“A nobody,” Duster finished.
“Right. Twenty years of building my rep over in one fell swoop.” Foster didn’t mention his precarious financial situation. “I’ve got no choice.”
“What if Roberts died somehow?” Duster offered it knowing that his boss could probably make it happen.
“Nope.” Foster had actually considered that angle. “There’s a contingency in the contract.” He fought the urge to slap himself. “Like usual, I locked everything down.”
“Just as Roberts knew you would.” Duster popped another seed.
“Reputation is a double-edged blade.”
“And it seems to be stuck firmly in your back by your own hand. What is that ancient saying? Hoist by your own petard?”
“You know, Duster, you’re not helping.”
“If you find a way I can, let me know.”
Foster signed off and turned his attention back to the media channels. Everywhere he looked, he found Jynx Brennan. Roberts branded her solely responsible for the creation of the Tyaa plague and the destruction of the lab on Banna. If anyone gave half a second of thought to the matter, they would realize that one woman simply could not be responsible for something so vast. But the hysterical reports were geared to swing people emotionally, not engage their critical mind. Foster doubted anyone gave the matter much thought except to despise Jynx.
Hell, when Roberts told Foster she was wanted for just having had a hand in creating the Tyaa plague, Foster believed the accusation and instantly hated her. It didn’t surprise him at all that the Void at large loathed her for what Roberts now claimed she’d done.
One thing he found curious—Roberts had not let it be known that Jynx was in custody. As far as the media was concerned, she was still at large with a paltry half a Mil bounty on her head.
Did Roberts fear that he might back out?
Puzzling it over, he activated the audvid to the cells to check on a woman worth more than he’d ever made on one contract. She was a package who could put him back on top of his game or drag him into the gutter.
“What the—” He shot to his feet, spitting out his gum.
Jynx heard the cell room door open, but before she could peek out of her fort, Foster entered her cell, yanked the roof off, hauled her to her feet by gripping her shoulders and then pinned her to her cell bars.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
It all happened so fast, shock rendered her speechless. She simply froze and gaped at him.
“I asked you a question!”
“Noth—nothing.”
Foster shoved her against the bars and cuffed her hands to them. Pulling back, he made a quick circuit of her entire body, probing lightly, professionally.
Furious and clearly confused, he demanded, “Why were you hiding?”
“I wasn’t hiding.” She didn’t struggle. She had no idea why he was so angry.
“Then what the hell were you doing?” He clenched his hands to fists and practically spat the words at her.
“Playing,” she said softly.
“Playing?” His eyebrows rose.
“Fort. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”
Looking at the crumbled remains, he shook his head and bellowed, “You are in mortal danger, and you decide to act like a child and play fort?” He literally hissed at her through clenched teeth. His face twisted into an ugly mask.
“What would you have done?” She tried to get her pounding heart to slow. “Honestly, Mr. Nash, I’m bored out of my mind.” Despite her fear at his over-the-top anger, she felt her grip on reality must be slipping, because she smelled bubblegum on him. Just as she had in that ratty motel room. Why would a man his age chew bubblegum?
Sweeping her with a probing gaze, he settled on the robe knotted about her neck. “What’s this supposed to be?”
“My cape.” Her whole body trembled with a curious mixture of fear and anticipation.
“Pardon me?” He mocked her with that cultured IWOG consumer voice. Most definitely, he’d been chewing bubblegum.
“A superhero has to have a cape.”
He untied the sleeves from around her neck. The soft flannel slid down her back and tangled up against her arms, the cuffs, and the cell bars. His hand lingered at the base of her throat. His gaze dipped to his hand.
“You have the softest skin.” He sounded surprised and pleased by his discovery.
“Thank you.” Hopefully her bra hid the straining thrust of her breasts. “You have a gentle touch.”
“You don’t mind?” His gaze still fastened on his hand at her neck, almost as if he didn’t keep his gaze on his hand, it might wander off of its own accord.
“No.” She swallowed. She didn’t mind his touching her at all. His massive calloused hand was surprisingly gentle.
“Don’t you find it even a little demeaning?” His gaze now focused on hers.
“Demeaning?” Her heart pounded with a new intensity. As soon as he looked away from his hand, his fingers began to trace lightly along her neck. Probing and curious and insistent, his touch was the most erotic she’d ever known.
“To be chained while I take advantage of you.” The soft tone of his voice contrasted with the raw intensity of his gaze.
“Is that what you’re doing?” Her voice warbled as her legs trembled. She gripped the bars behind her for support, but she felt no fear now, only a burning desire.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” He lowered his head to rub his cheek against hers.
Sharp stubble rasped against her neck, and she caught a faint whiff of aftershave. Spicy and male. Below that, she found the scent of his body, the way it resonated long after his morning shower.
All of her lovers had been tightly shaved, sparkling clean, slathered in a plethora of products that rendered them utterly devoid of any human scent. Not Foster Nash. He not only looked like a man and felt like a man, but he smelled like a man.
With her morning shower long past, her body not slathered in scent, he would discover that same human tang teasing his nose and mouth. Did he find her scent as pleasing as she found his?
“Whatever you’re doing, I find it intensely erotic. I’d like it very much if you kissed me.” She didn’t even recognize the husky voice as her own, and she had no idea where the plaintive plea had come from.
He drew back, lowered his brows and glared at her for a long time as he kept his hand still against her neck. He had to feel the pounding of her pulse just as she could feel the strained tempo of his breathing. Tight, fast, shaky pants that matched hers, except his smelled of bubblegum.
“You want me to kiss you?” Somehow, the very idea upset him, and his eyes narrowed.
“Yes.” Why would the thought of kissing her repulse him? Did she smell or look that bad?
“Why do you want me to kiss you?” He studied her with a curious concentration, like a scientist debating whether or not to continue with his experiment.
“Because I would like to taste the bubblegum I can smell on your breath.”
A low groan rumbled up from deep in his chest as he lowered his mouth to her neck. “This isn’t going to work.” Rubbing his chin against her flesh, teasing her with the stubble of his beard, he pressed his hands to her shoulders, more to steady himself than to hold her still.
“You don’t know how to kiss?”
Pulling back, he rubbed her bottom lip with his thumb. He stroked her mouth like he wanted to drop his hand and make the same friction between her thighs.
“How many men have kissed you?”
It didn’t take her long to find the answer. “Four.”
“Four? In your whole life?” Lifted brows conveyed his disbelief.
“Yes. How many have kissed you?”
“Men?” He chuckled. “None. Women? A hell of a lot more than four.”
“Then you are probably more skilled at kissing than I am.”
Lowering his head, he almost pressed his lips to h
ers, but he pulled back at the last moment, wincing as if she’d burned him. “You are very clever.” Shaking his head as if to rid himself of desire, he picked up the mattress and flung it to the bed frame. “It stays there. Don’t take it off again, or I’ll take it away.” He threw the pillow and blanket on top of her bed, then exited the cell.
Grabbing her hands from behind, he uncuffed her and said, “No more playing fort. Just sit there.”
Crossing her arms over her pounding heart and swelling breasts, she rubbed her shoulders, hugging herself. He changed moods so fast, she felt dizzy trying to keep up.
“Why are you upset with me now, Mr. Nash?”
“That’s another thing”—he whirled around to face her—“stop calling me that.”
She’d been trying to be respectful. “What do you want me to call you?”
“Don’t call me anything. Don’t talk to me. Stop trying to seduce me, or compel me, or whatever game it is you think you’re running. Just knock it off!”
One look into his eyes told her all she needed to know about his rapidly changing moods.
“It’s becoming more difficult, isn’t it?” She smoothed her dress back into place. “Even more so now that you know the truth.”
“What truth?” he asked, then quickly looked away.
“That Roberts lied about me.”
Foster strode up to the cage, and she fought down her instinct to back away. Standing her ground for everything she was worth, she lifted her chin and thanked God there were thick bars between them.
His eyes blazed laser blue bright. “How the hell do you know that I found out—damn it!” He whirled away. “Doesn’t matter if you knew it or not, I just confirmed it for you!”
“I knew by looking into your eyes.”
“Are you—” He faced her and shook his head. “You’re a reader, aren’t you? That’s why you’re so good at jerking me around.”
“I’m not the one who has been jerking you around. Roberts has been doing that, not me, so stop yelling at me for what another person is doing to you.”
“I’m not—damn it!” Foster jerked back. “Yes, I am! I’m yelling at you again!” Gripping his face in both hands, he shook his head, and then abruptly ceased. He dropped his hands to his sides and peered at her with that strange, oddly detached gaze. “Does Roberts know?”
“Know what?”
“About your ability.”
“I told you, I’m not a reader.”
“You’re a lot more than simply intuitive. Tell me the truth. What’s your skill and does Roberts know that you have it?”
It was vitally important to him. She didn’t know why, but she told him the truth anyway. “I can project.”
“What’s that?” His mouth made a grim slash across his face.
“I can put my consciousness into another. I can look out through their eyes.”
“Can you read minds?” He took a wary step back but grimaced and stopped.
“No,” she said, trying to reassure him. “When I’m in someone’s mind, they can feel me in there. It’s intensely uncomfortable; it feels like your head will burst. The only thoughts I can read are those right on the surface. Unless the mind has left the body. In that case, if someone is injured, I can enter their mind and feel their body.” She struggled to describe to him what she could do with her ability. “I can feel what’s wrong with them and then heal them. Not with my mind, but with my hands.” She lifted them. “But I would never project into a conscious patient. It would hurt them.”
Foster considered, frowning darkly.
“You don’t have to rack your brain trying to remember if I’ve been in there.” She smiled and pointed to his index finger. “Judging by your low tolerance for pain, you would find projecting intensely, unforgettably painful.”
He flashed an embarrassed grimace to the textured floor and suspiciously asked, “How do you know what it feels like to have someone project?”
“I can feel what it’s doing to the other person. At the lab, I worked with a man who could also project. Brandt did it to me once, and I instantly jumped to his mind. It didn’t hurt that way. In fact it was strangely…” Erotic. She pulled herself back from her soft reverie with a gentle shake of her head. “The point is, I know what it feels like to do it to a conscious person. I’ve done it once. To the IWOG officer who killed Brandt.”
“And maybe you’re just saying it would hurt like hell when in reality you could do it and I wouldn’t notice at all.” His mouth twisted into a suspicious snarl.
“Do you want me to show you?”
With pursed lips, he considered for a long time. “It hurts?”
“Yes.”
“Can I kick you out once you’re in there?”
“I imagine if you focus your mind on it, you could. What you don’t seem to understand is that it hurts me to do it unless the mind is absent from the body.” She didn’t know why she was telling him all of this, but when she decided it probably wouldn’t make any difference, she ceased to care why.
“How do I know you won’t just get in my head, take over my body and make me do all kinds of insane things?”
She laughed at such an idea until she considered that she would make him do sexy things, not crazy things. The thought of commanding his body to her every whim made her shiver.
“I’m not trying to talk you into this. It hurts. I don’t want to do it to you. You want me to prove my ability but then think that by proving it, I can commandeer your body.” She laughed, hoping to cover her annoyance. “I’m telling you I have this skill. I’m willing to prove it to you if you insist. If I had the power to take over your body, don’t you think I would have done so by now? Perhaps back in the motel room?”
Tension eased from his shoulders.
“If I could really force people to do my bidding, I would have long ago taken care of Roberts. I wouldn’t have to play superhero with a fort because I’d be one.”
“Does Roberts know that you can project?” He didn’t seem entirely convinced, but some of the suspicion drained from his face.
“Yes. I saw the IWOG officer who destroyed the lab and killed Brandt. I went from Brandt’s mind to his, and that man most assuredly knew I was in there. I’m certain he reported the incidence to Roberts.” She picked up her robe and tossed it on the bed. “That is the only time I’ve ever invaded another sentient body. It hurt, but I wanted to see what he was doing. I wanted to know why. Not a nice thing to do, and in a way I’m sorry I hurt him, but I had to know.”
She went still as a terrifying thought crossed her mind.
“What?” He took a half step back.
“My ability may be one of the reasons Roberts wants me alive. To study me. If the IWOG has no problem experimenting with biological weapons, I can easily infer that they would also have an entire contingent dedicated to turning people with unique psi abilities into weapons.” Just the idea of it filled her so full of fear she had to refrain from touching the side of her bra to make sure she could deny Roberts that sick pleasure too.
“They do.” Foster nodded gravely, avoiding her gaze as shame darted across his face. “I know for a fact they do.”
“How?” she asked, even though she probably didn’t want to know.
“I’m ex-IWOG consumer. I grew up on Banna and did my time in the military just like every other man.”
“Is that where you learned how to be a Runner?”
He nodded. “My unit hunted readers. Most of them turned out to be bogus, but there were a few who were authentic.”
“Didn’t it bother you knowing what would happen to those poor people?” Had she been wrong about his compassionate heart?
He lowered his head with a guilty frown. “I didn’t think about that. Code. Duty. That’s what I thought about. You’ve been in the IWOG military. You know what I’m talking about.”
She understood and commiserated. Every free space of wall in the lab had a poster with either code or duty emblazoned on it,
as those were the watchwords. She thought the red and blue posters garishly cartoonish, but she didn’t understand how well they worked until she noticed the blind subservience of her fellow workers. She’d been there three years; they’d been there forever. Except for Brandt. He’d been the only one willing to bend the rules a bit. His indulgence had led to the breakthrough.
Looking up at Foster, she swallowed the despair in her heart. “I guess your new watchword is reputation.”
Chapter Eight
Foster gave a slow nod as suspicion filled him. “Let me guess, you understand?” His voice, pitched to a mocking tone, grated against his own ears. He sounded like a smirking jerk as he mimicked her cultured IWOG tone, but he couldn’t stop himself from pushing her. “You understand and accept your fate because you understand and accept my reasons.”
Jynx opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off before she could.
“No, wait.” He lifted his hand. “You not only understand, but you forgive me too, right?” He lowered his gaze so they came eye to eye with the bars between them.
“I’m not a spiritualist.” She met his gaze with a ferocity that almost moved him back. “If you’re seeking absolution for your sins, you best look elsewhere.”
Her pointed dismissal hurt more than he would ever admit, but he forced himself to smile. “And of course, you’re blameless.”
“Of what?” She stepped closer to the bars, settling herself into readiness to meet his challenge.
“You’ve never done anything you regret? You’ve never hurt anyone?” He knew he should leave the cell room now, but he couldn’t walk away until he’d resolved his confusion.
“There are many things I regret. At the moment, I have more regrets about things I haven’t done rather than those I have. And I never said I’ve never hurt anyone. I said I never intentionally hurt anyone. Technically, people have died at my hands, but only because my hands weren’t skilled enough to save them.” Looking down at her tiny hands, she pressed her lips tightly together. “When I connected my mind to their body, I realized the futility of my hands. I couldn’t save them. No matter what I did.”
Runner: The Fringe, Book 3 Page 6
