When the smell of bacon wafted up to him, he closed his eyes in ecstasy. His stomach rumbled. Armed with a few hours of sleep and a marginally better attitude, he went downstairs to the dining room where a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon strips, and grilled tomatoes awaited him. He peeked into the kitchen. He did not see Sofia, but rustling sounds came from the pantry.
“Is this mine?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was muffled. “There’s bread in the toaster oven. Butter’s in the fridge.”
Admiring her efficiency and her inability to hold a grudge, he sat down to enjoy his breakfast. Idly, he picked up the newspaper—the relic of a passing age—on the table and unfolded it.
It took several moments for the jumble of words to untangle. He waited patiently; experience had taught him that stress aggravated his dyslexia. He saw no need to turn a casual scan of morning news into a frustrating experience.
His fork paused on the way to his mouth. He leaned forward to stare at the headlines on the front page. What the hell?
The newspaper article described the IGEC raid on Zanzi-Bar and announced three casualties—one IGEC agent and two bar patrons. Their connections to the Rue Marcha and Proficere Labs, however, went unmentioned. The focus of the article was on the bartender. The good-looking and flirtatious man whom Kyle had thought was Stefan Agnor, a college dropout, was actually Stefan Karel Varak, an alpha telepath and eco-terrorist accused of five assassinations in Europe and on the run from Interpol. The terrorist had apparently disappeared after the raid.
Kyle snorted. Lucky bastards. The IGEC had not been hunting for Stefan Varak, but his presence, which the IGEC agents had apparently detected after the fact, had saved them from the embarrassment of admitting that their raid of Zanzi-Bar had failed to intercept the transaction between Proficere Labs and the Rue Marcha.
Still, Stefan was a problem.
Kyle shoved back his chair and stalked into the kitchen. He flung open the pantry door.
Sofia stood on tiptoes, reaching for jars of pickled fruit on the top shelf.
Kyle reached over her head, grabbed two jars, and handed them to her. “Need more?”
“No, I’m set.”
“The bartender, Stefan…how well did he know you?”
She shrugged. “Better than most. He walked me home after every shift.”
“Does he know about your town house in D.C.?”
“Yeah. He listened to me grumble about not being able to sell it.”
“And your do-gooder tendencies?”
Her eyes narrowed into slits. “You know, you need to stop treating basic decency and a normal sense of ethics like infectious diseases.”
That would be a yes. He reached for his smartphone and called Zara.
She answered immediately. “I hope your morning has been less eventful than mine.” Her businesslike tone was brisk.
“What happened?”
“We’ve had two Rue Marcha runs on the clinic so far. The Mutant Affairs Council is furious that someone’s coming after Danyael, so they sent out a team of enforcers to protect him.”
“Really? Why would an alpha empath of Danyael’s caliber need other alpha mutants to protect him?”
“Technically, he shouldn’t, but he balks at killing, even in self-defense. Anyway, the Rue Marcha’s body count is piling up. But enough about me. What have you done on this fine winter day?”
Oh, besides screwing up a transfer between Proficere Labs and the Rue Marcha, and heading on the run with a sexy snip of a waitress? “I got two hours of sleep.”
“Lucky you.”
“Did you see the report on the IGEC raid?”
“Yes, and the poor sod who’s taking the fall for it.”
Kyle snorted. Zara had a soft spot for other assassins. “Stefan knows about Sofia’s Dupont Circle town house.”
“Hmm…” The crisp veneer dropped away. Zara’s voice softened to a seductive purr, a sign that death, or at least havoc, was on her mind. “I’ll have someone take care of it.”
He frowned into the phone. “Zara, Sofia considers him something of a friend.”
“He’s not going to be much of a friend if he’s captured and gives her location away.”
“But—”
“I’ll make sure it’s as fast and painless as possible.” The next sound was a click.
With a sigh, he stared at his smartphone before putting it away. He had not yet met anyone who could effectively handle Zara Itani. Not even Danyael.
Sofia frowned at him. “What is Zara going to do?”
“She said she’ll handle it.”
She marched up to him, her hands on her hips. Kyle suppressed a grin. God, she was adorable when she was furious. Her brown eyes glowered like twin stars, and her pout, which she probably intended to be fierce, only managed to be cute. “What do you mean by ‘she’ll handle it’?”
Kyle did not think it would reassure Sofia to hear that it would probably involve lots of blood and a funeral, but Zara was right. Stefan was an issue—one with the potential to become a huge problem. The sooner the threat was neutralized by whatever means Zara determined necessary, the better. “She knows what to do. She’ll do the right thing.”
Sofia cocked her head to the side. “Really? I was under the impression that Danyael’s her conscience.”
Kyle suppressed a chuckle. “I’m going to finish my breakfast. Did you have something, too?”
“Yogurt.”
“Not much of a breakfast.”
“Not much of an appetite. Will you be done soon? We’ve got a lot to do. We need to find a scanner to read and translate the information on that microchip.”
Kyle leaned a shoulder against the pantry doorframe. “Your best bet would be a scientific laboratory. Proficere’s in Durban, but it is four hours from here; I wouldn’t recommend it. There’s Pioneer Labs in Boonsboro, Maryland, but it’s supposedly a wreck, destroyed by fire when Galahad escaped.”
“What about medical schools? They have laboratories too.”
“Lots of medical schools in the area—”
Sofia’s eyes brightened. “Johns Hopkins in Baltimore has a fantastic lab and an extensive library. It’s not far, right?”
“An hour, maybe more with traffic.” He glanced at the time on his cell phone. “I’ll be ready to head out in twenty minutes. How are you planning to get into the lab?”
“Knock on the door and ask politely, as opposed to your style, which would be to break in?”
Kyle grinned. The sweet innocence she exuded made her sarcasm that much more entertaining. He reached out and tweaked her nose. “You know, I could really grow to like you. Let me see what I can do.” He reached for his phone and hit the second number on speed dial.
“Are you calling another one of your mercenary friends?”
“Shhh. Xin’s with the National Security Agency.” He had the pleasure of seeing her eyes widen.
“You mean you actually have friends on the right side of the law.”
“Sometimes you need to be on the right side of the law to effectively get things done.”
“Wait…Xin…isn’t she the person Zara was going to call to change the title on my house?”
Kyle nodded. “That’s the one.”
Sofia threw her hands up in the air. “What the—?”
“Hello?” A soft female voice answered the phone.
“Xin?” Kyle held up a hand to silence Sofia. “Hey, I need access to a genetic research laboratory, one with the technology to decode a Proficere Labs microchip. I was thinking of Johns Hopkins.”
“They should have what you need,” Xin said.
“Do you know anyone there who can help? My client has strong moral objections to B and E.”
Sofia’s brow furrowed. “B and E?” she asked in a whisper.
“Breaking and entering,” Kyle explained.
Xin laughed. Obviously, she had overheard Sofia. “Sounds like you have your hands full. Let me see what I can do.” She was
briefly silent. “Well, I can tap into my contacts, but they tend to be suspicious, and I know you’d rather fly under the radar. Your best bet is to connect with a researcher, preferably an absent-minded one. Did you ask Danyael?”
“Danyael?”
“He got his M.D. from Hopkins. He’s probably still got friends there.”
Kyle gritted his teeth. “I’d rather not.”
“Really, Kyle.” Xin sounded exasperated. “What’s your problem? Do you dislike Danyael because he’s a doctor or because he’s a mutant?”
He fought to control his temper. “Now isn’t the right time for this discussion.”
“Fine. I’ll call Danyael. I’ll be back in touch as soon as I can.”
Kyle disconnected the call and glanced down to find Sofia staring at him with a worried expression.
“Can she help us?” she asked. “And is Danyael okay?”
“Huh? Yeah, Danyael’s fine. Go get ready. Xin can reach us on the road.”
Sofia cast him a searching look but did not probe further. She walked out of the kitchen, and he heard her footsteps fade as she climbed the steps.
Grateful for the solitude, he returned to his unfinished breakfast but found that he had lost his appetite. Xin’s casual jab had cut deeper than he expected.
He had reasons, but unfortunately, they seemed trite after his encounter with Danyael Sabre. Kyle grunted with frustration and dragged his hand through his hair. What was it about the alpha empath that made his firmly anchored worldview tremble?
Upstairs, Sofia showered quickly—Kyle had apparently used up most of the hot water—and changed, tugging a sweater over her T-shirt before picking up her coat. She threw a final glance at herself in the mirror. The makeup she wore was a habit, or at least that was what she liked to tell herself. The fact was, she felt an odd need to make herself look attractive to Kyle.
I’m not attracted to him, am I?
He was a mercenary who was different from terrorists only insofar that he was driven by money and profits instead of some fanatical religion or philosophy.
Or was he?
He had supported her decision to hold on to the microchip even though the money dictated that she return it to Proficere Labs immediately.
She walked out of her bedroom. As she crossed the landing, her gaze fell upon the door of the master bedroom. Her breath shuddered, and she closed her eyes against the prick of tears. The deep, hollow ache in her chest stunned her.
How long would it take her to get over the pain?
She found her hand on the door handle without even recollecting the few steps she had taken to close the distance to the door.
There is nothing to see in there.
She pressed down on the door handle and pushed the door open.
Light shone in through the white lace curtains, illuminating tiny dust motes floating through the air. The room, twice the size of her own, had a king-sized bed. The dark mahogany dresser, armoire, and dressing table matched its headboard. She still remembered the hours—actually, it had been weeks—her mother had spent agonizing over whether to buy the bedroom set. Her mother had always been watchful about money. In a one-income household, she had to be.
Small. She could think of no other word to describe her family. Small, but perfect.
Her mother had always been around for her, walking her to and from school each day and tutoring her through her schoolwork. In lieu of siblings, Sofia had her mother for a friend. Her father had been her protector, her white knight. When she lost them both, she did not just lose her parents. She lost her entire family and her best friends.
“Sofia?”
Damn it. She had not heard Kyle’s footstep on the stairs.
Sofia swiped her hand across her eyes and spun around as Kyle walked into the master bedroom.
His gaze swept across the room before narrowing its focus to her face. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Her voice trembled.
He frowned and glared around the room as if trying to find whatever it was that had offended her.
She placed her hand against his arm. “Let’s go.”
“Yeah, I was waiting for you. What took so long? What’s in here?”
“Nothing, just a bedroom.”
“So what about it got you upset?”
She shook her head. “Let’s go.”
“Nope.” He sat on the bed. The quilt-covered mattress sank beneath him, sending up a small cloud of dust. “Not going anywhere until you tell me why this room has you all freaked out.”
“I’m not.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Sofia.” His exaggerated patience almost buried the underlying note of concern. “I’ve seen you look at the closed door of this room like there’s a ghost in it.”
She twitched. His words hit too close to home. Her shoulders sagged as she stared at the framed picture of a flower-covered meadow on the bedside table.
For twenty-four years of her life, the picture frame had contained a photograph of her parents on their wedding day, smiling at each other with as much love on that day as they had on the evening before they died.
There had been no smiles in the early hours of the hot and muggy summer day they died.
She turned her back on Kyle, but he caught her hand before she could make her escape. With a sharp tug, he pulled her to sit on the bed beside him.
“Okay, what’s up?” His voice was gruff, but his arm around her waist was gentle.
How could she speak through the huge and painful pressure in her chest? He did not look at her face, and for that, she was grateful. He kept his attention on the fingers that he entwined with hers.
“You know, back in the day, when I was with the Rangers, I developed something of a reputation for reading minds.”
She pulled back. “You’re a telepath?”
He shook his head. “Nope, just good at putting facts together. Let’s see. You say this house has been on the market for five months; that means it went up for sale in August of last year. Prime location, but no one has bought it. What happened in D.C. prior to August of last year?”
She tensed and tried to tug her hand out of his grasp.
He did not let her go. His large hand encompassed hers, warm and strong.
His face tightened, the muscles around his cheeks pulling his mouth into a thin, flat line. “Sakti. Sakti attacked the city on Independence Day.” He turned and searched her face.
She nodded. It was all she could manage.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. We could move to a hotel. We don’t have to be here.”
“This was…is…home.” She glanced around her parents’ bedroom. As a child, she had spent many nights curled between her parents with a large pile of books spread across the bed. Her parents—her mother voice’s sweet and lilting, her father’s deeper and sonorous—would take turns reading to her.
Sofia blinked.
Her memories of their soft voices spiked into desperate pleas for mercy and screams of pain. Her quiet sobs of desperation had punctuated her parents’ final gasps as they were executed by mutants intent on spreading havoc through the city.
The newscasters had called it “generalized terror.” To her, the terror was brutally specific. She could still feel the chafe of the handcuffs around her wrists—handcuffs she had not been able to undo. She had watched helplessly as the bullets raced through the air.
Stop it! Stop it!
Her mind fumbled. The bullet slipped past her mental fingers.
What was the point of being a telekinetic if she could not do something as simple as free herself? If she could not stop a bullet aimed at her mother’s head? At her father’s heart?
Her chest hitched, catching around a sob. What was the goddamned point of her mutant powers if she could not save the ones she loved?
Kyle’s arm around her waist tightened, an anchor through the storm of her memories. He did not rush her; he did not say anything. He waited until she broke the silence.
&
nbsp; When she did, the words came from a mind resolute on moving beyond the past. “I’m fine,” Sofia said. “Let’s go.”
Eyes narrowed with annoyance, Kyle followed Sofia downstairs to the kitchen.
He should have known better. Women clients were trouble. Women who thought he would stay around to solve their personal problems long after he solved their professional ones were the worst kind of trouble.
Sofia, though, was different, or at least he liked to think so.
She was not a hardened mercenary, like Zara and the other women in Three Fates, but she had witnessed her share of violence.
Hell, she was an active participant in the ongoing chaos surrounding the stolen microchip, and she was not trying to extricate herself from the madness, at least not without attempting to do some good along the way.
Experience told him that do-gooders were even more trouble than women with unrealistic expectations of him, but her determined desire to solve the microchip mystery was compelling, in a pugnacious sort of way. Seeing how it was his drop that went bad, he owed it to her to keep her safe.
He tried not to factor in his growing desire to charm her into smiles and laughter just for the pleasure of seeing her brown eyes sparkle with good humor.
Kyle drew aside the curtains in the kitchen and scanned the parking lot. Clear. “Wait here until I wave you over.”
She folded her hands across her chest. “You’re paranoid, you know that?”
Ah, she was regaining her sarcastic vim, though he supposed it was not sarcasm when it was true.
He unlocked the back door and stepped out. A thin dusting of the prior night’s snowfall remained undisturbed on the threshold. Too bad the snow around the car had melted from the heat of the asphalt. He would have liked a few more cues to confirm the car had not been tampered with.
The alleyway that provided access to the town house parking lot was quiet; the only movement came from the flutter of startled birds from an evergreen bush as he passed. No one was concealed within its pine branches. He walked around the car, checking for the subtle clues he had left behind—a nearly invisible strand of black hair positioned across the car doors, the trunk, and the hood.
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