Agent N6: Dylan

by Joni Hahn

  “You’re the only person in the world that thinks you’re homely, T.”

  Not everyone can have brains and beauty…

  Dylan’s words floated through her semi-foggy brain. He’d said the words, but she didn’t believe him at the time. Flirtations were his specialty. How could she take them in the literal sense? He came onto women like other people waved hello.

  Amy let out a deep breath. “I have to go, T. Believe it or not, I have a date.”

  She couldn’t have been more shocked if Amy had said she was pregnant. “A date?”

  “Remember Dr. C’s stockbroker - the good-looking blond?”

  The man was GQ gorgeous. Amy used to fantasize about him while they ate sad PB&J’s and cheese puffs in the break room.

  “Yes...”

  “He asked me out last weekend. We’re going out again tonight. Can you believe it? Me and… him?”

  It hit Teague that maybe their comfortable friendship had made it too convenient to sit at home instead of branching out and taking risks. She was so proud of her friend.

  “Amy, that’s wonderful.”

  “And the sex, T… oh, girl…”

  Swallowing down a sip of wine, she gasped. “You already slept with him?”

  “T, it’s like the man was made to pleasure me.” She laughed aloud. “Mind blowing. Just, mind blowing.”

  Teague sputtered a chuckle of disbelief. Could she do that with Dylan? Her heart told her Dylan wouldn’t only be about pleasure. If she slept with him, she would give up a part of herself, a part of that solitary comfort zone she had created.

  It would mean more to her, but would it mean anything more than another conquest to him?

  Does it matter, Teague? As soon as you correct your DNA, you’re taking his sperm and leaving. No matter how you look at it, there is no future with him.

  “I’m so happy for you, Amy.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if it’s anything serious, T. But, I told myself I couldn’t sit around, waiting for things to happen. I’m buried in a lab all day.”

  Teague holed up in a lab all day, too. Dylan wanted her, and God above, she wanted him. What did one, one-night-stand matter?

  Hanging up with Amy, Teague went to her computer and pulled up her calendar photo. Miss July.

  Taken when she was eighteen, the photographer made her look like a swimsuit cover model. He’d made her appear tempting and sexy, turning a simple bikini into barely-there snippets of fabric, her makeup dramatic and her hair messy.

  Closing her eyes, Teague pictured herself as the girl on the beach. She was young and carefree then, away from the girl’s home, away from Dr. Capri’s lab. The calendar had made her and her male classmates semi-famous, earning them thousands of dollars to make the trip to Germany. She’d garnered male attention she would’ve never received otherwise, and had even gotten her a few dates.

  Of course, they never segued into more. The men weren’t interested in an intelligent woman that could carry on a conversation. They were looking for someone that wanted to jump into bed a half hour into the date so they could go back and brag they’d bagged Miss July.

  Once she’d graduated with her PhD, she quickly learned that she had to alter her appearance once again. No one in her field took her seriously once they learned her age and saw the calendar photo. So, as quick as she’d gained some confidence in her personal appearance, she’d had to stifle it for her professional career.

  Walking into the bathroom, she peeled away her swimsuit and studied her body in the mirror. With more flaws and cellulite than she cared to stare at for too long, it wasn’t bad. She worked hard at her dance workouts, when she could do them, and tried to eat healthy.

  Other than college, this was the first time in her life she’d been away from the lab. Shouldn’t she be ecstatic and living life to the fullest? Who knew how long it would be before her symptoms worsened and she couldn’t work like she did now?

  Depression came with the MS territory, but she really had no reason to feel depressed. There were others that suffered more than she, people that had good health but struggled with other issues. The episodes caused her to stumble, but she always got back up.

  Just like Dylan.

  She smiled, recalling his arrogant words. I don’t plan to start now.

  His fearlessness and persistence inspired her. She’d always lived behind her microscope. He’d always lived in front of… life, daring it to slow him down, daring Cyrus Matheson to stop him.

  Daring her to trust him.

  Stepping into the shower, she ducked her head under the warm spray. What scared her so much? Sleeping with him, knowing it would mean nothing? Telling him about her MS? Stealing his sperm, leaving herself vulnerable to a rejection she would surely receive, anyway?

  She pounded a fist against the tile wall. Her feelings for Dylan could not interfere with her ultimate goal. Carrying a baby of her own, feeling life grow inside her, had always been a dream. She wouldn’t jeopardize that now, when it stood so close.

  I don’t know if it’s anything serious, T. But, I told myself I couldn’t sit around, waiting for things to happen. I’m buried in a lab all day.

  She’d never considered herself a coward. Yet, compared to Amy and Dylan, she could step into the role of the lion in The Wizard of Oz without need of a script.

  Time was not on her side. It’s do or die, Hamilton.

  Picturing the Miss July photo in her head, Teague took a deep breath and let it out.

  Do, it was. She would do Dylan McCall.

  ***

  Dylan nursed his fourth beer as he sat alone on the compound roof. He’d avoided the pool crowd, uncertain whether Teague had returned to the party. If she had, he didn’t want to be there. If not, he didn’t want to face Rose and St. James.

  He knew he could get on people’s nerves. His energy level hummed at elevated most of the time, which some people just couldn’t handle. When he sensed that in someone, he tried to tone it down.

  That’s what baffled him about Teague. She’d seemed to take his boldness, his impulsiveness in stride. His energy didn’t seem to intimidate her. In fact, she seemed to counteract him with her own, calm logic, leveling out the plane.

  “McCall, pick up Rose and Saint and meet me in my office.” Mitchell’s voice rang over his armband, echoing in the inky darkness.

  “Roger, that.”

  Dammit. He’d have to face them, after all.

  Extending his arms, the nanobots assembled a ladder down the side of the building. Climbing down, he ignored the partygoers staring at him as the nanobots trailed back into the channels. Meeting his teammates at the table, he nodded toward the door leading inside.

  “Teague okay?” Jaydan said, as they made their way through the fitness room.

  Dylan shrugged. “I guess so. I haven’t seen her.”

  Saint said, “Did she hurt herself earlier?”

  Stopping short, he turned around to face them. “Look, I don’t know anything about Teague, and I don’t want to know anything about her. Okay? If you want a field report, ask her.”

  He stormed to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened right away. The others followed him inside.

  “I’ve been where you’re at, man.” Saint’s voice echoed in the small chamber. “It sucks.”

  Dylan glared at the elevator buttons.

  “Yeah, Hope and I were on a damned bungee cord for a while,” Jaydan said. “Drove me crazy.”

  Shaking his head, Dylan said, “Teague and I aren’t in a relationship.”

  “You’re in a relationship,” Saint said. “Trust me.”

  Jaydan clapped him on the shoulder. “Denial gets you nowhere.”

  The elevator doors opened. His teammates followed him out.

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he said, as they made their way down the administration wing to Mitchell’s office. “I haven’t known her long enough to be in a relationship.”

 
“Doesn’t matter,” Saint said, opening Mitchell’s door. “You’re snagged, McCall. Face it.”

  “Are you talking about Teague Hamilton?” Mitchell’s voice held an irritated edge.

  Dylan stopped in the doorway, while the others sat in Mitchell’s guest chairs. Shit. He was not in the mood to discuss his lack of a love life with Teague Hamilton.

  “Shut the door, McCall,” Mitchell bellowed, before releasing a sigh.

  With a soft click, Dylan stepped over to an adjacent chair and plopped down. Mitchell’s razor-sharp glare zeroed in on him.

  “Well?” He sat back in his chair and steepled his hands in front of him.

  “Well, what?” Dylan said, feigning ignorance.

  “Teague Hamilton. Are you involved with her?”

  Jaydan and Saint smirked at him. Bastards. Where was that damned duct tape?

  “No, sir.”

  Cocking a brow, Mitchell said, “Good. Then, I don’t have to remind you that we brought her on under questionable circumstances. You had your doubts about her, yourself.”

  He knew, in his gut, that Teague could be trusted. However, it didn’t change the fact that they weren’t involved. “I remember. That doesn’t change my response.”

  Nodding, he said, “Then you won’t be concerned with Cyrus’s threat to her safety.” He turned to the other agents.

  Dylan sat up in the chair. “Wait. What threat? What are you talking about?”

  Turning back to Dylan, he said, “Van told her she’s necessary to Cyrus’s plans. He’ll come for her.”

  Anger and some other vicious, knee-clipping ache chomped at his gut like too many cheap beers. “When the hell did she talk to him? How could you allow her to talk to him? Why haven’t I heard about this until now?”

  Mitchell’s brows rose high on his forehead. “I wasn’t aware I had to clear my decisions through you, McCall.”

  Hell. The former SEAL Team commander could reduce him to pig slop with little effort.

  He said, “She talked to him while you were in recovery. Tristan went in cloaked so she wouldn’t be alone. According to Van, Matheson is looking for her and Keegan Meeks.”

  “I thought Matheson was in jail?” Saint said, as he crossed an ankle over his knee.

  Mitchell’s solemn gaze went around the room. “He’s been replaced by a clone.”

  Disbelief spurred Dylan from his chair. “What the hell? I thought he was in solitary?”

  “He was. We don’t know how long he’s been out, but the clone was discovered earlier today. One of the guards went missing, too. We assume he was also a clone and helped Cyrus escape.”

  Dylan paced the room. Cyrus escaped a maximum-security prison with ease. How in the hell did they stop him?

  “Have you checked the DNA tracker?” he said.

  Mitchell said, “Cyrus isn’t in the DNA tracker.”

  Shit. It seemed they could never get a leg up on him.

  “Convenient, isn’t it?” Saint’s tone held a sarcastic edge.

  “Has Keegan arrived yet?” Jaydan said, leaning his forearms on his knees.

  “Yes,” Mitchell said with a nod. “She arrived here a half hour ago.”

  Saint blew out a breath. “Damn, things are heating up faster than an active volcano in Hades.”

  “Speaking of…” Mitchell said as his eyes zeroed in on Riordan. “Your father called me the other day, Saint.”

  He pulled back his head. “And?”

  Mitchell’s voice held a pragmatic tone. “He wanted to use the time machine. I turned him down.”

  What the hell? Halting in his tracks, Dylan whipped around. Saint sat with his mouth open, Jaydan still in his chair.

  Luke Powers wanted to use the time machine? Dylan knew about the information Cyrus had given Hope about her mother and grandfather. Matheson just couldn’t spread enough good cheer.

  Dylan had witnessed Luke’s reaction to the news at Riordan and Natalie’s engagement party. The man had gotten justifiably upset, and three sheets to the wind. Hope still worried about him.

  Anger and disbelief laced Saint’s words. “So, he probably turned to Cyrus, assuming Matheson has the technology.”

  “I don’t know,” Mitchell said, with a shake of his head, “but, it would make sense.”

  Jaydan turned around to look at him. “Dylan, do you remember seeing anything like the time machine in Mongolia?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “No, but I didn’t have access to the entire compound. Ask Saint. We were out in the middle of nowhere. You could’ve hidden a hundred of those damned things out there and no one would’ve known it.”

  Nodding, Mitchell said, “We’ve got a heavy-artillery team on the island, and I’ve sent a recon team to Mongolia. At this point, Cyrus and a machine could be anywhere.”

  Dylan said, “Are we sure of everyone here at the compound?”

  To think they might be working with one of Cyrus’s people made him crazy. At this point, was any place safe? Short of moving Teague into isolation, how could he guarantee her safety?

  Narrowing his eyes, Mitchell spoke in a low voice. “I run a tight crew, McCall. The compound is the safest place for Teague and Keegan.”

  Blowing out a breath, Dylan shook his head. “Hell, I mean no disrespect, Mitchell. It’s just…”

  “It’s Teague,” Jaydan said, a note of understanding in his voice.

  “Your woman.” Saint gave a brief nod. “I’m with you.”

  Teague wouldn’t have him, yet these men called her his woman. The truth was, he felt that way. He felt a responsibility toward her, a bone-deep panic of losing her. How freaking out there was that?

  “Go find Teague, Dylan, and keep her close.” Mitchell nodded toward his office door. “Tomorrow, I’ll get with you on our plans.”

  How the hell did he do that, when she wanted nothing to do with him?

  Chapter 7

  Teague woke to near darkness, slow Eric Church playing low in the background. Artificial candlelight flickered on the nightstand beside her head, Dylan’s warm, musky scent washing over her shoulder.

  She looked at the clock. Two thirty.

  Sitting bolt upright in bed, she picked up the candle and held it toward the opposite side of the bed. Dylan slept on his back, his ripped, corded torso bare to the cool, conditioned air. His long, red hair tangled on the pillow, his arms above his head.

  No, no, no, no, no…

  Slumping her shoulders, Teague squeezed her eyes shut. She’d planned this grand, elaborate seduction. Clint had let her into Dylan’s apartment without asking why, though she felt certain he knew the true reason. She’d waited for him in bed, wearing the sexiest undergarments she’d brought with her.

  She’d duplicated her makeup in the calendar photo and used hot rollers on her thick hair. The chilled wine on his nightstand had to be warm by now, the roses wilted and dropping petals.

  Glancing down at her red lace bra and panties, she hung her head.

  Really, Teague? You couldn’t stay awake long enough to seduce the sexiest man on the planet?

  Maybe if she snuck out now, she could claim sleepwalking.

  Setting the candle on the nightstand, she peeled away the covers. She slipped her feet from under the blankets and sat up on the side of the bed.

  Dylan’s sleepy voice broke the dark silence. “What are you doing here, Teague?”

  Dropping back her head against her shoulders, she said, “Making a fool of myself.”

  “How?” His succinct question proved how awkward the entire situation had become. Dylan never proved short on words.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” She made a self-deprecating laugh. “God… I’m such a-“

  “Gorgeous, sexy, intelligent woman?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. His heavy-lidded, blue-green eyes glowed with doubt, the candlelight flickering over his armbands. His thin beard smoldered like burnished copper.

  “Finding you asleep in my bed turned me on a helluva lot mo
re than any of this ever would.” He held out his arm to encompass the mood she’d tried to set.

  Her heart pounded wildly, drawing her attention. It struck against her ribs with persistent command, his words bringing a life to it she’d never felt before. His vitality called to it, energizing it…

  Filling it.

  She couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “If you like where that came from, I have a snore that will really give you a hard on.”

  Her joke didn’t garner the smile she’d hoped to gain. He acted so out of character, his expression serious, his brows drawn as he stared at her in the wavering darkness.

  Sitting up, he reached for her, his large, warm hand resting against the cool flesh of her bare back. A shiver raced up her spine and shimmied into her shoulders, his fingers trailing back and forth beneath her bra strap.

  The simple touch mesmerized, her entire being focused on the gentle strength of his feather-light caress. Leaning forward, he lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her with brief brushes of his lips, each one more intense, lingering longer, drawing her under his spell.

  His hand stilled on her back, the other holding her jaw in a light grasp, his mouth opening over hers. No sense of urgency filled her, no rush, just a building anticipation and a gradual, concentrated awakening that built inside her very soul. His lips, his lazy, open-mouthed kisses drew it to the surface like a spring in the green grass, nourishing the need he created with adept care.

  He edged closer and flicked open her bra. His palm smoothed over her back in light, soothing strokes, his fingers feathering through her long hair before finding their way back to her flesh. Slanting his mouth over hers, he dipped inside, drawing her gasp. He tasted of cinnamon toothpaste and Dylan, his breaths carrying over the low music.

  God, he’d reduced her to a mindless, raging mess of desire, his slow hand snaking its way around her waist, driving her mad.

  His fingers toyed with the underside of her breast, teasing, massaging with mind-numbing tenderness. She pulled away to catch her breath, her lungs struggling to-

  He clamped his palm over her breast and crushed his mouth against hers. Her nerve endings, her very being shook with blazing need, a wince escaping her throat. For an intelligent woman, she couldn’t form a coherent thought, her body a slave to his every caress.