by A. C. Arthur
* * *
“I want two guards on her every second of the day.” Ezra spoke into his cell phone as he climbed into the red SUV.
“I pulled her personnel file and there’s nothing in there that indicates any prior situations that we should be concerned about,” Jacques told him from the other end.
“I don’t give a damn what that file says, somebody’s taunting her. My bet is it’s someone from her past and if I’m not mistaken, which I’m probably not, she’s preparing to run.” Just speaking the words had Ezra’s shoulders stiffening, his temples starting to slowly and persistently throb.
“Wait a minute, hold on,” Jacques argued. “Do you have any proof or is this just a hunch? And why the hell are you so up in arms about a woman you only met a couple of weeks ago and don’t know all that well?”
Ezra had already pulled out of the resort parking lot and was driving down the dirt road that led to the highway. Spending that time with Jewel this morning had made him late for his commute to the lab. So his foot would remain pressed on the gas until he made it there in a timely fashion. He prayed he had no interruptions by way of law enforcement.
As for Jacques’s questions, he didn’t have an answer, at least not one he wanted to vocalize.
“Gut instinct,” he replied, leaving out the way his gut coiled each time he scented the pain and fear churning inside her. That was what he could not deal with, what he could not tolerate—the sickening stench of her pain. It reminded him of something, of some other time, when the pain had been his and Eli’s. Ezra hated that time and he hated that memory, goddamn her!
Jacques was quiet for a few seconds. “She’s a human, not a shifter, Ezra.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means your gut shouldn’t be reacting so quickly and so assuredly to a human. Another shifter, yes, because our DNA is similar enough on certain strands that there can be instant deep connections between mates,” Jacques stated frankly.
“I don’t care about that shifter DNA bullshit, Jacques! I know what I feel.” Just as he’d known what he’d felt at the hands of a female shifter a long time ago. Ezra remembered how that situation had ended, the rage mixed with the pain, and the restraint he had been unable to hold onto. It all pissed him the hell off.
Silence again.
“Just put the guards on her until I get back to the resort, then I’ll take it from there.” Because human or not, he was going to protect Jewel from whatever or whoever was after her.
“So you’re going to guard her throughout the night? Let me guess, while sleeping in the bed beside her. If this is just about sex, Ezra, you need to keep it in your pants and do the job you’re here to do,” Jacques told him, his tone a little more agitated.
“It’s not just about sex,” he rebutted, not sure he’d ever said those words before. “And if there’s a female in trouble it is my job to protect her.” Even if the one she might ultimately need protection from was him.
“Not this female,” Jacques stated quietly. “I’m telling you to keep your distance. Find out what the Genesis Project is, and fast. Then you can be on the jet back to D.C.”
Ezra’s brow raised, his cat pressing against him with the persistent urge to stake its claim, to make sure the cat on the other end of this phone knew she was off-limits. The man, however, wasn’t anywhere near making that type of declaration. As for Jacques, Ezra wondered if the shifter was warning him off Jewel for a specific reason—like, maybe he was interested in her.
“I don’t have any problem multitasking, Germain. I’m handling things on my end. But if you don’t put that guard team on her and something happens, I’m kicking your ass first, bet on that,” Ezra snapped heatedly before disconnecting the call.
He pounded his hand against the steering wheel before rounding the last turn. Comastaz came into view. There was no doubt in his mind that something was going on with Jewel, the wig- and contact-lens-wearing administrative assistant. Just as he was certain that something did center around the insanely intense physical attraction he felt for her. Jacques had been right in one regard: she was a human, and Ezra’s track record did not include human women on a daily basis. He preferred that his sexual liaisons be with shifters, the emotionless rendezvous went much smoother with those of his own kind for whatever reason. He slept with them and he left, not trusting himself or the remnants of his past to anything more.
He was determined that none of that would be an issue with Jewel because Ezra knew how to play this game, even with a human. He lusted after her, there was no doubting that, and at some point he knew he would slake that need. But it would stop there. For her safety and his sanity, this time, it had to.
* * *
An hour later Ezra was submerged in data files, thousands of them, all encrypted by a firewall that he was having a hell of a time breaking through. That could be because computer hacking was not his forte. Or it could be because he was slightly distracted—only slightly, he swore to himself—by thoughts of whether or not Jewel was safe.
Slamming his palm on the desk after another failed twenty minutes, he decided it was best to call for reinforcements. Pulling out his cell he dialed a number that was new to him, and waited for a reply.
“Speak to me,” the young male voice answered.
Ezra resisted the urge to frown. He remembered being twenty-one and thinking himself invincible. Damn, did he remember those years. He and Eli were unstoppable then. Two years prior they’d completed their training with a tribe of exiled Serfins and Lormenia shifters and were on the road to joining the United States Army. That was before Eli had come up with the ingenious plan of them heading straight to the East Coast Faction Leader to be trained as guards for the Stateside Assembly instead. That, in Ezra’s mind, had been the best decision they’d ever made. The females they’d both been able to meet through their work with Roman Reynolds had been an exceptional coup and one he’d cherish all the days of his life.
“Did you store my number in your phone like I told you?” Ezra asked the youngster.
There was some noise in the background before a muffled, “Yes, sir. Yes, I did,” was said.
“Then the next time you see it on your screen, stating your name and position would be advised.” Ezra smiled inwardly, even as his words were spoken with stern authority. It was part of the youngsters’ training to learn to address commanding officers in a certain way, to always show respect for themselves as well as for the shifter hierarchy. Both Ezra and Eli took their training responsibilities seriously.
“Yes, sir. I will. How can I help you, sir?” Dyson Mor, the youngster, replied.
“I can’t get into these files. Do you have the copy I e-mailed to you last night?” Ezra asked, more than ready to find out what was going on at Comastaz.
“Sure do, and I’m about ten minutes away from setting that blasted wall on fire,” Dyson reported.
Ezra sighed, damned hackers. “Great. I’m going to snoop around here a little more, then I’m heading back to the resort. The minute it’s cracked, text me.”
“Aren’t you wearing your com link?” the youngster asked. “I could just alert you that way.”
“No,” Ezra replied quickly. “I want to see those files before anyone else. Text me and I’ll come to your room to go over them.”
“You’ll come to my office,” Dyson corrected him. “I’m working in my office.”
Ezra shook his head. The kid’s office was the closet in his room located in the bunkers of Perryville. He’d transformed the small space so that it now resembled a computer closet one would find in a high-tech office with more keyboards and screens than Ezra thought he’d ever seen in one place. But for the sake of saving time he’d concede, whatever got the job done.
“Yeah, right, I’ll meet you in your office. Now get back to work!”
Ezra disconnected the call just in time, because a second or so later two military humans entered the office where he was working. His fi
ngers quickly hit the buttons to minimize the DOS screen he’d had up and he yanked the USB from its drive, sliding it along his desk until he could push it into his side pocket.
“What’s the progress?” the taller, broader man asked.
He was the leader, the one with the higher rank, Ezra surmised, glancing over the rim of his computer screen to survey the men once more. There were three of them now. Through a side door a spindly man dressed in a lab coat had joined them. His wire-framed glasses slipped down his nose and he fingered them back up in place before nodding his head and speaking. “We do not have much time. I need the DNA match for it to be complete.”
“What about the prototype?” the leader spoke up again, his voice stern, anger pouring off him in heavy waves.
“You sent an ex-stripper to do an investigative job with level-seven security clearance. That was bright,” the second guy added with disgust, dressed in a uniform that didn’t quite fit him in size or personality.
“Shut your face, Junior! You’re only allowed in here because of your father. Otherwise I would have capped your simple ass a long time ago.”
Second guy grimaced under the leader’s reproach, while the lab guy wiped sweat from his brow.
“The prototype is not ready. It is unstable. Results are inconclusive. Without the part to the missing strand I cannot duplicate with any type of success.”
“That’s unacceptable,” Junior replied instantly, his courage upped a notch as he spoke to the lab guy instead of the leader.
The leader, however, nodded. “Hate to say it but I agree with Junior. I want that prototype up and ready to go by twenty-two hundred hours. Do I make myself clear?”
He’d stepped closer to the lab coat guy, almost giving the nervous man a heart attack as he spoke directly into his face, spittle flying from his mouth, landing in specks on the lab guy’s glasses. Ezra suppressed a growl. He hated bullies. Probably hated a bully in a uniform even more considering the circumstances, but he remained silent, putting his head down a second before the leader turned in his direction.
There were eight computer stations in this room. Four that were occupied throughout the evening hours and four during the day. Ezra sat in a corner and the other three sat single file in front of him. From what he could see they’d all kept their heads down from the moment these guys came in. He wondered if this was a normal meeting place for them. A place where whatever they were speaking about would not be overheard by anyone other than the computer geeks on payroll and bound by a confidentiality agreement they all signed upon hire.
With his head down Ezra couldn’t hear the other men and he couldn’t read their lips when their voices lowered. But he still sensed the anger from the leader, the impatience from Junior, and the stark fear from the lab coat guy, all of which alerted his suspicions. His cell phone had remained on the desk beside his computer. Picking it up, Ezra positioned it so that he could get a picture of the men as they exited the room, since the main door was closest to his desk. He never turned his head, just hit the camera button repeatedly as he heard their footsteps. It wasn’t until after they were gone that he checked the phone to see if any of the pictures were clear. Two of the six snapshots were relatively clear of the two men. Lab coat had obviously retreated the same way in which he’d appeared. He sent the pictures via text to Dyson, directing the kid to identify the men in the picture and have a complete report on them waiting when he arrived at his “office.”
The leader had asked about a prototype. The files Ezra had copied to his flash drive were labeled THE GENESIS PROJECT—PROTOTYPES 1–100.
That, to Ezra’s way of thinking, was definitely no coincidence.
Chapter 7
“Working late on the Ortiz wedding?” Jacques asked Jewel when five o’clock—the normal closing time of the front office—had come and gone.
She didn’t answer right away, but kept staring at her computer screen as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. Jacques walked farther into her cubicle until he was able to lean against her desk, his body facing hers. That’s when she startled, jumping slightly and hurriedly pressing the keys to minimize her computer screen. He hadn’t bothered to look at it because her trepidation and worry could be scented from across the office.
“I’m sorry,” she immediately replied. “Is there something you need?”
Her nervous hands fell to her lap and Jacques focused on them a moment before looking back up to her face. She stared back at him with wide green eyes, her makeup flawless, long lashes and gloss-coated lips. Curly red hair circled her face, long earrings hanging from her ears. Jacques’s brow creased as he wondered for the millionth time today if Ezra had any reason to be worried about her.
“No apologies necessary,” he replied. “I was just about to leave and I noticed that you were still here. So is there something you’re working on, something I can help with so you can get out of here and enjoy the rest of your evening?”
She blinked, her eyes squinting slightly before she sat up even straighter. “I do not have any plans for the evening,” was her reply.
Okay, that wasn’t really his question, and, in fact, had added just another layer to the confusion he was feeling where Jewel Jenner was concerned.
“The wedding plans are going well?” he prompted, still trying to get to the bottom of this situation. He had to believe her problems were work related. It would be much easier that way. He could fix whatever it was and then Ezra would back off this protective binge he’d gone on with her.
She sighed then, her shoulders relaxing a bit. “We’ve worked out most of the kinks, I think. She may be aiming to become Perryville’s first bridezilla, but I’m killing her with kindness.”
Jacques smiled at that, he couldn’t help it. Jewel was an extremely kind, quiet, soft-spoken person. That had been part of the reason her appearance here had gone over so well with him and Bas. Before last night, before Ezra had brought it to his attention, Jacques had never noticed the scent of fear lingering around her. He’d never wondered if she’d left something in her past, something that could hurt her and, in turn, because she was living here, affect them. Now, however, he did. Ezra’s insistence that something was going on and now Jewel’s own actions, gave him more than cause to worry.
“You sound like you have it under control,” he told her, confident that she absolutely knew how to handle the Ortiz bride-to-be. As for whatever was going on with her, he was still unsure.
“I do. And as soon as I finish a few other tasks, I’ll be on my way,” she told him, moving closer to the desk again, her fingers poised over the keyboard.
“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” he said, not really wanting to go but sensing her discomfort with his presence.
He was close enough to her now physically that fear was the greater scent, masking another emotion he couldn’t quite name, but that concerned him just the same. Jacques wanted to touch her shoulder, her hand, something to ease her anxiety, but he wasn’t sure he should, wasn’t sure he knew how. Comfort, consolation, hand-holding, none of that was his forte. He dealt in the definitive—good, bad, right, wrong. He managed this resort with a level head and sound judgment. The staff he employed were the compassionate and customer service–oriented ones.
Jacques led his shifters in the same manner. Good, bad, strong, weak, get the job done or get the hell out. That’s why Bas kept him in both positions, because he did them both well. He didn’t mess up.
Then why did he feel like that’s exactly what he’d done by allowing Jewel Jenner to stay here this long without really knowing her?
* * *
She was stalling. That was the explanation she could have simply given Jacques. But he was her supervisor and she was almost positive that telling him she didn’t want to go to dinner with Ezra Preston wasn’t a good idea.
In all the time she’d been at Perryville, Jewel had been extremely careful not to share too much. The fewer lies she had to tell, the fewer she had to keep up with. A
s things stood now, she could probably write a manual for the life she’d had to create, the story she’d had to tell herself to believe for their safety. For a while, she’d almost accepted this as her true reality, that she was actually Jewel Jenner, administrative assistant in this glamorous resort, making a high five-figure salary and living a stable and contented life.
Almost.
With her laptop secure in her bag, she switched off the light and finally prepared to leave the office. There was a slight pang as she stood there, staring into the darkness, a sudden blanket of sadness that threatened the last shreds of her sanity.
This was never meant to be permanent. It was intended to be a pit stop until her father was better, until he was stable enough to travel. Now he was and she didn’t want to go. It was her fault for getting comfortable, for thinking that maybe, just maybe …
At her hip her cell phone vibrated, jolting her from her troubling thoughts.
“Hello?” she answered, clearing her throat and praying the lump of emotion that seemed to be stuck there hadn’t been vocalized.
“You’re fifteen minutes late.”
His voice was deep, authoritative, sexy, and irritating as hell. Jewel frowned instantly.
“Unlike you, I am not on vacation. I actually have a job to perform.”
“And you were officially off the clock a half hour ago. You weren’t thinking about standing me up, were you?”
Hell yeah! She almost yelled into the phone but she didn’t want to give him that satisfaction of knowing she was afraid of him or of being near him for too long. She had a sinking suspicion that Ezra Preston was more than used to women either falling at his feet with eagerness, or swooning with helplessness. Jewel had no intention of being that type of woman ever again. Yet, the distant role she’d been taking hadn’t seemed to be working all that well either, since he was now on her phone.
“How did you get my number?” she asked as an afterthought.
