Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection

by Kerry Adrienne

  Before she could get another word out, his mouth was on hers. His kiss was heated, and she returned it with equal fervor. With impatient fingers, she tugged his shirt out of his denim jeans and fumbled her way through the buttons before pushing the thick cotton material off his shoulders. His muscular torso was lightly covered with dark hair and deeply tanned, except for the white pucker of scars, including a six-inch scar on the left side of his chest.

  She traced the wound. If it were as deep as it was long, it would have punctured his lung. How had he survived?

  Sofia ran her hand along his arms. The large circular pockmarks on his arm, she was certain, did not come from picking at childhood scabs. “Are these what I think they are?”

  “Huh?” Kyle looked down. “This came from a twenty-two, and that one was a nine millimeter. And, by the way, you’re really killing the mood.”

  She laughed at his grumpy tone. “It’s just that you’re nothing like any other man I’ve ever been with.”

  Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “Good. Keep thinking that.”

  For a moment, she did wonder how he undressed her so quickly, but the thought vanished when he lowered his mouth to her breast. Her head fell back against the pillow, and her vision blurred with pleasure. A tremulous sigh whispered from her lips.

  He was relentless in his exploration of her body. Awash in sensation, she scrambled for fleeting touches of his body, but more often than not, she was left gripping the sheets as another wave of pleasure built, one upon another, before crashing down on her.

  Her entire body shuddered. His lips claimed hers, swallowing her gasp of sexual release.

  His weight against her body shifted. The arousal that pressed against her thigh assured her he was not done. Sofia ran her hand against his sweat-slicked back before reaching down to cup his buttocks.

  His gaze flashed to hers. Dark eyes, glazed with desire and need, met her own.

  She parted her legs in invitation.

  He eased out of his jeans, positioned himself over her, and slid slowly into the slick warmth of her body. Sofia’s eyelashes fluttered with the burst of sensations as she arched and wriggled to accommodate him.

  “Don’t.” He gritted his teeth. His arm muscles were taut with the burden of supporting his weight. “Not yet.”

  She laughed, a low, throaty sound. To think she had that kind of power over him. It was enough to make her toes curl.

  When Sofia and Kyle began moving, it was in harmony, two bodies united in a race toward mutual ecstasy. She grasped his shoulders, glistening with sweat, and arched her back in time to his driving rhythm. The pleasure climbed until she did not think she could take anymore, and then peaked in a wail of release. Her body clenched around him.

  Kyle groaned, a guttural sound that rang with triumph. He shuddered, muscles trembling, as he found his release.

  He collapsed next to her and immediately drew her close into a cuddle that eased the moment from passion into intimacy.

  The silence that followed was comfortable, even easy. Sofia smiled into the arm that cradled her neck. The cuddle was almost better than sex. She sighed, a contented sound. “That was good. It’s been awhile.”

  “Oh?” Kyle pushed up on one elbow. “You did seem a bit out of shape.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

  He nodded sagely. “Practice. You need more of it. Good thing I’m willing to help out.” With a finger, he traced the curve of her breast.

  Her lips quirked up in the hint of a smile. “You’re going to be my coach?”

  “Think of me as a training partner. I’ve heard that varying the workout locations will keep the practice from becoming too routine.”

  “Routine is the least of our problems right now.”

  “Never hurts to plan ahead. So, how about we get our next round of practice in the shower?”

  She glanced, askance, at the bathroom. “It’s barely big enough for just you.”

  “Got to get real close, then. Think about it. You’ll get your morning acrobatics workout while showering. How’s that for efficient?”

  Sofia rolled out of the bed. Hands on her hips, she glowered at him. “If someone ends up with a sprained back, you’re paying for the masseur.”

  He laughed. “I’m great at massages, too. Have I ever mentioned that?”

  “I’ll be sure to hold you to it.”

  Their shared shower was a wet, slippery, and crowded affair. The shower stall was unforgivingly small, but it was just as well that she was light and Kyle was strong. It worked out—almost—even if he did accidentally bump her head into the shower rod.

  The shower’s hot water turned lukewarm and then cold before Sofia and Kyle both emerged, flushed, smiling, and not in the least bit chilled. He grabbed a towel off the rack and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Good workout,” he said.

  Sofia tried to conceal a smile. “Not too bad.” She tossed him another towel. “I’ll get breakfast started. How do you like your eggs?”

  “Scrambled.”

  She returned to her bedroom and stared at the clothes carelessly tossed on the floor. Fortunately, she had a change of clothes in her backpack, but she would have to do laundry or go shopping if she wanted clean underwear tomorrow. She gathered up her dirty clothes and Kyle’s before heading down to the laundry room to run a load.

  The eggs were done and the bacon was sizzling in the frying pan when she heard Kyle’s footstep on the stairs. She looked up. He was staring down at his smartphone, a hint of a scowl on his lips. Alarm pierced her, shattering the warm and cozy feelings that had infused her morning. “Something wrong?”

  “No messages from Zara. Either nothing’s wrong or everything is.”

  “There’s plenty wrong, as it is.” She set two plates heaped with bacon, scrambled eggs, and hash browns on the dining table, but she had lost her appetite. She stared with envy at Kyle as he attacked his breakfast with undiminished appetite.

  He glanced up at her. “Technically, this meal is yesterday’s lunch.”

  That was right. She had thwarted his plans for a late dinner when she asked him to stay with her last night. She slid her plate across the table to him. “Here, have mine.”

  He did not need much convincing.

  She held her tongue. He did not need to be bothered while he was eating. Meanwhile, the seed of worry buried deep in her sprouted.

  He looked up at her. In between mouthfuls of scrambled egg, he asked, “What’s bothering you?”

  “I have to go to Proficere Labs.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You’re not serious. That’s the last place I’d take you.”

  Perhaps she should have couched her request more subtly and worked her way up, but the worry, firmly lodged in the pit of her stomach, had forced her to blurt out the thought that had nagged at her since her conversation with Danyael. “Look, that’s the only place that has the kind of information we need for evidence.”

  He frowned. “Evidence for what?”

  “Danyael says we need to figure out what’s different about the gene sequence, not what’s similar. Proficere Labs is almost certain to have that information.”

  He shook his head. “It’s never a good idea to take a stolen object back to the owner’s house unless you intend to return it. It’s an especially bad idea to break into the owner’s house after the original theft to find appraisal or insurance documents to tell you what something is worth.”

  She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a jewelry heist. The information is at Proficere Labs. In fact, that’s probably the only place in the world where we can find what we’re looking for.”

  “Not necessarily.” Kyle’s eyes gleamed. “Neither you or I are particularly good at hacking a computer, so just gaining access to Proficere Labs won’t do any good unless we can crack the network security as well. Who else do you think would know what the genetic sequences are intended to do?”

  “The professor who shot me up with the microchip, of co
urse, but he’s dead.”

  “His partner’s not.”

  “But wasn’t the other professor arrested by the IGEC?”

  Kyle nodded. “How about we go talk to him instead?”

  Sofia’s eyebrows drew together. “Wait, you won’t help me get into Proficere Labs, but you’ll break into the IGEC building instead? Are you crazy?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who suggested breaking into a maximum-security research lab.”

  “Which sounds easier than breaking into a maximum-security international governance agency.”

  Kyle shrugged. “Not a whole lot of difference in practice, except that the lab expects a break-in and is designed to counteract it, but not so with the governance agency. People are trying to break out, not break in.”

  “Are you trying to make it sound easier than it is?”

  “Nothing easy about it,” he confessed. “But it’s a damn sight better than breaking into Proficere. It’ll just take some careful thought, and a hell of a lot of luck.”

  Chapter 11

  Kyle knew he had understated the risks slightly—all right, a lot—but he excelled at keeping the clients calm while making his work look easy. A call in to Xin provided Kyle and Sofia with government-issued fake IDs. The rest was up to them.

  A one-hour shopping trip later and dressed in well-tailored business suits, Kyle and Sofia marched up to the security desk at the International Genetics and Ethics Council building on Constitution Avenue. Sofia’s appearance was greatly altered. Her hair had been pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, and she wore a pair of thin-framed glasses. Her makeup was light, the clean look typically wielded by professional women. Everything considered, she looked like an attorney, albeit one with a stick up her ass.

  On his part, Kyle had shaved.

  An imposing security desk dominated the foyer of the IGEC building. Less intimidating were the two guards behind it, who were idly leafing through magazines. Glass doors on either side of the desk blocked off the elevator lobby from the foyer.

  Kyle rested his arm on the desk. “I’m Jack Trader, and this is Noreen Calis. We’re attorneys from the law firm of Trader and Markum, representing Proficere Labs. We’re here to see Dr. Bert Reynard.”

  “IDs please.” The security guard’s tone was perfunctory as he held out his hand for their government IDs. He slid Kyle and Sofia’s fake driver licenses through a device to verify their authenticity with the Washington, D.C., Department of Motor Vehicles and checked his monitor. “You have an appointment with Dr. Reynard in fifteen minutes. You’re a little early, but you can go on up.” He pushed their driver licenses and two badges across the desk to them. “Please keep these on you at all times. Elevator four will take you to the eleventh floor.”

  The glass door buzzed as the security guard released the lock. He stood, opened the door, and escorted Kyle and Sofia to the waiting elevator. It had no buttons, but the message on the touchscreen panel installed beside the door confirmed that it was headed to the eleventh floor—no side trips permitted.

  The security guard stepped away. The elevator slid into motion.

  Kyle glanced at Sofia. Her face was pale but her composure was steady, even expressionless. She had taken heed of his warning—no questions or displays of unease at any time. The entire building was monitored, and they had to play their roles without flaw. The only time they would not be observed was when they were in the interview room with Bert Reynard. Attorney-client privileges extended even to Americans held by the IGEC.

  Another security desk greeted them upon exit from the elevator. The guards manning the desk were much more alert than the ones in the lobby. They scrutinized Kyle and Sofia’s faces, double-checked and triple-checked their IDs and security clearances. Kyle drummed his fingers on the security desk. The studied and typical impatience of a lawyer only drew an irritated look from the guard.

  Sofia’s clear voice cut through the tension. “Do you need to do a body cavity search too?” The mild question, offered politely, came across more as a joke than sarcasm.

  A grin flashed across the guard’s face. “No, ma’am.” He handed their driver licenses back to them. “Sorry for the delay. Just doing my job.”

  Kyle wished he could touch Sofia, give her hand a light squeeze to show how proud he was of her presence-of-mind and seemingly intuitive ability to defuse a tense situation.

  The guard escorted them down a corridor lined by doors, each marked with a number, and stopped in front of room seven. “You can use this interview room. I’ll bring Dr. Reynard over in a few minutes.”

  Kyle watched Sofia navigate gracefully around the table to claim one of the four chairs at the far end of the room, just as he had instructed her. He sat in the chair closest to the door, setting himself between Sofia and anyone who might enter the room.

  The next person who entered the room, though, was hardly imposing or threatening. Dr. Bert Reynard, his wrists and ankles cuffed, was shoved into the room. His thin gray hair was in disarray and his gaunt face unshaven. He looked exhausted, but his eyes flashed wide with recognition.

  The door closed on them before Bert could blurt out anything to blow their cover.

  Bert’s nervous gaze darted around the room. “Are we being observed?”

  Kyle shook his head. “Attorney-client privilege.”

  “Are you here to get me out?”

  “Not unless you want to live the rest of your life on the run. You’re better off playing by the rules of the system.” Kyle pushed out an empty chair. “Sit.”

  Bert looked across the room at Sofia. “Who is she?”

  Apparently, Bert did not recognize Sofia as the waitress at Zanzi-Bar. Good. The longer Sofia stayed anonymous, the better. Kyle shrugged. “She’s one of my associates, here to help my cover. What happened after the IGEC took you into custody?”

  “Where is the cooler?”

  “Safe.”

  “And the contents? The test tubes? The microchip?”

  “Both safe.”

  “Thank God.” Bert sagged into his chair. “You can’t let the IGEC get its hands on them, or they’ll shut down Proficere.”

  Sofia leaned forward. “What’s on the microchip?”

  Bert frowned, his eyebrows drawing together.

  “Answer the question,” Kyle ordered. “Your protected status as a Three Fates client isn’t all that stable right now. Zara Itani is furious about the lack of disclosure that led to the fiasco at the nightclub. If she cuts you off as a client, the cooler goes straight to the IGEC.”

  “You can’t! The repercussions—not just for Proficere—but for the wider research community… The IGEC will use it as ammunition to trample over intellectual freedom. They’ve already set so many limits on what can or can’t be researched. God, they’ll drive us back into the seventeenth century, if they could.”

  Sofia spoke up. “Why was Proficere researching differences in cardiac function?”

  Bert smiled thinly. “What do you know about cardiac function? I’m not going to explain my work to a common mercenary.”

  “Alvin Smith was the real brains behind the research, wasn’t he?” Sofia asked. “He was nominated for a Nobel Prize, but your name wasn’t nominated alongside his.”

  Bert’s face reddened. He shot to his feet and slammed both fists down on the table. “I did the work! Alvin was the big name, but I did all the research. The innovation, all the cutting-edge ideas were mine, but all I got was my name on the research paper, just ahead of the graduate student who washed the test tubes. Alvin stole all the fame, the glory that should have been mine!”

  “What glory was that, Dr. Reynard?” Sofia continued in that quiet voice.

  “I identified racial variances in cardiac function. You’d be surprised how much some people are willing to pay for that information and for samples of chemical agents that specifically target those variances.”

  “You created chemical agents that can distinguish its victims by race?”

&nbs
p; “By their genes,” Bert corrected. “And genes are more or less prevalent in certain racial groups, so for all intents and purposes, yes, I’ve created racially targeted chemical agents.”

  Kyle’s hands curled into fists. “What exactly did you try to sell to the Rue Marcha? What was on the microchip?”

  Bert raised his chin. “The genetic analysis on the cardiac function of South Americans.”

  “And what’s in the test tube?” Kyle asked.

  “Cardorin, a chemical agent I designed to exploit those racial variances.”

  “What does Cardorin do?”

  “It disrupts cardiac function, causes arrhythmia, and eventually cardiac arrest.”

  Kyle’s brow furrowed. “All that, just from drinking the stuff in the test tube?”

  The scientist shook his head. “Cardorin is stable and more or less harmless as a liquid sealed in a vacuum test tube, but when exposed to air, it becomes a gas—colorless, odorless.”

  “The perfect chemical weapon,” Sofia murmured. She looked at Kyle, her brown eyes brimming with fear. She did not move, but Kyle was certain that only strength of will held her together. “What would the Rue Marcha do with that information?” she asked.

  “The same thing they’ve always done,” Kyle snapped out a reply. “Control people and governments through the threat of terror.”

  Sofia shook her head. “But it’s their people. They’re the same race. The same chemical agents will affect them too, and since it disperses through the air, there’s no way to contain it.”

  Bert snorted. He leaned back and folded his hands across his chest. His smile was smug. “The antidote is more than just an antidote. It is also preventative—”

  “There’s an antidote?” Kyle asked.

  “Of course. What idiot creates a chemical weapon without an antidote?”

  “What kind of idiot creates a chemical weapon in the first place?” Kyle demanded. “You know the Chemical Weapons Convention banned production, stockpiling, and use of chemical weapons.”

  “And yet large stockpiles exist in spite of the Chemical Weapons Convention,” Bert pointed out. “We’re surrounded by hypocrites. Like the IGEC, government organizations and international regulatory groups strive to limit what you can do because it allows them to do what they will with greater impunity.”