As she stood up from the table, a tumult of emotions poured through her, and with them the most vivid and sensual thoughts of Mark. But it wasn’t her usual forlorn desire. She didn’t like it, but she was experiencing a sort of bizarre pleasure right now. His death would mean a kind of freedom, and that was certainly part of it. But another part of it was that—well, that it was power. It was power over. And it was sick and should not be part of her.

“Gina?”

She looked away.

“You can do this? I can count on you?”

“Of course,” she snapped. “Given how much I apparently have to prove.” She turned and all but hurled herself out of the room.

Behind her, she heard George say faintly, “Keep me informed.”

She did not reply, could not, not without her voice revealing her anguish.

Not even in her office did she give vent to her feelings. George had revealed the degree to which he listened and watched. The more secret your work, the less private your life.

So, how to do this? George was right about one thing, she couldn’t send a professional assassin after Mark. The assassin would be killed himself. Or a team. Same result.

She opened up her monitors. She would order him into an isolated area, then call down one monster air strike on his head.

Through her tears and the terrible, incomprehensible pleasure that was telling her that she did not understand herself and making her loathe what she did not understand, she began to hunt down the man she loved.

Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

IN THE WILD

When he first saw the picture that had been dropped on Flickr, Tom Turner had been hopeful. The aliens had succeeded after all, and they were back with their own hybrids. So perhaps now all mankind could begin to enjoy the benefits of a relationship with them.

He had not even asked himself if there was any possibility that his hybrids had somehow survived. Simply put, they had not.

Then he had received the shock of his life. The first blurry video sent back by Mark and his team told him for certain that generation three had not only survived, it had multiplied.

These were his own creatures, no question, he could see that they had the facial features he had designed. Unless the aliens had copied them exactly, which seemed extremely improbable, these were cloned versions of his original designs.

He recognized two versions of Gamma, one of Alpha, four of Zeta—there could be no question, the hybrids were out there in the wild, and unless some sort of chain of command was established, the little bit of trouble they were causing right now was going to become an enormous tragedy.