Someone had to stop the murders and find the military doctor who was responsible for all the intersex kids.

  “What’s your connection?” Jake reached in his pocket and handed her the cell. “And what made you think Zion was in danger?”

  “Why should I tell you? You’re just an opportunistic moocher.” Another of her mother’s expressions.

  “Ouch!” He recoiled in hurt.

  Was he mocking her?

  For a long moment, they stared at each other in silence. Finally, he said, “Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

  “Make it hot tea, please.”

  Taylor watched him walk to the counter, admiring his body. Long and lean but with a nice butt and strong thighs. She pictured him naked, those muscular legs wrapped around her. Then she imagined herself rubbing against his warm flesh. Stop! She made herself visualize skin lesions all over his body. A sure way to shut down her need. Hyper-sexuality had been a problem since she was thirteen, but she’d finally learned to control it. She’d always assumed it was related to her gender duality. But now she wondered if it was caused by whatever the military had given those pregnant women long ago. Probably some kind of pharmaceutical. But for what purpose, she had yet to figure out. Had they tested a drug they thought would produce better soldiers?

  She made a note of Jake’s name in her own phone, then perused Zion’s call log. He had few contacts, and almost all of his calls had been to or from people he’d created contact files for. Only one call, three days earlier, had come from a number with no association. She searched for it on Chrome, but didn’t get a direct result.

  Jake came back with her tea and another charming smile. “The reason you should tell me what’s going on,” he said, sitting down, “is because I used to be a reporter. So I’m good at tracking things down and getting the whole story.”

  He looked too young to have been one for long. But still, a newspaper connection could come in handy. “Were you fired?”

  “Sort of. I was lucky to get the job in the first place. My father told me not to major in journalism.”

  “So why did you?”

  “I love writing. And as a kid, I loved every movie with a reporter as the hero who exposes the bad stuff going down.” Jake shrugged. “I’m not giving up on my career, but right now I just need a job.”

  A romantic and an idealist—who smelled like old carpet in a rental trailer. But it would be nice to have someone to brainstorm with. She was still trying to figure out why they were only targeting certain people on the list. But the dead guys’ love of fire could be a factor.

  “Are you going to enlighten me?” Jake prodded.

  She had to tell somebody. If Jake believed her, maybe the police would too. She took a sip of tea and eased into the story. “I work in the morgue as a death investigative intern. I like figuring things out too.” CSI had inspired her, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “That’s unusual. But cool.”

  “In the last few weeks, two similar bodies have come in. Both young people who supposedly died from accidents.”

  “I’m intrigued.” Jake leaned forward. “What about their bodies was similar? The way they died?”

  “One fel
l off a balcony and one drowned, but they were the same age.”

  “Both male?”

  “Yes. Sort of.” Taylor squirmed in her seat. Could she tell him without admitting she was the same? Was that why she hadn’t talked to the police yet? She’d spent a lifetime hiding the fact.

  Jake scowled. “What do you mean by sort of?”

  “They were,” Taylor paused, “intersex. Living and presenting as males, but with some female genitalia.”

  She watched his face for signs of revulsion or judgment but saw only curiosity.

  “Two intersex people the same age dying accidentally around the same time.” He rubbed his chin. “I see why you think that’s odd. I don’t know how common the mutation is, but that must be a statistical anomaly.”

  She winced at the word mutation. “It’s more common than you think. Gender is more of a continuum than a category, and intersex people aren’t mutants.” Unless some military asshole had purposefully designed them that way.

  Jake grimaced. “Sorry, that was the wrong word. But I know there’s more to this. Like Zion. How does he fit in?”

  “I think he was targeted too.” Taylor took a deep breath. “I did a brief investigation of the dead guys and discovered they were both connected to an obstetrics clinic in Colorado Springs. So I called there and mentioned their names. The receptionist warned me to back off, then later that evening she emailed me a list of people. Four had checkmarks. Logan Hurtz and Adrian Warsaw are both currently in the morgue. And now Zion is dead too. I can’t find the fourth person, Seth Wozac.”

  “Get out! Seriously?” Jake’s eyes popped open and he sat up straighter. “You need to go to the police.”

  “I know.” Taylor took another sip of tea and stared at the mug. She was ashamed of this next part.

  Jake tapped her hand. “Why haven’t you?”

  “I was afraid they wouldn’t believe me. So I went to see the receptionist. She’s dead too.”

  “That’s too bizarre.” His voice tightened, but his eyes looked more excited than afraid. “How did she die?”

  “I saw her on the floor through the window at her house, and it looked like she’d been hit on the head.”

  “You went to her house? When?” He looked both alarmed and impressed.

  “Yesterday. The clinic said she’d retired, so I tracked her down.”

  “She was older? Maybe she fell.”

  Taylor didn’t believe it. “Her retirement seemed very sudden. I think she decided to leave the clinic after she sent me the list. Or someone forced her out.”

  “What’s her name? I want to find out what I can about her death.” Jake reached in his backpack, then swore. “Can I have the phone back for a minute? I don’t have mine with me.”

  Taylor pushed the cell across the table. “Bonnie Yost. I’ve been checking the news and nothing has been reported.” She shifted in the booth seat, worried about how to say the next part. “One of her neighbors knows I was looking for her and that I went to her house. I’m afraid the police will want to question me.”

  “So? Tell them everything.” Jake grinned. “We can still investigate, even if the cops take it seriously and look into the whole mess.” He keyed something into the phone.

  Her gut clenched, and she suddenly regretted the tea. “I can’t handle an interrogation. I’m easily intimidated and could end up being one of those people who confesses to something they didn’t do just to get them to leave me alone.”

  Jake started to laugh, then stopped. “You’re serious.”

  “Yeah. I’m working on the issue, but look.” She held out her hand. “I’m trembling just from visualizing myself in one of those little rooms with a mean cop.”

  Jake cocked his head and gave her a funny smile. “Yet you tracked down the receptionist and you came to warn Zion.”

  “Both were difficult for me, but what else could I do? I can’t let them kill any more subjects.”

  “Subjects?” He stared at her, eyes narrowed. “What’s your theory?”

  “A medical experiment conducted twenty-one years ago. Probably by the military to test some pregnancy drug. The clinic is connected to the hospital at Fort Carson. Another reason I’m so worried about going to the authorities.”

  Jake nodded. “If the military is behind it, they’re probably testing drugs they hope will produce superior soldiers.”

  The cafe door opened, and Taylor looked up, worried. An older lady entered, and she was too distracted by her cell phone to notice anyone. Taylor continued. “Somehow, a lot of the women had intersex babies, which is probably not what the researchers had in mind.”

  “Who knows? Maybe intersex people make better warriors.”

  She didn’t feel like a warrior.

  “Why kill those kids now?” Jake had started taking notes in a small paper tablet.

  Did people still use those? “I don’t know, but Logan, Adrian, and Zion all seemed a bit obsessed with fire. Logan was even arrested and questioned about an arson.”

  “Fascinating.” Jake looked down at the phone again. “Still nothing about Bonnie Yost’s death. Maybe she wasn’t murdered.” His shoulders slumped. “I need to get my phone back with all my contacts. A friend of mine has it.” His face brightened. “But now I have the money to retrieve it.”

  Was he asking her for a ride? “What contacts?”

  “With the Denver police and a woman in county records. I worked the crime beat for six months.”

  “I’ll take you to get your phone if you can arrange a way for me to tell all this to the police without being arrested or stuck in an interrogation room.”

  “I appreciate the offer of a ride. I’ll see what I can do.” He shook his head. “But no guarantees. I haven’t been at the paper for a few months, and the only person I know at the Colorado Springs Police Department isn’t an officer.”

  “Can you, or the woman you know at county records, help me find Seth Wozac, the fourth guy? We need to warn him.”

  Jake snapped his fingers. “Maybe we should contact the FBI. If this is a military thing, the feds will have more clout to investigate. It’s also better than involving two police departments.”

  Oh great. The FBI could make people they questioned disappear. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Can I see the list? How many names?”

  “Thirty-three.” She had a printed copy in her pocket but wasn’t ready to let him know her name was on it. Because then he would know she was intersex too.

  “Just four were check-marked? All males?”

  If she wanted his help, she had to be honest. Taylor unzipped a jacket pocket and handed him the list. “Yes, four with checks, but I don’t know if Seth identifies as male or female.” She couldn’t hold back. “I look forward when we can stop using gender-specific pronouns and forcing people to label themselves. It’s so unnecessary.” She already used the term they as much as possible, and it had become acceptable in the papers she wrote for her university classes.

  Jake eagerly scanned the names, then stopped and looked up. “You’re on the list. And your name has an asterisk.” He blinked and swallowed hard. “We have to find a place for you to hide.”

  Chapter 6

  Through the glass storefront, Devin Blackburn watched the girl enter the coffee shop and sit down across from a young man. A boyfriend? The background search she’d done on Taylor Lopez indicated she was a busy college student with little social life. A loner. That hadn’t surprised her. Most of the subjects were. But no, this guy wasn’t a boyfriend. They weren’t touching each other, and Taylor’s expression was distrustful. Devin moved into a better position and snapped a photo of him, then stepped away from the window to run the facial recognition app. Jake Wilson, no military service, no criminal record. Last employer, the Denver Post. Current address unknown.

  Shit! A journalist. The last thing the Peace Project needed was a reporter snooping around. At least he wasn’t still with the newspaper. How had he gotten involved?
Was Lopez telling him about the subjects that had come through the morgue? Maybe her visit to Carson Obstetrics too. If the clinic receptionist hadn’t accessed the data and triggered a software alert, they might not have known about Lopez’s inquiry.

  In some ways, terminating Bonnie Yost had been harder than taking out the subjects. The old woman had reminded Devin of her grandmother, and she’d had a moment of doubt. Yet Bonnie was old and had used up most of her life, so that eased Devin’s guilt. She was still coming to terms with assassinating the fire-obsessed subjects who had the potential to cause trouble and draw scrutiny to the project. The three men had been so young. Devin pulled up her sleeve and glanced at the fresh tattoo she’d had inked last week. Another flame, like the first subject, to represent Adrian Warsaw’s passion, and with his initials blended into the flickering light. It was the least she could do to honor the life she’d taken.

  She would get one for Lopez and Wozac too after she terminated them. But they were all like her—a gender mess. Killing them was an act of kindness that would spare them a life of freakish loneliness. Or a long stretch in prison. Unlike the other subjects, Devin felt lucky to have a purpose. The Greater Good. It always took precedence over individual lives. That’s what the military was all about. Sacrificing a few to save the many—and the innocents.

  Devin stepped in front of the window to observe her targets. They seemed to be engaged in a lively conversation. She knew what her orders would be, but it was essential to update the major. She walked to the corner to get away from the entrance and called his private cell phone.

  “What’s the situation?” The major was direct, as always.

  “Taylor Lopez is talking to an ex-journalist named Jake Wilson.”

  “Dammit all to hell! You were supposed to terminate her.”

  Devin had only received the assignment thirty-six hours earlier, and the clinic receptionist had been the priority. Followed by Tumara, who she’d been watching for a few days. But making excuses would only worsen the reprimand. “I’m sorry, sir. I was waiting for the right opportunity to make it look accidental.”