perhaps they needed human guinea pigs. Maybe they had applied for permission and had been refused. Or they could have had some other reason for secrecy.
Whatever their motive for lying to the women, Jeannie now understood why her investigation scared Genetico so badly. Impregnating a woman with an alien embryo, without her knowledge, was about as unethical as could be imagined. It was no wonder they were desperate to cover it up. If Lorraine Logan ever found out what had been done to her, there would be hell to pay.
She took a sip of coffee. The drive to Philadelphia had not been wasted after all. She did not yet have all the answers, but she had solved the central puzzle. It was deeply satisfying.
Looking up, she was astonished to see Steve walk in.
She blinked and stared. He was wearing khakis and a blue button-down, and as he came in he closed the door behind him with his heel.
She smiled broadly and stood up to greet him. “Steve!” she said delightedly. Remembering her resolution, she threw her arms around him and kissed him on the lips. He smelled different today, less tobacco and more spice. He hugged her to him and kissed her back. She heard the voice of an older woman saying, “My God, I remember when I felt like that,” and several people laughed.
She released him. “Sit here. Do you want something to eat? Share my salad. What are you doing here? I can’t believe it. You must have followed me. No, no, you knew the name of the clinic and you decided to meet me.”
“I just felt like talking to you.” He smoothed his eyebrows with the tip of his index finger. Something about the action bothered her—
“You go in for big surprises.”
Suddenly he seemed edgy. “I do?”
“You like to show up unexpectedly, don’t you?”
“I guess so.”
She smiled at him. “You’re a little strange today. What’s on your mind?”
“Listen, you got me all hot and bothered,” he said. “Can we get out of here?”
“Sure.” She put a five-dollar bill on the table and stood up.
“Where’s your car?” she said as they stepped outside.
“Let’s take yours.”
They got into the red Mercedes. She fastened her seat belt, but he did not. As soon as she pulled away he edged close to her on the bench seat, lifted her hair, and started kissing her neck. She liked it, but she felt embarrassed, and she said: “I think we may be a little too old to do this in a car.”
“Okay,” he said. He stopped and turned to face forward, but he left his arm draped around her shoulders. She was heading east on Chestnut. As they came to the bridge he said: “Take the expressway—there’s something I want to show you.” Following the signs, she turned right onto Schuylkill Avenue and pulled up at a stoplight.
The hand over her shoulder dropped lower and he started fondling her breast. She felt her nipple stiffen in response to his touch, but all the same she felt uncomfortable. It was strangely like being felt up on a subway train. She said: “Steve, I like you, but you’re going a little too fast for me.”
He made no reply, but his fingers found her nipple and pinched it hard.
“Ow!” she said. “That hurt! For Pete’s sake, what’s got into you?” She shoved him away with her right hand. The light turned green and she drove down the on-ramp for the Schuylkill Expressway.
“I don’t know where I am with you,” he complained. “First you kiss me like a nymphomaniac, then you freeze.”
“Some girls like to be hurt,” he said, putting a hand on her knee.
She moved his hand. “What do you want to show me, anyway?” she said, trying to distract him.
“This,” he said, taking her right hand. A moment later she felt his naked penis, stiff and hot.
“Jesus Christ!” She snatched her hand away. Boy, had she misjudged this one! “Put it away, Steve, and stop acting like a goddamned adolescent!”
The next thing she knew, something struck her a mighty blow on the side of the face.
She screamed and jerked sideways. An air horn blared as her car swung across the next lane of the expressway in front of a Mack truck. The bones of her face burned with agony and she tasted blood. Fighting to ignore the pain, she regained control of the car.
She realized with astonishment that he had punched her.
No one had ever done that.
“You son of a bitch!” she screamed.
“Now give me a hand job,” he said. “Otherwise I’ll beat the shit out of you.”
“Fuck you!” she yelled.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw him draw back his fist for another blow.
Without thinking, she stepped on the brake.
He was thrown forward and his punch missed her. His head banged the windshield. Tires screeched in protest as a white stretch limousine swerved to avoid the Mercedes.
As he recovered his balance, she released the brake. The car coasted forward. If she stopped in the fast lane of the expressway for a few seconds, she thought, he would be so terrified he would plead with her to drive on. She stepped on the brake once more, throwing him forward again.
This time he recovered more quickly. The car came to a halt. Cars and trucks swerved around it, horns blaring. Jeannie was terrified; at any moment another vehicle could slam into the back of the Mercedes. But her plan did not work: he seemed to have no fear. He put his hand up her skirt, grasped the waist of her panty hose, and pulled. There was a tearing sound as her tights ripped open.
She tried to push him away, but he was all over her. Surely he would not try to rape her right there on the expressway? In despair she opened her door, but she could not get out because she had her seat belt fastened. She tried to undo it, but she could not get at the buckle because of Steve.
To her left, traffic was joining the expressway from another ramp, coming directly into the fast lane at sixty miles an hour and flashing by. Was there not a single driver who would stop and help a woman who was being attacked?
As she struggled to push him away, her foot came off the brake and the car crept forward. Maybe she could keep him off balance, she thought. She had control of the car; it was her only advantage. In desperation she put her foot on the accelerator pedal and floored it.
The car took off with a lurch. Brakes squealed as a Greyhound bus narrowly missed her fender. Steve was thrown back in his seat and distracted briefly, but a few seconds later his hands were all over her again, pulling her breasts out of her brassiere and thrusting inside her panties as she tried to drive. She was frantic. He did not seem to care if he killed both of them. What the hell could she do to stop him?
She swung the car hard across to the left, throwing him up against the passenger door. She almost hit a garbage truck, and for a cliff-hanging instant she looked into the petrified face of the driver, an elderly man with a gray mustache; then she swung the wheel the other way and the Mercedes lurched out of danger.
Steve grabbed her again. She braked hard, then floored the accelerator, but he laughed as he was thrown around, just as if he were on a joyride at a carnival; and then he came back at her.
She hit him with her right elbow and her fist, but she could not put any power into the blows while she was at the wheel, and she succeeded only in distracting him for a few more seconds.
How long could this go on? Were there no cop cars in this town?
Over his shoulder she saw that she was passing an off-ramp. There was an ancient sky blue Cadillac on her near side a few yards behind her. At the last moment she swung the steering wheel. Her tires screeched, the Mercedes went up on two wheels, and Steve fell against her helplessly. The blue Cadillac swerved to avoid her, there was a fanfare of outraged car horns, then she heard the thud of cars crashing and the xylophone sound of breaking glass. Her near-side wheels came down again and hit the tarmac with a bone-shuddering thump. She was on the ramp. The car fishtailed, threatening to hit the concrete parapet on either side, but she got it straight.
She accelerated down a long off-ramp. As soon as the car was stable, Steve thrust his hand between her legs
