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“You never gave it to him?”

She shook her head, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Oh my god.” She wrapped her hands around her stomach and rocked forward and then back. “I can’t believe this.”

There weren’t any more messages to read, so he placed the phone facedown. “He sent that February 3. You’ve been here how long?”

“Almost two weeks. I arrived on the second.”

“So he sent it after you arrived. Did you see him around that time?”

She crushed her knuckles to her teeth. “Briefly. He met me at the airport and I brought him to the flat I’d rented for a drink. He left for Paris that night. He said he needed to tie up some things. He must have gotten a hold of my passport while I was in the bathroom. I don’t understand. Why would he do that?”

Brock shrugged. “For starters, this job is a helluva lot different than swiping some diamonds. You’re carrying incriminating information. It was probably one of the stipulations of bringing you on.” Brock sucked back more coffee and narrowed his gaze. “I still think it’s strange Sven went to the trouble of hiring you. He had the password—why not do the job himself?”

Dani made a face and tapped her light pink fingernail against the table. “Sven had a mole. Someone who works for Ubrigg managed to lift his password. Sven said the person refused to steal any information. Apparently, he didn’t want to get involved but did it as a favor for Sven.” She lifted her shoulder. “He also said he didn’t trust anyone besides me to do it.”

“He gave up your identity, but let’s be real—they probably had your face from the cameras. This just gave them a shitload more access to your information.”

She lifted her coffee to her lips. “I wish I could be mad, but he’s dead now.” Strain creased the skin on her forehead.

He covered her wrist with his hand and squeezed. “We should go look at what’s on the drive.”

She nodded and stood. Her wrist slipped from his hold, leaving his palm aching for the silkiness of her skin.

Dani tucked her hair behind her ears and sat in the chair in front of the computer they’d rented. The bright fluorescent lights and cramped space filled with college-age students made heat tingle in her cheeks. She pulled the flash drive out of her pocket, and her hand trembled as she pushed it into the USB port.

“Relax. It’s data, not porn.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” A shiver of delight ran down her back. Until now, she’d never had an interest in porn, but the thought of Brock watching it sparked intrigue.

No way. Don’t go there.

She shooed all delicious thoughts of naked Brock from her mind and wiggled the mouse. Brock scooted a chair close to her and his arm circled the back of her chair. Her body hummed in unison with his skin, only scant millimeters away.

“Click here,” he said, tapping the screen. His gaze was locked on the computer, reminding her she was the only one so tormented by their closeness. Or if he was too, he did a damn good job of hiding it. She cleared her throat and moved the mouse to the folder.

Twelve files filled the screen and she squinted to read the names. She brought the mouse to the first one: Intro.

“Best place to start, I suppose.” She frowned as she read the paragraphs outlining the experimental virus and its effects on the body. “Oh my god. Why would they even make something like this?”

“Money,” Brock whispered. “Jesus.” He brought his finger to a sentence a few lines lower than where she’d stopped.

Chrisolicom XII has a high success rate of contagion. Carriers become contagious instantly and will die within forty-eight hours of exposure. There is no cure at this time.

She swallowed and pressed her palm between her breasts. Terror flooded her veins with the force of water from a fire hose, and she gripped the edge of the table for support. Brock’s hand replaced hers on the mouse. He backed out of the file and clicked through the other eleven. Pages and pages of formulas, graphs, and studies flipped past her eyes.

“Stop. Shut it off.” She reached forward and yanked the drive from the USB port. “We have to destroy this.”

Brock took the drive from her fingers and curled it in his fist. “Do you think this is the only copy? Look at the data they have. They aren’t worried about losing it. Ubrigg’s company has enough information to make this disease ten times over. They don’t want it in anyone else’s hands, though.”

Her breath made a sharp hissing sound as it passed through her teeth. Blood pumped ferociously against her temples. She pressed her elbows into the table, brought her hands to the throbbing soft spots, and stared at the keyboard. “I can’t believe Sven knew what information he was transporting. I mean, this could wipe out cities—countries—in weeks. Maybe we should send it back to Ubrigg.”

Brock gripped her bicep in his hand. “Are you forgetting he’s the one who created this thing? What do you think his motive was?”

“Maybe he made it for a weapon of war or something.”

“Yeah, and it can’t be contained. There’s no cure. Ubrigg created this knowing it could take out a large mass of the population.”

Her palms turned cold. There was no one to turn to—with the local police and Interpol involved, they couldn’t trust any level of law enforcement. If this fell into the wrong hands, the destruction of humanity would be on their shoulders. Pressure built in her chest and she swallowed over the ache.