Free Hell's Teeth (Phoebe Harkness Book 1) by James Fahy Page A

data, me and Griff,” she elaborated. “So … what are you going to do then?”
    I had just found the files I wanted on my system. I tried to keep the look of surprise off my face. With a gesture or two on screen I created a further subfolder, then I dumped them into a DataStream clip and unplugged it, pocketing the stick.
    “I have to go out,” I said simply.
    “Out?” said Griff perplexed. “But … you just got in.” I was acutely aware how unusual this was. I never go out. I even begrudge fire alarm tests. If I had my way, I would sleep in the lab. I had considered in the past if some kind of hammock could be arranged. It certainly would have saved me on rent.
    I chugged my lukewarm coffee and retrieved the paper file I had just hidden in my drawer, pocketing it along with the DataStream stick.
    “I know,” I said. “Sorry, just in and out today, needed to pick up some stuff. You two will be fine here, you both know what you’re doing, just … run the parallels okay? Admin stuff, while Trevelyan is off, that’s all.”
    I had already shut down my system and was headed back for the door, completely forgetting my winter coat.
    “Dr Harkness?” Griff called after me, sounding genuinely concerned. He caught up to me at the inner lab doors, my coat in his hand. I took it gratefully. “You sure everything’s okay?”
    I waved a hand flippantly over my shoulder as I entered the long ultraviolet corridor.
    “Nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry,” I said.
    Later on when things got bad, that claim would come back to bite me right on my arse.

 
    12
     
    I managed to escape the Blue Lab complex without encountering anyone else. Even Miranda on reception was otherwise engaged dealing with a huddle of scrawny-looking techs from level six who were checking in for the day. This was a distraction for which I was ridiculously grateful. I was able to sneak out without the hundred or so questions she would doubtless have had for me. I headed for the main exit, feeling like a fugitive escaping a maximum security prison, certain with every treacherous step I took towards the main doors that at any moment, someone was going to call me back, demanding to know what on earth was going on. No one did.
    The sight of Veronica Cloves waiting for me outside in the university quad, huddled behind the wheel of her demure acid yellow twin turbo Ferrari made my stomach flip. Of all people to get in a car with, I would not have chosen this woman. I would rather have climbed in a car with Oliver Reed after a serious night on the booze. To be fair, she didn’t look too happy about the pairing either as I slid into the passenger seat, shooting me a cool sideways glance. Neither of us were particularly pleased with the setup.
    “You got the files?” she asked curtly, putting the car into reverse and executing an exciting handbrake turn in the crunching gravel and slush. A couple of nearby students actually had to leap out of the way.
    “I did, but I don’t know what you expect to find on them. As far as I could see, they’re encrypted anyway.”
    Cloves put the car in gear and shot us out of the campus parking lot with a squeal of tyres and a shower of pebbles. I wondered at this woman. Purple suits, a bright yellow car and the driving style of a demon – she was hardly low key. Perhaps all the media attention, all those chat shows and talking head panels had gotten to her over the years. Veronica Cloves, force of nature.
    “That won’t be a problem,” she sneered with a shake of her sleek black bob, clearly flabbergasted by my naivety. “We have people for that.” She urged the Ferrari past the Mathematical Institute, along Kebel Road and out onto St Giles, blending us with the main off campus traffic of the city with only a smattering of panicked horns.
    *
    The last hour had been a worrying one for me. Down below in Interrogation Boardroom, after we had all watched the DataStream video again just for kicks, Mr Godfather,