Wasp (Uncommon Enemies: An Iniquus Romantic Suspense Mystery Thriller Book 1)

by Fiona Quinn

  Titus turned the piece of shit car into the long drive. A little yellow house sat in the middle of a wide field, positioned like a postage stamp on an envelope. On three sides, there was a thick copse of trees, shielding the house from its neighbors. It was the very last house on the street that had a cul-de-sac for people who mistakenly arrived at the dead end. It was a great set up, Gage thought. Easily defended.

  The driveway curved around the back of the house, and Titus pressed a button near his mirror to power up the garage door. A gunmetal grey Iniquus SUV was parked inside.

  “Gage, why don’t you sit tight? I’m going to go give the house a quick run through, and once I’ve determined it’s safe, you can park next to the Tahoe.” The implication being that if it wasn’t safe, he should take Zoe and get the hell gone.

  Gage moved to the driver’s seat and repositioned the car so he had the option of backing into the garage or speeding forward. Zoe was back in Zoe-land, and he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking back to the grocery store conversation.

  Zoe? While she was as tantalizing and sexy as the sway of a hula dancer’s hips, she was also self-contained. Yeah, there was something undeniably… He couldn’t pull out the right word. She didn’t fit a form or pattern. He bet that freaked guys out—that they weren’t able to mold and manipulate her into something more recognizable, something that they had a better handle on. That wasn’t Zoe. She didn’t need translating into his language, he needed to learn hers, just as she learned his.

  He thought about the Skype calls she’d had in her living room while she thought he was asleep—how free she was, gabbing with her friends. How goofy and funny. Laughter in every word. He wanted to have that with her. Sometimes. Not all the time. He liked how she looked up at the ceiling with that little frown between her eyes as she worked out some conundrum. She could sit that way for hours. Now he knew what kinds of thoughts filled her head. When he’d realized what she did for a living, Gage couldn’t say he was surprised. It was like a puzzle piece falling into place.

  He was proud of how fiercely she defended innocent people. How she put her amazing brain to work every day to keep them safe. Yeah. Zoe being Zoe in all of her facets, he wanted to be the guy who got to stand next to her and watch her shine. He rubbed his hands over his thighs and looked up to see Titus waving them in. Shit, I’ve got it bad.

  After scooping up the grocery bags, Gage followed Zoe through the garage and into a small hallway. Bathroom to the right. Laundry to the left. Then a great room with living, dining, and kitchen.

  “I’ll cook,” he said, moving into the kitchen and putting the ingredients for dinner on the counter and the ingredients for breakfast in the fridge. He found a cutting board and knife and switched on the oven to warm the loaf of bread he’d purchased.

  In the living room, Titus moved to the flat screen TV and turned it on. “Let’s see what the news is saying about the events of the day.” He moved to the couch and sat.

  To Gage’s surprise, Zoe didn’t go up the stairs to look around, but went to sit on the other end of the couch.

  The newscaster was concluding his remarks on Senator Billings’s very bad day and the Montrim Industries inquiry.

  “The senator is going after Montrim. Are you worried about that?” Titus asked Zoe.

  Zoe curled herself up with her knees under her chin. “I don’t work for Montrim. I work out of their laboratory because it’s secure. I think the Senate probably should go after them. Montrim’s got some things going on there that are pretty horrific.”

  “Like what?” Titus asked.

  Gage was paying close attention to the conversation while he chopped onions.

  “The soundwave technology that takes out entire cities but leaves the infrastructure and flora intact—that you know about now. That, to me, needs to be stopped.”

  “Were you read into that program?”

  “No. I eat in the cafeteria. I can hear people talking around me.”

  “Are they allowed to do that? Just chat about top secret studies in front of others?”

  Zoe tipped her head. “Folks there all have high clearance levels, at least the ones who eat in the same cafeteria I do. Montrim has this social psychology interior design. The public spaces are developed to encourage people to bump into each other and communicate. Montrim wants projects to cross-pollinate. I told you about the Post-it Notes. Someone says something that’s an ah-ha moment for someone else.”

  “And that works?”

  Zoe shrugged. “As much as it can in a room full of unsocial science geeks. Synchronicity happens.”

  “What else have you overheard?”

  Gage tried to move around the kitchen as softly as possible so he could hear as he pulled out a skillet and flipped on the burner.

  “Have you watched the film GI Joe: The Rise of Cobra? That’s what Montrim Labs reminds me of. They’re developing things that can easily be seen as destabilizing in the wrong hands—or even the right hands. It’s scary stuff.” Zoe got up and headed for the stairs.

  “I guess she’s done.” Titus moved to the kitchen.

  “Yup.” Gage followed her progress with his gaze until she rounded the corner.

  Titus opened the fridge, and pulled out two beers, handing one to Gage. “Do you need to go check on her?”

  “Are you serious?” Gage accepted it, twisting off the top and taking a swig. “No. She wants her thoughts to herself. And we probably want that to happen too, so she can churn through what’s happening. She’s the genius, after all.”

  Titus looked up the staircase where Zoe had disappeared. “I can’t envision a mean thought in her head. Do you think she’ll be able to figure out how criminals think?”

  “Nope. That’s why she needs us. She knows it, or she would have walked out the front door and not through the bedroom door.”

  Chapter

  Thirty-Six

  Zoe

  At what point is a wasp ever going to have a chat with a spider?

  ~ Karl Pilkington

  Titus had headed home in the Iniquus SUV, leaving them with the Oldsmobile. That felt okay to Zoe. She felt comfortable being in this little yellow house, especially after the car ruse at the grocery store. She stood at the sink, pouring liquid soap under the hot water faucet so she and Gage could clean up the dishes.

  Gage scraped the plates and put the stack next to the sink. “Do you want to wash or dry?”

  “Wash,” Zoe said, and watched Gage pull a couple of dish towels from the cupboard. She liked that he was as neat about his environment as she was, and that he pitched in equally to keep things up without being asked. She grabbed the glasses and slid them into the water.

  “Today is our half-year anniversary. We started dating on June fourteenth.”

  Zoe pushed a cloth into the glass and swirled it around while sending Gage a smile. “That’s romantic of you to realize.” She rinsed it and handed it over to Gage to dry.

  “You know, most girls I’ve gone out with talk about wedding plans and kids’ names by week three. We’re at six months. Obviously, honeymoon destinations aren’t on your list of topics to think about.”

  “Nope.” Zoe pulled out another glass and gave it a swish.

  “You don’t think I’m a catch?”

  Zoe loved it when Gage got that teasing lilt in in voice. She thought it was sexy as all get out. “A catch? Oh my god, this is a cheesy conversation.” She handed him the glass. “I’m not sure how you’d define a catch.”

  He smiled at her, accepting the glass, but not defining his parameters. Instead he asked, “I’m wondering what you see when you look into the future, Zoe. Are you married to your job? If you are, I get that.” He dipped his head as he studiously dried the glass. “Or maybe you see a husband and children?”

  Zoe picked up a plate, confused by the switch in tone. “Sure, I have an idea of what I’d like my life to look like. A husband, yes. Eventually adopting some kids, eight years old or so.�
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  “I’m sure there’s exhaustive reasoning for that particular age.” Now he was grinning.

  She studied his face and decided there was nothing malicious there. Not even amusement, really. It was kind of like joy. Now that was really perplexing. She handed him the clean plate. “Not everyone has to want the same thing. Science is my thing. Alpha-dogging is your thing.”

  “Alpha-dogging? That isn’t the title on my contract.”

  “Did you know that societies are balanced?” She clattered the silverware into the suds. “China is having a real problem with that right now. Most families get one child, and they thought for a long time that boy babies were more desirable than girl babies, aborting female fetuses, putting girl babies up for adoption. Same thing is happening in India, where they have like forty-three million more men than women. They’ve thrown their culture off balance. Too many males without a similar ratio of females creates disturbing outcomes.”

  “Too much testosterone and not enough estrogen? Is this something to do with Alpha dogs?”

  “Not really. I was just thinking about the fight you were in tonight.” She focused on the multicolored bruise, stretching across his cheekbone. “You said that you had seven good guys, and you expected about the same number of bad guys. That’s how things work in our populations. One percent of our population is made up of psychopaths—people who can kill with no moral barometer, and one percent are what I’m calling Alpha-dogs—people who can kill because of their moral barometer. It’s a balancing act.”

  “That’s pretty interesting.” Gage pulled out the cutlery drawer, dropping the knives and forks into place as he dried them. “What else works that way?”

  Zoe let the water out and leaned against the counter. “Artistic brains and mathematical brains, extroverts and introverts. I’m oversimplifying to make the point. One of my friends in undergrad said I should find the markers for that in blood. She said that the phrase ‘It runs in my blood’ is true.”

  “Do you think that’s right? Do you think that someone’s profession is something that they’re physiologically predestined to do?” Gage placed the dishes up into the cabinets.

  “I’m not willing to study it.”

  “Because?”

  “The ramifications of such a test could be pretty awful.”

  “I don’t know,” Gage said, shutting the doors as Zoe cleaned out the sink. “There are a lot of people who search their whole lives to find the thing that’s right for them. And if we blood tested them in third grade—”

  Zoe followed Gage out of the kitchen. “And said, you will be a musician whether you like it or not?” she asked.

  “It wouldn’t be like that.” Gage caught her around the waist and pulled her hips tight to his.

  “It’s been that way. I have an older friend who escaped from Hungary when it was still a communist country. She was designated a musician and was given a flute—Here is your future, they said. What does she do now? She plays the flute.”

  “See?” Gage kissed her lightly.

  “No. She didn’t want to be told. She wanted free will. Do you see the difference between choice and no choice?”

  “Well, maybe it could be a privately-run venture where people who have no idea what they should be doing could go and pay to have the blood test done—sort of a What Color Is Your Parachute of biology.”

  “Maybe not knowing what to do is exactly what they’re supposed to do. Maybe in this lifetime they were sent here to quest.”

  “This lifetime? Do you believe in reincarnation?” he asked.

  “I don’t not believe in it. I believe that seekers are an important component in our social chemical solution. All of the substances in that solution are added in the right proportions or our grand human experiment wouldn’t work. That’s my hypothesis, anyway. But it’s an experiment that I think is unethical to undertake.”

  “You’d be a millionaire,” he crooned.

  Zoe caught the playfulness in his eye. This wasn’t a serious philosophical discussion. She didn’t know what this was. She was grateful though that they weren’t rehashing the day. She’d had quite enough of the day. “If I were interested in being a millionaire, I would have asked the government to compensate me correctly for the ongoing use of my intellectual property for the biomarker database.”

  Gage’s brow furrowed. “They don’t?”

  “No, I only ask them for enough money to run my lab and pay my bills. I don’t need the distractions that come with wealth. I want to focus on my projects.”

  “I can understand that.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and reached down for her hand. She could see the fatigue in his eyes. “Come on, Zoe, I need to take a shower. I want you to shower with me.”

  Chapter

  Thirty-Seven

  GAGE

  Water sluiced over Gage’s skin. Zoe stood back while he gave himself a quick wash. He didn’t want her pressed up against the filth he’d been rolling in. As he scrubbed himself down, he was thinking about Zoe and her biomarker tests that she refused perform to see if certain traits ran in someone’s blood. He wondered if Zoe could find the familial biomarkers that would predict the outcome of their relationship. Was serial philandering part of his paternal genetic code? He’d never considered cheating in a relationship before. But it could lie there, latently waiting. What about maternal alcoholism and suicidal tendencies? Was that what he was bringing to a relationship with Zoe? At least he’d found a strong woman, someone who wanted to remain separate and whole. Someone who could leave him and save herself if he turned out anything like his parents. That made him feel safer about broaching the idea of a future, especially one with kids in it.

  When Gage was less contaminated, he reached for Zoe’s hand and pulled her under the water.

  With her round bottom pressed against his abdomen, he reached around, rubbing suds over her belly. He let his finger graze over her ribs so she’d giggle and squirm.

  “Stop, Gage, that tickles!” She was laughing, and his cock stood at attention. When she tried to pull away, he held her tight until she stilled.

  “Well, at least I got a smile out of you.” He poured shampoo onto his palm then rubbed it into her hair. “You know how you laugh and kid with your old dance company friends? I’d like you to feel that comfortable with me,” he said as he rubbed bubbles into her scalp and down the long strands. “To feel that level of—”

  “Immaturity?” She laughed as she put a hand on the shower wall to steady herself and kept her hips pinned to his, using her other hand to move his hard-on between her warm thighs.

  “I was thinking abandon.” He leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “Where you let yourself be playful without using brakes.”

  She leaned her head back as he massaged the suds into her hair. He felt her body stiffen under his hands. That was the opposite reaction to what he wanted.

  “That’s an interesting way of perceiving that relationship. For me, talking with my childhood friends, I have that childlike relationship with them. You know? The jokes we’re laughing at are private jokes from many many years ago.” She turned her head for a kiss, then put her hands back on the wall, relaxing again.

  He massaged the bubbles down her back, being extremely gentle over the three angry looking bruises from the rounds she took to her bulletproof vest.

  “I can’t have that with you, because even if we have private jokes, I’m not filtering them through a middle school mindset. I have no desire to be that person again.” She paused for a second, then asked in a smaller voice, “Is that who you’re waiting for in our relationship?”

  “Nope.” He tilted her head back so he could rinse the shampoo out. “I guess what I’m waiting for is the level of comfort and trust I hear in your voice when you’re having fun with them.”

  Zoe stepped forward, turning and running her hand up and down his dick before she sandwiched it between their bodies. She looked up for a kiss. “I trust you.” And another kiss. “And
I appreciate you.” Then she laid her head on his shoulder.

  Gage turned so the water would run down her back and keep her warm.

  “Because you seem to get me and don’t try to make me something I’m not,” Zoe said. “I didn’t misread that, did I, Gage?” She leaned back so they were eye to eye. “Were you waiting for me to morph into a different person over time?”

  Gage could lose himself in Zoe’s eyes. The honesty. The depth. “No, Zoe.” He sent her a smile. “It’s impossible for a flower to change her petals.” He held her chin so she wouldn’t look away when he said, “And you are the most beautiful orchid.”

  Zoe’s eyes filled with bashful curiosity.

  Gage turned her again so her back was against him, and he reached for the soap to play with her breasts. Her nipples pebbled under his fingers, and she reached between his legs to massage his cock, then guided it inside of her. As she undulated her hips to move up and his shaft, he drew a long breath between his teeth. After a day like today, his emotions were on edge. His orgasm was right there. A few more strokes, and he’d be done. Gage forced the sensations down and pushed his thoughts to his rational mind so he could wait for her to catch up. “Orchids look delicate but they are incredibly hardy,” he whispered into her ear. “The plant blooms for weeks, if not months on end, where other flowers blossom and fade in just days.”

  Zoe arched her back with a moan as his hands moved over her breasts, her belly, her ass. He rocked his hips to move in and out of her. He took another breath and tried to focus on words, not sensations. “Where other flowers need to be watered constantly, you are satisfied with very little—in fact, giving you the same amount of water as I would a different flower would be harmful.”

  Zoe pushed against him.

  “Orchids like diffused light. If the light is too intense they don’t do well. They need just the right touch.” He reached between her legs to drag the rough pad of his thumb over her clitoris. With one arm holding her tight against him, and the other hand rubbing her clit, he stroked gently in and out of her. “Orchids are graceful flowers. Oh-so beautiful to look at. But I’d never pick one and take it home to put in a vase. Orchids have to be left alone.”