Chapter 31
“What th—?” The timber was low and gravelly—an old man’s voice. A moment later he appeared in the doorway, the man’s body slumped between us. We gaped at each other—him at me crouched on the floor, clutching a gun, my cheek a shredded wreck, and me at him. Clad in a lab coat, he was white-haired, stooped, and thin as a shriveled-up weed.
The old man cleared his throat. “Last time I saw you,” he said lightly, “it was to give you a bunch of stickers.”
“You’re Dr. Brixham,” I answered.
He bent his head toward me slightly in a nod. “Things have really come to a head, haven’t they, Lanie?” His gray eyes were boring their way into my own. They were clear and sharp as ice chips—clear enough that I almost felt like I could see straight through him to a pulsing well of greed within.
