Chapter Sixteen
Desecheo Island facility
There was a trail. There was always a trail.
Problem was, Denton couldn’t find it.
Slumped in his office chair, he drank the last of his Guaraná Jesus. It had been two days since he’d slept for more than an hour. He’d searched McLoughlin’s office and labs. Not a single hair or skin flake. It was McLoughlin herself who’d ensured the labs were sterilized regularly.
Something nibbled at the back of his mind. Cecilia McLoughlin had been up to something before her unfortunate death. He had no evidence to prove it, but he knew her well enough to know her mind worked a lot like his. And that was bad news.
He’d worked his way through hundreds of Project GATE documents. Now all he could do was stare, uninspired, at the four screens before him. None of
