He touched her shoulder and she gasped. She’d been so transfixed by the tranquil beauty she hadn’t heard him come up behind her.
“I started a pot of coffee. Do you want an omelet, toast, a sandwich?”
“I want to go outside.”
He chuckled. “Are you always this hard to feed?”
“Hardly,” she grumbled. “As you can plainly see, I have a very healthy appetite.”
“Fishing for compliments?” He flashed his sexy smile. “You stood in the sunlight this morning and that filmy little dress showed us all exactly how well-proportioned your appetite has made you.”
She took a quick step away from the windows. He’d say anything, do anything, if he thought it would win points with her. He was using her. She couldn’t let herself forget it.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Tuesday. Are you going to try to convince me no one has ever told you before?”
Embarrassed and uncomfortable with the topic, she ignored his question and turned back to the majestic view.
“Tell you what,” he began. “If you suffer through my cooking, I’ll take you outside when we’re done eating.”
She considered the proposal for only a moment. “Fine. Is this pot of coffee free from whatever you put in the last?”
Resting his hand lightly at the small of her back, Marc led her across the lodge. “I’ll drink from the same mug if you like. I’ve no reason to sedate you now.”
The gauzy material of her dress teased his fingers. He’d experienced the smooth heat of her bare skin and his fingers ached to continue the exploration. He wanted to slide his palm across her torso and higher, to cup the fullness of her breast and feel her nipple gather under the flick of his thumb.
He bit back a groan. If he kept this up, he wouldn’t be able to walk, much less cook.
After pouring her a mug of steaming coffee, he slid it across the counter toward her. She sat again at the breakfast bar, following him with her gaze as he moved about the kitchen.
“Is your daughter’s mother in the picture?”
Emma’s face materialized in his mind and his fist closed around the egg. It cracked, oozing slimy streamers between his fingers. “No.” He tossed the mess into the sink and quickly rinsed his hand. “Reliving the past isn’t going to change the future. Your only concern is Elise.”
Silence stretched between them as he worked on their meal. He could hear her shifting on the stool and taking an occasional sip from her mug, but she didn’t say anything more. Smart woman. Knew when to back off.
“What was your role in the Methuselah Project?”
Unbelievable.
“I’m not stupid Mr.…” He heard her frustrated sigh. “What’s your middle name? Surely you can give me something.”
“Marc. Just call me Marc.” Marc was his middle name. Edward Marcus Sinclair, just like his father. But his father had been Edward or Ed, so even as a boy, Marc had been called by his middle name.
“All right, Marc. The only reason your daughter would be precluded from the SP-64 Program is if you had direct involvement in the Methuselah Project.”
He flipped the omelet and lightly tapped the spatula against the edge of the frying pan. “That doesn’t change anything. You’re still going to make this happen.”
“There you go again.” She hopped down from the stool and joined him in the kitchen. “You challenge my stubborn streak when you tell me what I will and will not do.”
Sliding the massive omelet onto a plate, he divided it and handed her half on a second plate. “Fair enough. You tell me what I’m going to do. What can I get for you, do for you, what do you want from me?”
“Another cup of coffee,” she said with the hint of a smile.
“Have a seat.” He motioned toward the table now bathed in sunlight. “I’ll bring the pot.”
They ate in silence. Marc watched her pick at her omelet. Tension gradually left her expression, fear mellowed to unease. His shoulders relaxed and he exhaled slowly. Exploiting her fear might give him an edge, make her easier to control. He wasn’t disregarding the possibility, but he’d much rather negotiate.
Besides, if she felt desperate, she might do something reckless. And his conscience couldn’t bear another…mishap.
“Who did your face?” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She pushed her nearly empty plate aside. “It’s fabulous. Distinctive yet subtle.”
“Not subtle enough, if you immediately presume it’s enhanced.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, but what made you think so?”
She tucked a strand of her wild strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear and tilted her face, studying him. “It’s too perfect. They should have left some minor flaw.”
“The voice of experience? Are you enhanced?” Her musical laughter matched her elfin face. Marc couldn’t hold back a smile.
“My chin is pointed, my eyes slant, and my bottom lip is significantly fuller than the top. I’d have demanded my money back. Even a second-rate hack could do better than this.”
He enjoyed each charming characteristic of her distinctive features. “I’m not sure nature would appreciate being ranked lower than a second-rate hack. I think your face is fascinating.”
“Fascinating? Are faces supposed to be fascinating?”
When the masses had suddenly stopped aging, plastic surgeons had turned to vanity enhancements to augment their declining trade. “In a world of cookie-cutter features and standardized—”
“If that’s how you feel about cosmetic enhancement, why did you have it done?”
She was stubborn and curious, a lethal combination. How much could he tell her without her guessing the truth? She’d already jumped to all the right conclusions. It was only a matter of time before she figured out he wasn’t just involved with the Methuselah Project, he was responsible for it. Better distract her with a little misdirection.
“How old are you, Ms. Fitzpatrick?”
“Why?”
“Thirty? Thirty-five? Early cases of the syndrome had been diagnosed by the time you were old enough to take Methuselah. That didn’t stop millions of devoted fans, but I’m betting you never touched it, not even once. You’re pure as the driven snow, aren’t you?” He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “No wonder Job is after you. What an alliance you two would make. The self-proclaimed savior of the world has found his Virgin Mary.”
“That’s not funny.” Her eyes flashed with emerald fire. “What do you know about Job? What makes you think he’s after me?”
He smiled, standing to gather their dishes. “You accused me of being him when you first woke up.”
“I guess I did, didn’t I? But you’re not from PURE. You’re from the opposite end of the spectrum. You’re connected with Methuselah. So, what was your role in the project?”
“Why is it important that you know?” He carried their plates into the kitchen.
“It’s not. I just wondered if your facial enhancement had less to do with vanity and more to do with— Is someone after you?”
Damn, she was perceptive. “Do you still want to go outside?” He evaded her question.
“I want to go home.”
“You can’t go home. Your boss wants you to lay low for a few days. It might as well be here.”
* * * * *
Job faced the wall of video screens, silently watching his followers carry out their duties. Their trust empowered him, exhilarated him. They moved from one task to the next without hesitation, confident in their leader, resolute in the cause.
“Where is she?” Job asked without turning around. He knew the answer, knew his lieutenant had failed, but he was interested to see how Elihu would deal with his failure.
“She disappeared.”
He heard defiance in Elihu’s tone. No subjugation, no lamentation, just belligerence. “No one just disappears.” Job turned from the video screens. “You were supposed to bring her to me. Why is she not here?”
Elihu bowed his head
, but his squared shoulders revealed his stubbornness. Job glared at the top of his dark head. This was the second time Elihu had failed. Unacceptable. “When did you lose track of her? Did she leave the mediplex?”
“I’m not sure, sir. I thought she boarded the Sinclair-Dietrich shuttle, but the shuttle didn’t return to SD Towers.”
Job narrowed his eyes. He enjoyed devising creative ways of punishing his followers. Discipline must be maintained and his underlings responded more quickly when they were unsure of the penalties awaiting them.
“How is Rahab’s training progressing?” The unexpected subject change brought Elihu’s head up. Job smiled. His body hardened in anticipation of what he’d decided to do. “She’s been with you for what, three weeks now? She’s spirited and energetic. Perhaps she’s distracting you.”
Elihu’s expression clouded, his thick brows gathered above blazing dark eyes. “I accept full responsibility for my failings. Rahab has nothing to do with this.”
With a pleased chuckle, Job walked to his wall monitor and adjusted the images until he found Rahab busily working at her data station. “Rahab, come to my office immediately.”
Elihu placed his hand on Job’s arm. “Please, sir, don’t involve Rahab in my punishment. I will—”
“Silence. You swore an oath to me, Elihu. Is it now your intention to negate that oath?”
Reluctantly, the other man shook his head, his eyes still rebellious.
“Good. You’re valuable to me, but everyone is expendable. Do you understand?”
Elihu nodded stiffly, once.
The office door slid open a few minutes later and Rahab moved inward only far enough to allow the door to close behind her. “You asked to see me, sir.”
Job beckoned her to him. He could sense Elihu’s tension mount with each step she took, and it thrilled him. Power was intoxicating, addicting, and Job absorbed it through every pore.
He watched the girl cross his office, cautiously yet unafraid. She was a pretty little thing. With silky brown hair and large dark eyes.
“I expect you to participate in Elihu’s punishment,” Job informed her in a calm, casual tone. “If you speak, his punishment will be increased. If you hesitate, his punishment will be increased. If you fail to participate in Elihu’s punishment, I will be forced to punish you.” His gaze captured hers. “Believe me, Rahab, you don’t want that.”
“Sir, I’m begging you—”
“Silence!” Job turned on Elihu, furious that his lieutenant had dared to speak. “You just added to the severity of your punishment. Do not speak unless spoken to and then only to answer my questions.”
He nodded, his tormented gaze darting toward the woman.
Job circled Rahab, boldly assessing her body. Elihu instinctively lunged, but snatched his hand back just in time. A strangled sound escaped his throat and fury contorted his features. Each outward sign of Elihu’s discomfort filled Job with satisfaction.
Rahab met his gaze directly, her dark eyes warm and welcoming. This was not about Elihu’s punishment for her. Was she hoping to use this opportunity to her advantage?
“Tell me exactly what happened at the mediplex, Elihu. Every detail—nothing is insignificant.”
“I watched Ms. Fitzpatrick arrive. She was late, as she often is.” His voice cracked, his hands fisted tightly at his sides.
“Continue.” He paused behind Rahab, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair.
“I was certain it was Ms. Fitzpatrick who got on the shuttle, but the shuttle didn’t return to the tower. I told you all of this, sir. I know nothing more.”
Stepping to Rahab’s side, he freed the first two buttons at the front of her dress. Elihu averted his face. Job grabbed the back of his neck. “Watch. Watch as I touch your lover, know that I will do this and so much more.”
“I can’t bear it! Please, beat me instead. Let her go.”
Job drew back his hand and slapped Elihu across the face, knocking him against the wall. “I warned you to remain silent!”
“Master, may I speak?” Rahab lowered her head, but not before Job saw a flash of calculation in her dark eyes.
He wanted to laugh at her subservient tone. She might fool Elihu with her superficial posturing, but she was far from broken. “Speak.”
Careful to keep her eyes downcast, she angled her body toward the light, outlining her shape in a perfect silhouette. “Give Elihu the opportunity to right this wrong and I will be your body slave until he succeeds.”
“Rahab!” Elihu cried. “I would never ask this of you.”
Excitement wrestled with Job’s need for violence. Rahab’s submissiveness was too sweet to resist. “I accept your offer. Until Elihu brings me my queen, you shall be my slave.”
“I will not rest until I find her, sir,” Elihu vowed.
Job laughed. Grasping Rahab by the hair he kissed her brutally, possessively. His gaze never left Elihu’s as his tongue moved in her mouth. He spun her around and pulled her back against his chest. “You’ll not touch Rahab again until you succeed. What’s yours is mine! Say it.”
“What’s mine is yours.”
“Louder! Say her name.”
“Rahab is yours, Master. Until I’ve made this right—what’s mine is yours.”
“Get out of my sight.” When the door closed behind Elihu, Job turned Rahab to face him and studied her expression. “What are you up to, sweet slave? It is not desire I see burning in your eyes.”
“It’s not a matter of desire, sir. I’m not worthy of your seed.”
His gaze swept her slim body, sleekly muscled and youthfully fit. She would be a vigorous bedmate he had no doubt. “What is your Purity Rating?”
“I am a 0.03.”
True Pure ratings of 0.0, like his, were rare indeed. He was determined that his queen would be Pure and all his followers knew it. “Why make this offer when you knew I couldn’t accept?”
She dared a glance at his face, then quickly lowered her gaze. “I offered to be your body slave and I will serve you faithfully. Elihu needed an incentive to—”
He raised her chin until their gazes locked. “You may be too smart for your own good. Right now your spirit amuses me. You will attend my bath and sleep at the foot of my bed. If Elihu learns that is all you do, we will both watch as you pleasure my guards.”
Chapter Three
Lifting her face to the sun’s warm caress, Tuesday tried to forget she was a prisoner. A cool breeze, fragrant with the fresh scent of pine and damp earth, swirled about her, stirring her dress in a lazy dance. She closed her eyes and imagined twirling across the wooden deck in a graceful series of pirouettes.
Laughing at the ridiculous flight of fancy, a truer image replaced the first. She completed the first turn only to twist her ankle and fall—hard—on her well-padded rear end. Graceful she was not. A ballerina? More like a dancing bear.
“What’s so funny?”
Her captor’s deep voice dissolved the remnants of her bittersweet fantasy. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” The setting might be spectacular but she was still a prisoner.
“What were you imagining?”
“Nothing,” she said firmly.
Stepping up beside her, he cupped her chin and turned her face toward his. “Come on,” he coaxed. “What were you picturing?”
“You—taken away in chains.” She twisted out of his light hold and hurried along the railing.
“Chains? Wow, that’s drastic. Don’t cops use magnetic restraints?”
She glanced over her shoulder. He lounged in the corner where she’d left him, sunlight painting his rich brown hair with shades of gold. The teasing hint of a smile curved one corner of his mouth. Damn, the man was gorgeous, compelling in a way she didn’t want to think about. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a run-in with the authorities.”
“Just the military?”
“Bettencourt hardly counts as military. He’s the president’s lapdog.”
His smile filled wit
h challenge but his voice barely reached her. “And it’s better to incite the president than the military?”
“President Rawsen, for the most part, is a reasonable man.” Folding her arms atop the coarse railing, she breathed in more pine-tinged air and reverently absorbed the scenery.
A plank groaned as his weight shifted. “Then you don’t think the ultimatum came from Rawsen?”
She started to answer, but caught herself, returning her gaze to his face. “What does this have to do with your daughter?”
“You’re right. It’s none of my business.” He strode toward her, trapping her in the corner of the railing at the other end of the deck. “You’ve had enough time to think. Name your price.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“I’ll find out what Rawsen really wants.”
If she could trust him, the offer might mean something. “There’s nothing you have that I want, need, or—”
“It’s not just what I have, it’s what I can get. I’ll do anything for Elise. If you want to run CPT, I’ll make it happen. If you want—”
“I don’t want—”
“I can fund your research indefinitely. I can make charitable donations in your name. You’re not giving me a chance, Tuesday. There has to be something.”
“I don’t have a price! I don’t—”
His hands framed her face, compelling her to meet his intense gaze. “This isn’t about you or me. It’s about a little girl who’s running out of time.”
She pressed her lips together, annoyed yet…undone. His warmth wrapped around her, his determination mesmerizing. She should push him away, demand that he return her to Baltimore and… Her gaze focused on his mouth. So close. Would he kiss her?
Why would she want him to!
“I want nothing from you.”
Leaning in close, he warmed her skin with his breath and whispered above her ear, “Are you sure about that?” He paused. A telling shiver coursed down her spine. “You’ve been alone a long time. We both have.”
Tainted Hearts Page 3
