by Lucy Monroe
Myk nodded. “So, did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Read underlying messages in our kiss?” He didn’t know why he asked. In any other circumstance, with any other woman, he would have sooner had his testicles in a vise than willingly participate in what he considered touchy-feely conversations.
Lana seemed as surprised he had asked as he was. “Don’t let Casey’s melodrama get to you. He’s got lousy taste in women and is still young enough to think dating is worth the effort.”
“You’re not exactly ancient.”
“I guess not. Twenty-nine isn’t all that old, but I’ve lived long enough to figure out dating and the whole male-female mating ritual isn’t as interesting as my work.”
He was going to respond, but she went on. “As for the kiss, I’m a scientist, not a psychologist. I don’t read underlying messages into things.”
Myk snorted. Yeah, right. “You’re still a woman.”
“Most of the time, I forget that.”
That really bothered him—for no reason he could fathom—He shouldn’t care what perceptions she had of her femininity, but it did. And he wasn’t about to let it go unchallenged. “Funny, I haven’t been able to think of much else since walking in here.”
“You’re an odd man, Mykola.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Besides the fact that you go around kissing dumpy scientists with more brains than beauty and even less people skills?”
Was that really how she saw herself? “You’re about as dumpy as a 1940s vamp, and I don’t mean the bloodsucking variety, either.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his outstandingly obvious erection. “Dumpy doesn’t do this to me.”
She gasped, but instead of pulling away, she squeezed. “You’re big.”
And he about damn near came right then. “I don’t compare myself.”
“Seriously? According to what I’ve read, all men do that.”
“I’m not like other men.”
“No, you aren’t. You want me.” She was clearly both puzzled and very pleased by that fact.
“Yes, I do.” But there were more important issues at stake than his unslaked libido right now.
Having the hots for a principal in the case was a complication he did not need. Not when his sister’s safety and the security of said principal was on the line. “Unfortunately, we can’t always have what we want.”
“Tell me about it.” With a sigh, she sidestepped away from him. “I suppose it was too much to expect a live-action fulfillment of my favorite fantasy.” She got a comical look of dismay on her face as soon as the words left her mouth.
“Favorite fantasy, huh?”
“Sometimes my mouth has no filter.” She looked and sounded adorably disgruntled.
His lips quirked in a half-smile. “I noticed.”
“It’s hard not to.”
“Do you say everything you think?”
“No.” She sighed dejectedly. “Just most of it.”
“You’re painfully honest, aren’t you?”
“I don’t lie, if that’s what you mean. And yes, the lack of a verbal filter can be painful for me at times. Very.”
“That level of honesty is a unique trait. Most people lie, if only to themselves.”
“That’s a cynical view.”
“One you don’t share?” The woman who didn’t trust anyone implicitly?
“No, I don’t. I think there are a lot of people that are basically honest.”
“Like Mr. Smith?” Derision he couldn’t quite suppress laced his tone.
Fire lit her eyes. “He made me believe I could practice science again, that I could still make a difference. That I still mattered somewhere.”
Wow, that was some hefty emotional gain. “You trust him, if no one else. Right?”
“There are other people I trust.”
Not completely, though. She’d made that clear. That had to be lonely—and scary. He’d lived in the underbelly of humanity for over a year, but he would still trust his life with certain people. Any member of his family, his former partner, and a couple of the border agents he’d worked with. No amount of money, or any other incentive would make those people betray him.
“Who?” he couldn’t help asking.
“Who do I trust?”
“Yes.”
“Besides Mr. Smith?”
“Yes.” He smiled, not at all irritated by her need to be exact.
“The people who helped me once I escaped the Kurdish prison lab.”
“Who were they?”
“Some women.”
“You won’t give me their names?” Because she didn’t trust him. That bothered him. It shouldn’t, though.
He bit back a curse.
“You don’t need their names. Isn’t that how spies operate, on a need-to-know basis?”
“I’m not a spy. I’m an undercover federal agent.”
“They’re not the same thing?”
“Nope. A spook is charged with discovering other nation’s secrets. I’m responsible for keeping information out of the wrong hands.”
She nodded as if she got the distinction. Knowing her, she did.
“Is there anyone in this country, besides your pain-in-the-ass employer, who isn’t nearly as honest as you, by the way, whom you trust?”
“He’s not a pain.” She completely ignored his implication regarding Mr. Smith’s lack of overt honesty.
“Depends on your perspective. Now, tell me.”
“I’ll bet you’re good at interrogation.”
Thinking of a past he was fast deciding he wanted to forget, he nodded. “One of the best.”
“Casey.”
“That’s a given.”
“Why?”
“You would have to trust him to be willing to entrust your precious work with him.”
“True.”
“Who else?”
She thought for a second. “I trust a couple of the women in my belly dancing troupe.”
“Belly dancing?”
“You act like you’ve never heard of it.”
“Oh, I’ve definitely heard of it…seen it even.”
“It’s amazing, isn’t it? The dance?”
“That’s one word for it.”
“It’s fantastic exercise, too, for both your mind and body.”
“You belly dance.” He was having a really rough time getting that information to take root in his brain. “You don’t seem the type.”
“What type would that be? The seductive femme fatale?” Her naturally smooth brow wrinkled in a censorious frown. “Please, belly dancing is so much more than an entertainment form for lusty desert sheikhs. There are several sects that refuse to perform for men at all. It’s an art form of the body. A way for women to celebrate being women, no matter what their shape or size. For some, it’s even a training form with underpinnings of Middle Eastern martial arts.”
“It’s your antisocial nature that has me surprised, not your lack of feminine grace.”
“I’m not antisocial. More…” She paused, as if thinking. “I guess socially awkward is the right phrase, but I enjoy belly dancing.”
“You’re serious.”
“Of course.”
“I want to watch you.” Well, hell. Talk about having no filter.
“Now?” she squeaked, clearly shocked to her Mickey Mouse tennis shoes. The woman had a thing for Disney.
“No.” Though the thought was tantalizing. He wondered if she’d use her lab coat as a veil. Damn. He was losing his mind and it was all the sexy scientist’s fault. “You perform, don’t you?”
“Sometimes. My troupe competes and I teach a class for neophyte dancers on Fridays. During the last ten minutes of class, either I or my apprentice performs for the students to give them a taste of the full dance. When they see what they are working toward, they are less likely to give up when some of the moves are difficult for them.”
“Do you let men wa
tch?” Could he watch this surprising woman shimmy for ten minutes without exploding? It was a concept he wouldn’t mind exploring.
“There are usually men in the audience at competitions, but I’ve never had one show up at my class. The neophyte dancers bring in their sisters or female friends to watch sometimes, but no one has brought a spouse, boyfriend, or anything like that.”
Reality burst his bubble of sexy fantasy as he considered the impact her extracurricular activities would have on his ability to keep her safe. “You let anyone who wants to watch?”
“Sure.”
“How do you know they’re with your students and not some perv just showing up to watch you dance?”
“It’s pretty much an assumption I make. Besides, it’s easy to see who has invited the visitors because they usually stand together.”
Like that meant anything. “So any guy who wants to perv on your dancing could show up and stand around like he knew somebody and you’d never be the wiser.”
“I told you, I’ve never had a male visitor to my class.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“I guess, but why do you assume the first time would be someone with ulterior motives?”
“There are a lot of bad people in the world, Little Lana.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m hardly little.”
“Compared to me you are.” And she might be curvy, but she was no giant.
“Oh, right.”
“Listen—”
“No, you listen. There may be a lot of bad people in the world, misguided people and just plain stupid people, but there are lots of good people, too.”
How could she say that after what she’d been through?
“Even though you don’t trust them.”
“Implicitly. Just because I don’t trust people with my life doesn’t mean I don’t trust in other ways.” She was pretty defensive on that point. “I trust that there are good people out there.”
“You’re just not sure which ones they are.”
“I presume good until I see a reason for doing otherwise.”
“While still protecting yourself.”
“That’s natural, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do.” He didn’t argue further. He liked her stubbornly positive outlook, skewed as it was by her very real, very justified trust issues.
“Good.” She turned and headed across the lab, stopping at a door in the opposite wall. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Coming?”
“Is it a growing room?”
“Yes.”
He couldn’t hide his grimace. “You got an extra gas mask?”
“You won’t need one.” She grinned, like she’d played a joke on him. “While the enzyme transformation is the primary project in our lab right now, Casey and I are working on a couple of other things as well.”
“Stuff that doesn’t smell like decomposing corpses?”
She laughed and opened the door, going inside without answering.
He followed. So far, so good. In fact, it smelled kind of nice. “Flowers?”
“Lathyrus odoratus. More commonly known as flowering sweet pea.”
“What did it used to be? Dead moss or something?”
Her hazel eyes shining, she looked up from a cutting she was taking from one of the plants. “Actually, it’s the soil we’re transforming, not the plant.”
“You’re transforming the soil?”
“Well, elements in the soil, anyway.” She smelled the yellow flower with a short stem, and then extended her hand for him to do the same. “It’s not exactly rose essence, but it’s not bad for a fertilizer.”
The pleasant floral scent had a slight underlying odor, but nothing like the toxic smells that came from the growing room Casey had gone into. “That’s fertilizer?”
She nodded, her face alight with joy in her accomplishment. “One of the problems facing food growers, particularly in developing countries and those without strong environmental laws, is the toxification of the soil and/or groundwater. Both the toxified soil and what we refer to as acid rain are the result of pollution. We need a way to clean up our groundwater and soils, not just the air.”
“And that’s what you hope to do with this flower?”
“It’s a rapidly growing annual vine. Perfect for what we want to do. Casey and I genetically altered the Lathyrus odoratus to produce a yellow flower, something horticulturists have been unable to do with simple crossbreeding.” She smelled her cutting again, a smile warming her already delicious features. “But the flower is unique for more than its color. It takes in two soil toxins through its root system, ammonium from factories improperly disposing of their waste and nitric acid found in rain because of atmospheric changes caused by pollution. Then, the plant binds the two and the result is a flower abundant with ammonium nitrate.”
“Fertilizer.” And a highly explosive compound used in low-level bomb making. He didn’t think he’d mention that fact, though. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “That’s amazing.”
“Thanks. We’re closer to a large field test on this one than the enzymes.”
“Well, the smell is definitely better.”
She laughed. “I concur.” She bent to take another cutting from a plant in one of the other beds under the growing lights.
“So, tell me about your belly dancing troupe.” He smoothly segued back to the topic of interest.
“We practice in a locked facility and don’t let anyone watch.” Lana gave him a look that said she knew exactly why he’d brought it up. “Our choreographer is highly protective of her routines.”
“Good.” Fantastic even.
Lana shook her head. “I have a feeling you are more paranoid than she is.”
“I can guarantee it.”
“Oh, brother.”
“I’d really love to see you dance.” The idea of those very feminine curves jiggling with purpose enticed him big-time. “But for the time being, you are going to need to find someone to take over your class and refrain from performing. Though I don’t see a problem with you attending practice.” Accompanied, of course.
“No.”
Chapter 5
“Excuse me?” He could not have heard her right.
Although the single, monosyllabic word was hard to misconstrue.
She crossed her arms, giving him a look that said her positive view of life wasn’t the only thing she was stubborn about. “Don’t look at me like you’re shocked the geeky scientist had the temerity to say no to you.”
Damn it, he was surprised, though. Not that he’d call her a geeky scientist, more like a hot, “he wanted to touch her until she screamed out his name” one. He wasn’t used to anyone telling him no, however, no matter how delectable. Even the dregs of humanity listened to him. They seemed to be able to sense that he didn’t threaten, he acted.
Suzy Sunshine here, however, appeared immune to his anti-charm. He’d try logic. It had been known to work with his sisters and mom a time or two. Nothing worked with his baba when she got an idea stuck in her head. “I promised to protect you, but you have to do your part, Lana.”
Far from looking convinced, her expression turned mulish. “Do you have a concrete reason to believe that I am at risk at present?”
“Other than the fact your project has been targeted by the Vega Cartel?”
“Yes.”
“That was a rhetorical question. You weren’t supposed to answer, but realize that I have a very legitimate reason for believing you are at risk. Namely that whole ‘being targeted by the really bad guys who don’t respect human life and consider torture part of their regular job description’ thing.”
“My project was targeted, not me. Unless those notes you saw mentioned someone besides your sister.”
“No.” He admitted that frustrating truth through clenched teeth.
“So, for all you know, I’m not a target at all.”
“If they want your project, they are go
ing to want you.” He realized how very true that was after hearing her explanation of the enzymes.
“Maybe.”
“There are no maybes. Your enzymes don’t work on any plants but the ones they were created to enhance, much less metals. As soon as the cartel realizes that, you’ll be their number-one target if you aren’t already.”
“You said you thought Elle was their number-one target.”
“She corrected me and she was right.”
“Should I tell her you said so?”
“I’d consider it a favor if you didn’t.”
“I’ll think about it.” Lana bagged her cuttings.
“Elle’s their first target, probably because they see her as a roadblock to getting what they want. Your enzymes or you. Most likely both.”
“That’s speculation on your part.”
“I’m good at this kind of guessing. You’re going to have to trust my instincts on this one.”
“I’m not going to start living like a prisoner. Been there. Done that.”
He could understand her attitude, but he couldn’t accept it. “Giving up teaching a dance class is not the same as getting locked in a prison lab.”
“No, it’s not, but it’s also not living my life to its fullest. Which is something I promised myself I would do, after Mr. Smith convinced me to come back to environmental research and development.”
“Listen to me, Lana—”
“No, you listen to me.” She got right into his face. “I was incarcerated for eight months by the Kurdish rebels, and that was horrible.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You can’t. You probably admire what I did to get away.”
“I do.”
“I don’t. I hated it. I still wake up at least once a week from nightmares, the smell of burning cordite in my nostrils and the sound of screams from falling men in my ears.”
Shit. He reached out for her, but she twisted and moved her body to avoid his touch. “The horror didn’t end when I got away. I made it back to the United States, but I was still in prison. My fears were the bars and they held me more securely than any four walls and a steel door could have.”
