“May I speak to Noah Gallagher?”
“Who may I say is calling?” the receptionist asked.
She hesitated for a second. “Shamira.”
The line clicked open after a brief wait. “Noah Gallagher.” His voice was deep and resonant.
“Hi.” Her voice was too high, but she kept on. “I’m the dancer who came to your office today.”
Brief pause. He must have noticed that she wasn’t calling from Bounce. The company name would have come up on his caller ID.
“Hello, Shamira. I assume that’s a stage name.” His tone was affable. “Do you have a legal name?” No edge to that question, either.
“I don’t need one, for our purposes. Shamira is fine.”
There was another brief pause. “Your agency told me no,” he said. “Emphatically.”
“I’m not calling through the agency. Which you probably noticed.”
“Yes, I did.” He paused. “Will you come and dance for me?”
She inhaled, hardening her belly to steel. “Three thousand in cash, for a four minute dance, like the one I did this morning. No touching. None whatsoever.”
“Of course not,” he said. “I explained that to Gareth. However, I can understand why you might have concerns. If you like, I can arrange for a few admin staffers to stay late. They won’t mind the overtime at our going rate.”
“Good to know, I guess, but—”
“All women, by the way. And you’ll meet them. One is top-ranked in martial arts. She’d personally kick my ass to hell and back if I made one wrong move.”
How about that. But Caro hesitated.
“They’ll be right outside the office while you perform. It’ll be very safe for you. When can you come?”
“When do you want me?”
She could almost hear him smile. “Right now.”
The controlled sensuality in that voice made her toes curl inside her rain-sodden sneakers. Her dragging tiredness was magically gone. A feeling she could not name rippled through her, fierce and bright.
Hot, strong. Free. For the first time in so damn long.
She peered out into the darkness, disoriented. Tried to figure out where the bus was on its loop. From what she could tell she was on her way back toward the downtown area. “I’ll be there within the hour,” she told him rashly.
She sat there restlessly, electrified. And going nuts. Every leisurely stop, each time the door wheezed its rubbery flaps open to let people on or off, every red light made her belly clench with urgency.
After she got closer to downtown, she couldn’t stand the pace any more. She had just enough cash in her purse to cab it the rest of the way.
Phone check. The seemingly endless journey had taken fifty-six minutes. The downstairs lobby area was close to deserted. The dark, gleaming expanses of marble looked vaguely sinister. Besides security, there was only an elegant older woman at the marble counter, wearing a lightweight headset that Caro mistook for an accessory at first. Uh-oh. She would have to clear reception.
She looked up when Caro approached.
“I’m here to see Noah Gallagher,” Caro told her.
The woman’s discerning gaze flicked over Caro’s frumpy coat, hat and glasses, reminding her of the drawbacks of her disguise. It was fine on the street, a bus, a big store. But in a context like this it was memorable because it fit no category in particular. Aside from “all wrong.” The receptionist raised an eyebrow as she glanced at Caro’s duffel bag.
“I’m from Bounce Entertainment,” Caro explained. “He’s expecting me.”
The woman looked politely dubious. “May I check your bag?”
“Feel free.” Caro unzipped it on the counter.
Filmy purple veils exploded out. The woman poked at the contents: wigs, bangles, belt, jeweled headdress. “Let me call up.” She punched buttons on a wide console and spoke into the headset. “There’s a woman from Bounce Entertainment who says . . . . oh. I see.” Her expression became fractionally warmer. “Twenty-fourth floor.” Her crisp professionalism never faltered.
The office suite upstairs was quiet, but there were still people there. A white-haired lady in her sixties, glasses hanging around her neck, greeted her at the reception desk and introduced herself as Harriet Aronsen. Probably not the martial arts champ. But you never knew.
“Mr. Gallagher is waiting,” she said briskly. “Follow me.”
Caro intended to ask if she could change in the same unused office she’d used earlier, but the words froze in her throat. She followed Mrs. Aronsen, who stopped at a door and spoke into a wall-mounted intercom after pressing a button. “Mr. Gallagher? Your appointment has arrived.”
She opened the door for Caro, gesturing for her to enter.
Caro walked into the shadowy room, clutching the duffel bag against herself. Mingled fear and anticipation rattled her as she caught sight of him, silhouetted against the glittering cityscape.
“Is there anything else, Mr. Gallagher?” Mrs. Aronsen asked.
“Not right now, Mrs. Aronsen, thank you.” It was that deep, controlled voice again, the one that had made her clutch at the phone. “I appreciate you and Karen and Aurelia staying longer. Stanley will drive you home, of course.”
“Thanks. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.” The door clicked shut.
What a set-up. It was supposed to make her feel safe, but it didn’t, not quite. It felt too deliberate. Staff expertly nudged into position. Herself, coaxed into coming.
But please. That was bullshit. She’d chosen to come. She made the call herself.
Standing, Noah Gallagher was a shadow against the dusky gray sky, tall and broad. Perfectly proportioned.
“Hello,” he said quietly.
Oh, boy. She had never been so aware of a man’s sexuality in her entire life. And he wasn’t even doing anything. Just standing there on the other side of a very large room. Wearing a dangerously sexy suit and tie.
He flicked a switch on the wall. A row of small lights near the ceiling beam started to glow, warming the gloom to the level of candlelight.
“Excuse the low lighting.” He took off his glasses. “I had a head injury a while back, and I can’t stand too much light without protective lenses. But by the end of the day, I can adjust if I keep the lights low. I hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s fine.” Her voice sounded muffled. Talk to the man, she lectured herself. Ask for a place to change. Commence Operation Shake It as of now. Go, go, go.
The words would not come. He was walking toward her. Coherent thought disintegrated. She was close enough now to make out his eyes. They looked different. That luminous, startling flash. Like a wild predator’s eyes. A panther, or a wolf.
“Let me take your coat.” His voice was so silky. Caressing.
But I don’t have my costume on. The words stayed trapped in her mouth as he lifted the garment, weighted by artfully sewn padding. It slid from her shoulders with only a tug of encouragement.
Noah Gallagher took a few seconds to look at the hidden layers, then pushed open a wall panel and hung up her coat.
She felt exposed. “Why did you do that?”
“Just curious. It’s an unusual coat.”
Well, hell. That sucked. The coat was supposed to be quiet and unremarkable, a wall to hide behind. “It’s only a coat,” she mumbled.
“It goes with the hat and that wig. And that thing in your mouth.”
Her mind had been blank walking in, and now, it was blanker still. Wiped clean by the catlike gold flash of his eyes. Wait. Gold?
It hit her with a rush of startled wonder. “Your eyes,” she blurted. “They’re a different color from this morning.”
Not a muscle moved on his face, but she sensed the tension that gripped him.
“Are they?” he asked.
“This morning, they were black,” she said. “Now they’re golden.”
And by saying so, she was admitting to flash-memorizing every minute detail of
him this morning. But whatever.
“I wore light-screening contact lenses this morning. Like I said—”
“Yeah, the head injury. I remember. It’s just that they’re—never mind.”
“They’re what?” he prompted.
“Amazing,” she said. “That gold. How they catch the light. It looks right. It’s . . . it’s beautiful.” She was mortified for blurting that out. So inappropriate.
He looked startled. “Thank you,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Excuse me?”
“I took off my glasses. You take off yours. And that thing in your mouth and the wig. I want to see you.”
There was nothing to be gained by being coy. She fished her zippered bag out of her duffle and did what he asked. Except for the wig.
Maybe that was why he didn’t seem satisfied. “Who are you?” he asked. “What’s your name?”
“You don’t need my name,” she replied. “I’m Shamira, the dancer. Do you want your dance? Because that’s all I came here to do.”
His eyebrow went up. “Let’s have it, then.”
She was taken aback at his swift change of tone. “I’ll need a place to change.”
Noah pointed to a door. “There’s the bathroom.”
She couldn’t back out and she couldn’t escape. And most likely she couldn’t crawl out a small bathroom window and climb down a rope made of her fabulous fake hair from the twenty-fourth floor. But it would have been nice to have the option.
“I have the music file on my phone. Could I just connect it to your—”
“Of course. Cue it up and hand it over. I have a cord.”
Nowhere to hide. She handed him the phone and stood there.
“Wait,” she said. “Just hold on. This is too weird.”
Those piercing eyes transfixed her. “Why? It’s a simple economic exchange.”
She shook her head. “Really not. It’s incredibly complicated.”
He passed his hand over his face. “Oh, God. Here we go again.”
“What?” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“Simple things.” His tone was long-suffering. “They become complicated with no warning, and I never get the memo in time.”
She swallowed her nervous laughter. “Are you sure you want to drop three thousand for a four-minute dance? I’ve never studied dancing of any kind seriously, by the way. I just took classes in college because Pilates and aerobics bored me.”
“What college was that?”
“Um . . .”
“No one majors in belly dancing.”
“Oh—that’s a joke.” She snapped her fingers. “I don’t want to answer questions about myself.”
“Understood. And I appreciate your honesty,” he replied. “But to answer your question, I enjoyed your performance today. I wanted an encore.”
Well and good, but Caro continued. “For that kind of money, you could hire a professional dancer and live musicians playing authentic instruments. Maybe even get a hookah going. Puff puff.”
“No thanks.”
“OK then. Guess I’ll just have to do my best.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted. Really not complicated at all.”
She shook her head. “It’s just weird.”
“Why?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re completely safe here.”
True as far as it went but she still almost laughed at him. As if anywhere could ever feel safe again. Not after months of cowering in constant fear, terrified that she’d be chopped into chunks at any minute. She was sick of it.
And why cross-question a guy whose only crime was offering her a wad of cash for a few minutes of her time? Maybe because you’re so goddamn lonesome, you just desperately need to talk to someone. How pathetic was that?
She had the uncanny feeling that Gallagher had somehow overheard her mental monologue. He looked at her like he had. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said.
She offered the most obvious thing she could think of. “I needed the money.”
“You can go at any time.”
“I’m not about to bail,” she said. “I just don’t get your agenda, I guess.”
“I don’t have one.”
Bullshit.
“Did I make myself clear? There can be nothing else. Not tonight. Not ever.”
His stern mouth curved into a sensual smile. “Understood,” he said. “And agreed to. There will be nothing else, until the end of time.”
His swift agreement left her at a loss for words. “Well. OK, then,” she said.
“And by the way, in case you were wondering, I would’ve preferred not to involve my staff.”
“Hadn’t thought about that one way or another, actually.” Which was a fact.
“It seemed safe to assume that you’d balk at going to a private residence,” he said. “So my solution was to have three female pillars of the community, all within earshot.”
“I only met one,” she observed.
He grinned briefly. “You’re not easy.”
“That’s for sure,” she agreed.
“Look, I just want to watch you without anyone watching me do it. Or breaking my balls for enjoying the sight of a beautiful woman dancing like a goddess.”
“Oh.” The compliment made her face hot, but she still laughed at his rueful tone. “And now I’m the one breaking your balls.”
“That you are,” he agreed.
Despite his casual tone, she felt engulfed by the incredible energy that emanated from him. It buzzed and shimmered against her body. She’d never felt an emotional vibration so strong from anyone. It was all the stronger for being so fiercely controlled.
“I still don’t know why I called you,” he went on when she didn’t reply. “It was an irrational impulse. I wanted to see what would happen. Every once in a while I do that.”
The purposeful glow in his eyes made her breathless. “How often?”
He sighed. “Hell. I lied. This is the first time. Once in a lifetime, right?”
“Why me?”
“Do I have to explain? The feeling is real. You’re real. Just let me experience it.”
The word kicked open a dark room inside her, letting the light in. Something twisted deep inside her, something hot and soft and vulnerable. Her gaze skittered away, seeking something else to land on, but the big room was a masterpiece of austere, elegant minimalism with Gallagher himself as the only focal point.
Real. Oh, yes. He could have his dance. He could have anything he wanted.
“Ready to begin?” he asked.
Stay dignified. Stay classy. She wondered if he could sense the boundary he’d just destroyed in her mind. “Excuse me. Yes. But I do need to change.”
“I’ll take care of the music.”
“Third cut on the playlist,” she said.
“Got it. One more request, though. No jewelry on your face.”
She stopped in her tracks. He’d seen her face, so the jewelry was irrelevant. But she’d never danced without it.
“OK. But no photos. And no filming.”
“Agreed,” he said.
The bathroom was large and luxe, but she was too anxious to notice details. She hurried into her costume and painted her face, stabbing herself with the mascara wand until she started an inky landslide. She put on lipstick, draped the purple veils. The scratchy tickle of synthetic hair brushed her exposed back. Her bare feet flexed against the smooth hardwood flooring. She reached out to open the door and make her entrance.
And hesitated.
It felt like going through some momentous portal, all because of his unexpected reply.
Real. That was all she’d needed to hear.
She opened the door.
Chapter 7
Noah sat down in the wingback chair. His AVP was running wild. His heart raced. His face was hot. He’d affected her, too, judging from the fluctuations of rose-tinted light that swirled out from her. She radiated a sensual energy so lumino
us it was like she wore nothing at all.
The light that had opened up around her like a flower when he answered her question had spread out and out, extending far beyond the confines of the room and his sight, augmented or otherwise. He’d never seen anything like it.
One true fact shone in his mind. He was hopped up to maximum intensity, but he wasn’t in freak-out AVP mode. Not at all. No kill plans were coming up.
On the contrary. He felt great. Riding huge waves of scorching lust, yeah, but otherwise, great.
He didn’t even need to analog dive this time. Fuck glacial caves, mountains, seabirds. This thundering heat felt so much better.
He’d been half hoping the lust effect would fall flat when she walked in. If it did, then all that was left to do was to get the facts straight: Why did she contact Bea? What did she know about Luke? Had Mark sent her?
Noah hadn’t told her the whole truth—he did have an agenda. But there was more to it than that. Much more. And it was all about her.
Nothing was ever destined to be simple for him.
The thought that Mark might have been her lover disturbed him. If Noah let himself dwell on that, his combat program would take him someplace very dark, very fast.
He and Mark were both Eyes Guys. Same brain stim, same implants, same mods. Everything Mark knew about himself as a modified human, he knew about Noah. Once the Eyes Guys learned to decode energy sigs, they could literally see people’s brain activity projected outside their bodies. Like computer code, but translated into shapes and colors and patterns. Once you learned to extrapolate thoughts and feelings from the data, it got easy.
It often happened that Eyes Guys had surfed the same thoughts together. That was one good thing about AVP. Too bad the stress reaction threatened to drive them all bugfuck.
Unless it was flash-frozen into deep arctic chill. As he had done, mostly successfully, for years. Until today.
No one had a sig like Caroline Bishop. She looked like a walking, breathing passion flower to him. Mark would have liked it as much as Noah did. Mark would have wanted to fuck her. Mark would have known just how impossible it would be for Noah to resist her. He could very well have sent her to infiltrate. Even trained her.
Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1) Page 7
