by Cindy Dees
She sat down on the couch and crossed one long leg over the other in a blatantly sexy display. “But I’m not trying to fit in. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
“Neither do I,” he snapped. “Jeff Winston asked for my help and, for some reason that completely escapes me, saw fit to send me you.”
He packed all the derision he could muster into that last word. Man, this woman got under his skin. Nobody ever got this big a rise out of him this fast. And that was bad. For him, feelings were dangerous things. Lethal even. If he felt too much he might lose control, and then he might let go of his will to live. He hadn’t fought to hang on this long only to let go now.
He commented more reasonably, “I have no idea whatsoever what I’m supposed to do with you.”
“I could make a few suggestions.” Her lips curved into a sinful smile. “You look like you could stand to learn a thing or two from me.”
An unwilling grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He was confident enough in his skills in that department that he definitely didn’t need to rise to that jab. But she was tempting.
“Tell me about you,” he said in as businesslike a tone as he could manage.
“I work for Winston Enterprises. I’m an operations controller and analyst in the Winston Operations Center. Are you familiar with it?”
He nodded. He’d visited the high-tech, information-gathering hub once and been stunned. Most governments didn’t have anything better. Winston Enterprises, which was a sprawling international conglomerate of dozens of companies, practically had its own private intelligence agency.
“I’ve worked with Jeff for five years,” she continued. “Two years ago, I volunteered for the HIVE Project. Are you familiar with that?”
“Nope. Never heard of it.”
“That explains a lot,” she replied cryptically.
“What is it?”
“Hang on a sec,” she muttered as she fished in her jacket pocket and emerged with a cell phone. “I’ve got to talk to Jeff.”
“Your phone won’t work. No cell phone towers inside the NRQZ. And if you turn it on, the radio emissions police may show up and bust you.”
She swore colorfully as she stuffed the device back in her pocket. “Have you got a string and some tin cans for me to make a call with?”
“Landline’s over there on the wall. They bury the phone cables so they don’t screw with the telescopes.”
She marched over to the ancient rotary phone and glared at it. “How...quaint.” She dialed number by slowly rotating number.
“Hi, it’s Sam. Is the boss around?” There was a brief pause. “Hey, Jeff. What am I authorized to tell your buddy Grayson about HIVE?” She listened for a moment, and if he wasn’t mistaken, surprise crossed her face. But he couldn’t be sure. He really wished she’d take those shades off. It was unsettling not being able to read her expressions at all. Was this HIVE thing the reason he’d been dragged into the middle of nowhere and thrust into the company of this annoying woman?
She hung up the receiver. “Apparently, Jeff trusts you a freaking lot because I’m green-lighted to tell you all.”
An intimate undertone slid into his voice. “Are you, now?”
She rolled her eyes. “About HIVE. Tell all about HIVE.” She was cute when she was discomfited. Speaking hastily to cover her obvious discomfort, she said, “So. Does the local antitechnology monitoring mean this shack isn’t under any kind of electronic surveillance?”
“As far as I can tell. The locals would pick up the transmission from a bug or a parabolic microphone in a heartbeat. A few years back, not far from here, a heating pad in a doghouse had a short circuit in it too small for the dog to feel, but it still caused interference with the telescope.”
“Cool.” She sank down on the sofa facing him and studied her fingernails as if she’d rather avoid the conversation to come.
“So, what’s HIVE?” he prompted.
“Human Improvement Via Engineering. The name’s actually a joke. The project’s head scientist hates the moniker. Real name’s Code X.”
“Very spooky,” he murmured. Human improvement? What on earth did that mean? A buzz of consternation vibrated in his gut at the possibilities. He asked much more blandly than he felt, “What kind of engineering?”
“Give the city slicker points for asking the right question.”
She stretched a languid arm across the back of the sofa and drummed a complicated rhythm with her fingers on it. More delaying body language. She really didn’t want to talk about this HIVE thing. He was intrigued at the aggressive overall body posture. It made her look like some sort of predatory animal at rest, although which kind, he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
She continued, “A team of scientists who work for Jeff have been experimenting with a combination of stem-cell therapies and genetic engineering to enhance certain characteristics in test subjects.”
“What kinds of characteristics?” he asked.
“When’s the last time you saw Jeff? Like in the flesh?”
He was thrown by the abrupt shift of topic. “About two years ago. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Let’s just say he has changed a bit since you last saw him.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he demanded, alarmed. “You’re using human test subjects? Has Jeff done this experimenting on himself?”
She grinned. “Let’s just say he’s put on a little, umm, muscle mass. The guy can pick up a Jeep and throw it if he wants to. Literally.”
Gray’s mind went blank. He couldn’t believe the implications of what she was saying. His old friend had used far-out, experimental science to make a...a...superhero of himself? “Has he become some sort of freak?”
The woman flinched at the word. “Yeah,” she said grimly. “A freak.”
He asked cautiously, “And are you also one of these test subjects?” She didn’t look like she could pick up a Jeep, let alone throw it.
“Yes,” she answered flatly. “I’m a freak, too.”
“You throw Jeeps?”
“No. My special abilities are somewhat different than Jeff’s.”
“Indeed? Do tell.”
That was definitely a wince tightening her facial features. What in the hell was going on with her?
Chapter 2
Sam warily eyed the dark-haired man lounging in the chair across from her. She had to admit, he was a hunk. Although that wasn’t exactly the right word for him. He looked...patrician. Not a word she used frequently, or that frankly ever came to mind. But it fit him. His features were classically handsome. Heck, flat-out well-bred.
“Do people actually call you Grayson?” she asked abruptly.
He looked irritated at the change of topic. Must be the intensely focused type. In her experience, such men made great lovers if they could get over their other hang-ups. But this guy seemed wired pretty tight. Probably would be as boring as they came in bed.
“My friends call me Gray. Why?”
She snorted. “The name suits you.”
A flash of heat flared in his gray-green gaze. Hmm. Maybe not so boring in bed, after all. Were he not Jeff’s friend, she might be tempted to find out for sure.
“What’s your super-ability, then?” he demanded.
She never just up and told people about herself like this. But Jeff had been clear. She was to brief in Grayson Pierce fully on Code X. And orders were orders. Taking a deep breath, she removed her sunglasses.
He stared like everyone did at her eyes. No human had eyes that color. At least no normal human did. She knew good and well that she looked like an alien with her eyes uncovered like this.
He mumbled, “Okay, so your eyes are a unique shade of...of gold. And it’s very striking, by the way. Surely that’s not why Jeff sent you here.”
Striking. What a polite word for weird. Her eyes were brilliant, freaking yellow. She responded drily, “I imagine he sent me here because I can read a newspaper from a hundre
d feet away.”
“That’s it! An eagle,” he exclaimed.
“Excuse me?” That was not the usual reaction she got from people when they saw her real eye color or first heard about her eyesight. Usually they called her a damned liar and demanded a demonstration.
“You reminded me of a predator earlier, but I couldn’t figure out which kind. It’s a bird of prey. A powerful one like an eagle.”
“My eyesight is better than an eagle’s,” she responded, more than a little flummoxed. “They rely on spotting movement, whereas my superior human brain can better process and analyze acuity-based input.” She broke off before she could descend into even greater geekdom. She wasn’t about to give this guy the slightest advantage over her if she could avoid it.
“Seriously?” he blurted.
“Seriously.”
His face lit up. “Surveillance. I’ll bet that’s why Jeff sent you here.”
“Could be. My eyes don’t require any electronic enhancements to do their thing.”
“If you were to look at a person, how far away could you be and still make a positive facial ID?”
She shrugged. “A mile or so, day or night.”
“Huh?”
“I see as well at night as during the day.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Call Jeff if you don’t believe me.”
“I think I’d rather see a demonstration in person.”
There it was. The skepticism and mistrust. This was more like it. She was back on familiar territory with this man who, up till now, had put her so off her stride. She shrugged casually. “Sure. When it gets dark.”
“Why not now?”
She glanced at the heavily covered windows. “Sun’s out. Small drawback of my eyesight—I have about ten times as many rods in my eyes as you do. Cones see color, but rods are light receptors. And that means I’m a wee bit sensitive to bright light.”
“After dark, then. It’s a date.”
Surely he’d meant those words innocently. But their double meaning sent a ripple of something she’d rather not name through her body. He really was gorgeous in a mysterious, brooding way. He was far too clean-cut for her usual taste, though. She went for wild guys. Losers with no ambition or, more important, no sense of self-preservation.
Gemma Jones said Sam had a death wish but pushed it onto her lovers rather than face it in herself. Whatever the heck that meant. Sam had had enough of well-meaning but clueless counselors after she’d landed on the streets in her teens and periodically got dragged into shelters by various do-gooders.
She stood up, acutely aware of Gray’s sharp gaze on her. For a moment, she almost regretted her choice of leather, then thought better of it. Let the guy look. It wasn’t like he was ever going to get a taste of any Sam candy. With a toss of her head, she announced, “I’m going to go catch a few hours’ sleep. I do my best work at night.” And she darned well meant that double entendre.
She lived nights, truth be told. But she wasn’t about to share any more of her personal life than she had to with this man who already knew enough about her to make her feel naked. And frankly, the sensation was unsettling. Grayson Pierce was far too attractive for his own good. She needed to get away from him for a little while. Get her feet back under her.
She had yet to hear about the guy whose pictures were spread all over the kitchen counter and why Jeff had asked her and Gray to check him out, but that would have to wait until she could think clearly. Until she’d achieved a little emotional distance from the disturbing man staring intently at her.
“The second bedroom’s pretty small,” he offered, “but it’s clean and reasonably comfortable.”
It sounded like he’d had to go to some effort to achieve both. “Thanks,” she muttered. She relished the view of his muscular physique as he showed her down a short hallway and into the room. Streaks of sunshine leaked between the slatted blinds, and she slammed the sunglasses back over her eyes as icepicks of pain stabbed her eyeballs.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’ve got an errand to run, but I should be back by the time you wake up.”
As he backed out of the room, she quickly dug in her duffel for eye drops and her good blindfold. She never spent this much time in daylight, and for good reason. She’d forgotten how bad direct sunlight hurt. She put in the anesthetizing eye drops and sighed with relief as they numbed her burning eyeballs. She popped a pain pill for her smashing headache, pulled a velvet blindfold over her eyes and fell asleep to visions of a tall, enigmatic stranger who was far too sexy for his own good and not her type at all.
* * *
She woke to the sounds of quiet swearing from the living room. Based on the rosy light that made her squint as she peeled up a corner of her blindfold, it looked to be near sunset. But just to be safe, she donned her sunglasses before taking off her blindfold all the way.
The swearing led her to Gray, who was seated on the living-room floor with nylon cord tangled all around him. And yet, he still managed to look...noble.
“Making your own fishing net there, Sparky?” she teased.
“Putting together a new curtain rod for your room. But these instructions stink. They’re really, really badly translated into English.”
“And I need a new curtain rod why?”
“I got you some blackout shades, but you need something to hang them on.”
The thoughtfulness of the gesture pierced her defenses almost painfully. People didn’t do nice things for Sammie Jo Jessup. Ever. She knelt down beside him and said softly, “That’s incredibly sweet of you. Thank you.”
He looked up in surprise and their gazes met. She rocked back on her heels, startled at what she saw there. It was like looking into the depths of...nothing. It wasn’t that he was a psychopath. She’d looked into the eyes of guys like that a time or two. After all, punks and jerks were her specialty.
Rather, it was as if everything Gray was had been stripped away from him. As if he was completely, utterly lost. He wasn’t caught in the abyss. He was the abyss.
Shaken, she offered lamely, “You don’t have to bother with a curtain rod.” She looked into his eyes again, and this time saw only a wall of gray-green. Had she been hallucinating there for a minute? She mumbled, “If you have a roll of duct tape, just tape the curtain to the wall. Minimizes leakage of light.”
“But it won’t be very attractive.”
She shrugged. “I’m more about functionality than beauty.”
“That’s too bad,” he remarked as he climbed to his feet. “Life’s too short not to enjoy its beauty.”
The words made sense, but they felt recited. Like he’d heard them before and was parroting them back with no conviction or real understanding. What in the heck was going on with him? Is this why Jeff had sent her out here? To rescue his buddy?
Gray fetched a roll of duct tape from a drawer in the kitchen and she followed him to her bedroom. Bemused, she held the fabric in place as he neatly taped the curtains to the wall. Their shoulders brushed as he taped his way across the top of the window frame, and a strange little shiver of pleasure washed over her.
That was weird. She’d just dumped the latest loser, Ricky “The Rocket” Rossini, and was still deep in her mandatory, man-hating, post-breakup phase. There weren’t supposed to be any shivers, thank you very much.
Gray cleared his throat as he stepped back from her hastily. “I got weather stripping for around your door frame, too. It’s the self-adhesive kind and shouldn’t take long to install.”
Stunned, she stood there in the middle of the tiny room and stared at the open doorway through which he’d disappeared. When he came back, holding two rolls of narrow foam stripping, she demanded, “Why are you going to all this trouble for me? You barely know me.”
He stared at her and looked downright confused. “Because it’s the polite thing to do?”
She scoffed. “What’s your angle? What do you want from me?”
He drew h
imself up to his full height, clearly not missing her implication. “I don’t want anything from you,” he snapped. “Not in that way. If you can help me figure out what Luke Zimmer and this Proctor guy are up to so we can both go back to our regularly scheduled lives, that would be fantastic. But that’s it.”
He didn’t give off a gay vibe. Was it possible he was straight and actually wasn’t interested in her? Truly? Every guy wanted to do her. It was just a fact of life she’d learned to live with. But this one...didn’t?
She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. She supposed she ought to be vastly relieved, particularly since they were going to be working together. But somehow, she wasn’t. Man-hating phase, darn it. She would be relieved he wasn’t panting after her, and that’s all there was to it.
“I’m glad we’ve got that clear,” she declared. Yup. Relieved. That was her. Except something buried deep in her gut felt...restless...at the notion.
“Hungry?” he asked casually.
“Uhh, sure.” Dang, a man who could cook was smexy—smart and sexy!
“What’s your pleasure, ma’am?”
Her gaze snapped up to his, startled.
“For supper,” he clarified dryly.
Darn it. So much for relieved. “I prefer vegan. But I’ll take simple vegetarian.”
He snorted. “You are going to stick out like a sore thumb around here. This is the land of hardcore carnivores.”
“I’ll be fine with a salad for now if you’ve got the stuff. I’ll go shopping later and lay in my own food supply.”
“Grocery closes at nine,” he commented from deep within the refrigerator. He emerged with an armload of salad fixings.
Great. How was she supposed to live her night-owl existence in a town that rolled up its sidewalks and went to bed about when she was waking up? And she wouldn’t even have satellite TV or streaming, Wi-Fi internet to keep her company in the wee hours. This place was going to suck.
She hopped off the stool. “If you’ve got a knife, I’ll start chopping. But you’re going to have to move those pictures so I can fix my breakfast.”
“Would you like an omelet to go with that salad?”
