by Black, Regan
She indulged in a moment of wishing for back up, then settled on the floor to deal with the task. Pushing away any negative thoughts and doubts, she quieted her mind. When the random thoughts slowed to a trickle, she started poking at the area in her neck near the tracking device.
With her healing light zeroed in, she started burning away at the edges of the adhesions holding it in place. Looking at it objectively, she could admire the clever design and placement so close to the carotid artery Removing it offered a unique challenge, but she intended to win this particularly small battle.
From inside herself, she examined the device from all sides. She'd expected a different shape than this flat square webbing the size of her thumbnail and thinner than a piece of paper. As she prodded at it, debating her course, she felt the device reacting, recruiting her own body to its defense.
Not much time. She felt balanced on a razor's edge, knew it wouldn't take much for the device to push her into oblivion. On instinct, she blasted it as she would a tumor.
She hung on, stayed her course when her body, on the most basic cellular level, wanted to follow the directive of the device.
The audacity of such a traitorous and harmful biometric program offended her, and she used that indignation, that determination to regain control and win the internal battle.
She lifted herself out of the meditation and opened her eyes to Jameson's handsome face, his dark brown eyes full of worry. "I'm okay," she assured him.
"Sure. Right." He blotted at her face. "You worked up quite a sweat."
She laughed. "The tracer is gone. You can check."
"I'll leave that to Callahan."
"Well, at least you won't have to go up against enforcers anytime soon."
"They don't fight fair," he said, helping her sit up. "Just stay here a minute." He drew her back against his warm, wide chest. "Give me a minute to catch my breath."
She laughed.
"It's not easy watching you do whatever it is you do."
Why would it bother him? "Most of the time it isn't nearly so dramatic."
"I'll take your word." He nuzzled her neck. "There are stories about people like you."
She sighed, shifted, but he wouldn't let her up. "I've heard a few rumors."
He chuckled. "Most people on the outside don't think the Army is a gossip mill, but on certain topics, Soldiers don't shut up."
"Good to know."
"Make fun if you want, it's true. When miracles happen in the field word gets around."
"I understand." She was afraid she knew exactly where he was going with this and she didn't want to hear it. She'd left the Army and the gossip behind for a reason. "Callahan's waiting."
"He already left."
She twisted around looked into his dark eyes. "What do you mean he left?"
"As in gone. Not here."
"But –"
"Oh, don't worry, he went home to his wife, but he left us with orders."
"Does he expect us to follow them?"
His chest rumbled with laughter and he gave her a squeeze before urging her to her feet. "Yes. As much as I'd like to ignore the rest of the world, your father needs our help."
"So we're going in?"
"Not quite. Callahan is taking what we learned tonight directly up the line. You and I are headed for the Financial District to wait for further instruction."
"But I can't have guests at Leanore's."
He shook his head, smiling. "Callahan wants us out of sight for a bit, and we can't go anywhere you were when the trace was live."
She opened her mouth, but he shushed her with a quick kiss. "Trust me."
Regardless of recent surprises and running out of options, she realized she did trust him. Completely. She gave him an easy smile. "Lead the way."
* * *
"We've lost her."
"Impossible. Just ping the chip."
"It's gone dark."
That too should have been impossible. His second in command was a smart man, an assistant he trusted to handle things in the city. "She must be dead." A regrettable loss, if it turned out to be true. He hated her a bit more that he couldn't be sure.
"We have no confirmed reports to that effect."
It was hardly a ray of sunshine or hope. He'd wanted to bring her in alive, to give her a chance to see reason in the opportunity he'd tailored just for her.
"Stay in the city." He ended the call, took a deep breath, and imagined the satisfaction of stomping the communication panel to dust.
He could never do it. That sort of emotional outburst would draw too much attention. So he funneled his fury into the scene in his head and felt a small measure of relief.
He wished a pox on the woman and her notoriously problematic father. He wanted order, had created order, had pulled this community back from the very brink of extinction. Yet they had no appreciation, no concern for the greater good.
Luther and his daughter seemed determined to expose the order's every secret, leaving the healers unprotected against the violent and volatile opinions of the masses. He would not tolerate it, would in fact, apply his considerable power to squashing them and their outdated, provincial beliefs.
What good did anyone gain by helping people who didn't understand the healer's true sacrifice?
He brought the communication panel back online, grateful his reason and control had overruled a petty and destructive tantrum. Tapping in another contact, he waited for his call to be received.
"Montalbano."
He took in the ruddy cheeks, mussed hair and loose tie and felt a moment's panic. Was the man drinking because he'd also suffered a recent blow from the Luthers? "My sources tell me there was an altercation near your facility."
"Yeah, I heard about that." Montalbano scrubbed at his face. "My 'sources' confirm there's no problem. They ran a full security check and walked the whole place."
"So your team is still at work."
"For all the good it's doing, yeah." Montalbano glared into the monitor. "Dr. Luther isn't making such speedy progress."
"It is delicate work." He cleared his throat. "I'm sure a bullet impedes one's concentration."
"Whatever. I have a deadline."
Don't we all. He could care less about Montalbano's next big contract, as long as he kept Dr. Luther under lock and key. Really, the good doctor should be thanking him for the opportunity to apply his expertise to the challenging nature of Montalbano's project.
"I may have a way to expedite matters."
"No kidding?"
He thought of Luther's daughter, of her being neither dead nor stripped of her gift. "An assistant might be just the right tool." He suspected Luther would find his daughter's well-being far more motivating than any personal pain.
"Whatever you've got, I'll take it. There's a –"
"Deadline, yes. So you've said. I'll be in touch."
Once more he disconnected, but this time he felt better. Calmer.
He sent Mira Luther's picture to Montalbano, letting him know she was in the city and suggesting how to apply the leverage with Dr. Luther.
He inhaled deeply. Much better. Having a clear direction steadied him.
He called back his team and gave them new orders.
Chapter 5
As hiding places went, this was the most luxurious Jameson had ever seen. Callahan had left them with another cell card, uniforms for cover, and instructions that someone would be in touch.
Mira didn't seem nearly as impressed or relaxed when they entered the apartment in the Dakota tower in the Financial District.
"What's wrong?"
She was looking around. "Isn't it odd for a couple of Soldiers to be living together in a place like this?"
"Consider it the high end of temporary quarters." He shot her a grin, but she frowned. "Besides, they didn't think so downstairs. Callahan's good with background and set up. It's just a cover, Mira. Temporary. They probably rent out this suite all the time." He kept his tone neutral. "We'
ll get more details for how to proceed soon." Personally, he hoped the details got lost in transit. He'd like to take some time and get to know the woman behind that amazing talent for healing. And kissing.
Before he'd met her he considered himself an adrenaline junkie, always ready for the next assignment, the next challenge. But she made him feel alive in a way he didn't know existed. He wondered if his reactions were tied to her being a healer, or if it came from something more personal inside her reacting and sparking off something inside him.
She came back into the front room, not quite meeting his eyes. "Which bedroom do you want?"
The one with you in it. He stifled that response and tried to look at her as an assignment. Failing that, he kept his distance. "Doesn't matter to me. I promise I won't jump you."
"Thanks. Knowing I wouldn't fight you off is what scares me most."
"FYI, saying things like that isn't exactly a turn off." He unbuttoned and removed the standard issue jacket, feeling her gaze roaming his torso. Did she have any idea what that did to him?
She laughed and a blush stained her cheeks. "Maybe we should talk about, um, you know."
"How the world falls away when you kiss me?" He smiled as her blush deepened.
"I meant your injuries."
He didn't have money, wasn't Hollywood handsome, but he'd been around enough women to know when he was wanted. "Injuries? Short conversation. I'm feel fine."
"I only took care of your face and after the thing," she motioned toward her neck, "I was too tired to ask. I should've taken care of you first."
He bit back a curse. Her clinical voice scraped at his pride. "I'm not buying that. There's something here." He motioned to indicate the space between them. "Don't deny it."
"Fair enough." She caught her full lower lip between her teeth, her dark blue eyes hot and locked on him now. "I can't deny it." She turned and strolled away, only to pause when he didn't fall in behind her. "Coming?"
He sprang after her, followed her into the bathroom. He sighed when she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. Kissing her was everything soft and warm and sweet. Her body was hot and pliant as his hands cruised over her curves. She slid her hands under his shirt and he moaned, letting go of her long enough to pull it off and toss it aside. If anyone interrupted them this time he'd –
"Ow! What the hell?"
"Look." She'd raised her hands to his face, her touch as clinical as her voice had been as she turned his back toward the mirror.
He looked over his shoulder, scowled at the bruising. "Looks about right. I took a hard punch."
"Or a dozen." She aimed what he considered her intense healer gaze at his back, his sides.
The bruises were still in the early stages, but he recognized the severity. "Forget 'em. I you I feel fine."
He tried to distract her but a mere touch of her fingertip across the worst spot made his knees buckle. He caught himself on the marble counter. "Can't you leave it alone?"
"No. I don't think I should."
"It didn't hurt this bad when you were kissing me." She made a snorting sound. "Are you laughing at me?"
"Only because I'm concerned."
"You really need to work on your bedside manner."
"As soon as I'm done working on you."
"Fine." He let her help him to the bedroom and fell face down on the bed, feeling weak all over. "It didn't hurt this bad when the bastard punched me," he said. He gritted his teeth to stop his stupid whining. Hopefully she could fix a broken jaw if it came to that.
"No, the punch was just the delivery. The real, deeper injury takes time to rip through a system as strong as yours."
Jameson felt like he'd been wrapped in cotton. Hot, fuzzy cotton. He didn't understand everything she was muttering about, but he thought there was a compliment in there somewhere.
It made him smile as he floated somewhere just above the fuzzy cotton, in a cooler place. He felt her fingers at his spine, spreading like cool water down his back.
Great trick, better feeling. The woman had a way of touching that made hand to hand combat almost worth it. He drifted there, in that cool, pain free place, thinking about Mira, until he slept deep enough that he wasn't thinking about anything.
* * *
Mira watched Jameson sleep off the effects of the brutal attack. She'd spared him the worst of it, but still the guilt twisted inside her.
When she recognized the enforcers, she should've just gone along quietly. If she had, Callahan would still have eyes on her father and Jameson would never have had to suffer.
There was guilt, but as the sun came up, she discovered a hearty dose of anger ready to burn through it.
How could anyone trained as a healer deal out the kind of harm they'd heaped on Jameson?
Sure she believed in self defense, had been caught a time or two herself and used her gift to calm and disarm. But those two had been all about the offensive from the moment they'd cornered her.
Why?
Working out here in the world used to be a respected decision, a worthy goal for healers of any level of talent. Now, they kept their most gifted locked away in the safety of their closed community. She'd never heard a valid reason or inciting cause for the limitations.
"Mira?"
She smiled as Jameson woke up. "Good morning."
"Morning?" He looked around, clearly surprised to find himself tucked into bed. "What happened?"
"You needed some rest. Feeling better?"
He pushed a hand through his short dark hair, rubbed at his neck. "Yeah. Thanks. What about you?"
"I'm good."
"You didn't sleep?"
"A little."
"You look tired."
"Gee, thanks."
He sat up now, scowling at her. "Are you ever not a nurse?"
She wasn't feeling very nurse-like at the moment. It took a valiant act of will to focus on his scowl when she wanted to get lost in the gorgeous sight of his bare, chiseled torso. Last night she'd nearly tucked herself in next to him. "What do you mean?"
"Shouldn't you take care of yourself once in awhile?"
Not while others need me, she thought. It was easier to deal with what she could fix, to take personal satisfaction in using her ability to the fullest. Stung by his attitude, she turned away. "I take care of myself. Did so just last night."
"The trace device. Right. But that –"
"And I'll go take care of me right now." She forced her lips into a smile. "Can you make coffee while I'm in the shower?"
"Mira, wait."
She ignored him, wishing she knew how to do what she thought he was asking. How to be a woman rather than the healer on-call all the time.
No, her life hadn't been conducive to putting down roots, to investing in people or relationships. As she shed the uniform, she wondered why he didn't understand. The way she saw it, his profession was much the same. Moving from assignment to assignment as needed. She didn't know him much beyond his ability to kiss her senseless, but she knew their chosen careers went beyond just work for both of them.
And she needed to pull her head out of all of life's what ifs and focus on the task at hand. Her father needed help. She cleaned up and dressed again, and hoped Callahan had delivered supplies and new intel by now.
Jameson poured her a cup of coffee when she entered the kitchen.
"Thanks," she said, recognizing the peace offering. "I'll fix breakfast."
He'd been busy cleaning up too. She noticed the damp hair and his jaw shaved smooth. She tried not to stare.
"I ordered delivery."
"Okay." What were they supposed to do now? Her small talk wouldn't impress him any more than her bedside manner.
He watched her over the rim of his coffee mug, the picture of serenity.
"Just say it already," she snapped.
"Say what?"
"Anything, I just can't stand the silence."
"I'm sorry I bit your head off."
It w
asn't what she expected. At all. "Happens all the time. In my line of work we consider it a good recovery sign."
But his face went cold again and she just didn't want to fight about it. "What did you order?"
"The special from Leanore's." He finished his coffee and set the mug on the counter. "You can't go outside or leave this apartment."
She nodded. "We're too close to a place I've been."
"If they lost your signal it's likely they'd put someone on the street to track you down."
Aside from the obvious insult of escape, she couldn't quite understand why the Five were so determined to subdue her gift.
Jameson stalked to the window overlooking the street that separated Dakota's building from Leanore's. "Why Callahan chose this place is beyond me. I don't like it."
She couldn't help but wonder about allies and enemies. "The staff of Leanore's place are okay," she said to his back, trying to convince herself.
"In my experience 'okay' loyalty can change with the right price or leverage. Besides, the customers might be anyone at all."
It was true enough. The doorbell chimed the arrival of their food. He waved her back toward the bedrooms. "Get out of sight."
She tossed him a snarky salute, but she knew it was the smart thing to do.
* * *
Jameson waited until he was sure she was safe, and then opened the door to a tall guy with an odd half-smile and two large brown grocery bags.
"Hungry?"
"Yeah, thanks." Jameson reached, but the guy held out a card reader. Obediently, Jameson swiped the card Callahan had given him. He hurried, feeling the delivery guy looking over his shoulder into the apartment.
"Nice digs for a Soldier."
"It's temporary. Consult gig."
"Whatever. You can bet Leanore's beats the hell out of MREs."
"Good to know." Jameson reached for the bags.
"You add a tip? I gotta couple kids to feed."
Jameson rolled his eyes and keyed in fifteen percent. "There."
The grin went ear to ear across the delivery man's face. "Thanks. Enjoy."
"Yeah." Jameson shut the door in his face and made a mental note not to order from Leanore's again. "It's safe."
