Chapter Twelve
Beth had expected to return to Aym-Sec, but the PeeVee passed the Galactic Trade Center and landed atop a skyscraper shrouded in mist. Not fog, she realized. A cloud. So tall, the building spired into an actual cloud.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“My private apartment.”
“This building is your apartment?”
He grinned, all teeth and amusement. “Not the whole thing. Just the penthouse.”
“I assumed you lived in employee housing at Aym-Sec.”
“I do—most of the time, but I keep a private apartment also.”
Nerves and thoughts buzzed. The excruciating pain had dissipated, but the aftereffects continued to bite. So much had occurred in a short time, full comprehension eluded her, but she sensed that everything—that Carter—had changed.
Serious, determined, focused—he wasn’t an easygoing, laid-back kind of guy at the best of times. Since the incident, he’d become more intense. He hadn’t let her out of his sight—had insisted on carrying her when she could walk.
Nothing like getting shot and making a spectacle of oneself.
“We need to talk,” he said. “I wanted it to be someplace private.”
Her heart thudded. Though she’d been unable to blink, she’d read the fear and relief in his eyes when he’d rushed to her side as she lay paralyzed on the arena floor. He’d carried her, cradled her, comforted her.
Professional concern and/or empathy of one human being for another no doubt had motivated his consideration, but his actions had aroused an ache all the same. Her growing infatuation had swelled to push against her heart. Embarrassed? Oh, hell yes. Carter had wiped drool from her mouth as the president and the secretary general watched. It wasn’t enough to humiliate herself—she had to do it in front of two of the most important people in the galaxy. Thank the stars she hadn’t wet herself.
But, like a schoolgirl basking in the casual smile of a secret crush, she soaked up Carter’s attention, hoarding it to treasure later. His hands had been gentle, almost tender, when he buckled her into the shuttle after Benson and Mikala had seen them off. She’d tried to ask questions, but he’d forestalled them off, telling her to save them for later. “Relax and recover,” he’d said.
Atop the roof, he scooped her up again and strode off the shuttle.
Resting her head on his shoulder, she breathed in his scent. There was no romantic emotion attached to his actions, but she pretended he was sweeping her away because he cared for her. I’m the most pathetic human clone ever decanted. The longer he held her, the more fantasies she would spin. Then would come the crash of reality. Allowing him to tend to her in this way only set her up for greater heartache. She needed to stand on her own two feet—figuratively and literally.
“I can walk now,” she said.
“I insist,” he said.
“So do I. I appreciate all you’ve done, but I want to walk.”
His expression turned all mulish alpha male, and he opened his mouth, but Dr. Swain walked out of the cloud, startling her. “Moving is good for her,” he said. “Exercise will speed the return of function, and it will help me evaluate her condition.”
Carter must have been expecting him because he didn’t appear to be the least bit surprised by his presence, but the medical advice didn’t seem to please him, either. “Whose side are you on?” he muttered.
“The patient’s.” Swain sounded amused.
With both men hovering as if they expected her to topple over, she walked the short distance to a vertical transport. They boarded, the glass tube whooshed them down a level then the doors opened to a penthouse apartment rivaling the luxury of the O’Shea residence. Minimalist in décor, it was much more simply appointed, but she recognized the quality of materials and construction.
Dark-green body-conforming sensa-sofas hugged the sitting room perimeter, surrounding a massive holo projection table for comfortable viewing of entertainment and news. Still vids faded in and out on a loop over the sofa, but other walls were bare of adornment. A huge window spanning the length of the room provided a breath-catching focal point of billowing clouds. The apartment rested on top of the world.
She floated over sound-absorbing gray floors to gawk.
“This place is sweet.” Swain joined her by the window, but peered back at Carter. “Why do you live at Cy—Aym-Sec headquarters?”
Carter narrowed his eyes. “Convenience.”
She turned around. “I’ll bet on a clear day you can see for ten kilometers.”
Carter’s mouth quirked. “Hundreds of kilometers, but no one can see in. From the outside, the glass is opaque.”
Projectile-proof, too, she’d bet. “Who could see in this high up?”
“Nobody on the ground, but pods, other small shuttles, and specially equipped PeeVees could buzz by the windows.”
Who was Carter Aymes? Employee housing at Aym-Sec, though adequate and functional, couldn’t compare to this place. Convenience couldn’t be too much of a decisive factor when he could hop into his “specially equipped PeeVee” and zip from one location to another in minutes. Why would he choose bare bones utilitarian housing over luxury?
She turned her attention to the still vids streaming over the sofa. Art-on-a-loop. Landscape scenes from different worlds were intermixed with pictures of people. A still of an older man the spitting image of Carter flashed by.
She gestured. “Was that your father?”
“Yes.”
A picture of Earth from space flashed next then a purple-and-pink grassy field and lavender sky from planets she couldn’t even guess at. Then a group photo of Carter with several men, all as big as he, some larger. Before it changed, she recognized Brock Mann, Dr. Swain, and a few others she recalled passing in the halls. The men shared a similarity she couldn’t define. Not like they were blood relatives, but a resemblance all the same.
“Are those all Aym-Sec employees?” She pointed to the wall.
The images vanished, and the wall went blank.
“What happened? Where did they go?”
He and Swain exchanged a glance, and again, she could have sworn some sort of communication passed between the two of them. “The AI shut it off,” Carter said.
Why would it do that all of a sudden? Wouldn’t someone have to tell the apartment’s artificial intelligence to do that?
“I can tell you’re feeling better, but let’s have Dr. Swain do a scan, okay?” he suggested.
“Should I lie down?”
“If you’re steady on your feet, you can stand.” Swain removed a small device from a pouch slung over his shoulder.
“I’ll stand.”
His back to Carter, Swain swiped a finger across the screen then tapped into it. He winked at Beth. “Okay, I think I’ve got this figured out.”
“You think?” Carter glowered.
She giggled, appreciating the levity. Beginning at the top of her head, Swain scanned the full length of her body then had her turn around so he could do the back.
The doctor peered at the results. “Normal. She’s as healthy as the proverbial horse. I see a slight elevation in electrical brain activity, but that’s not unusual after receiving a photon blast, and I’m confident it will return to standard parameters.”
Nerve and muscle vibrations had ceased; the pain had vanished. She felt pretty good, but it was reassuring to have Swain second her recovery. She trusted his professional opinion, his concern. The Luna Center medtech had seemed kind of cold, disinterested. Cornelius had pulled out the weapon, and she’d been trying to run, to get out of the way, but instead, she’d tripped and fallen in front of the blast. She had a feeling everyone assumed she’d been trying to play the hero, when the opposite was true. She’d been trying to duck.
“Is that something you think, or are you sure?” Carter folded his arms.
Swain winked at her again and grinned. She liked the doctor. He didn’t stir her emotions, but his charm reminded her of Benson. She liked him, too.
It reflected positively on Carter that employees felt comfortable enough to harass him. He’d earned their respect and managed to be in charge without pulling rank. A brotherhood existed with Carter at the nucleus. The two men exchanged a few more gibes before Swain packed up his equipment. “See you back at the office?”
“Soon. Thanks for coming out,” Carter replied with a sincerity confirming her hunch they were friends besides employer/employee.
With the doctor’s departure, they were alone. Gentleness and tenderness vanished. Carter’s jaw tightened, and his eyes became hard and unreadable. She gulped, rubbed her hands together, and braced for “the talk.”
“First of all, let me express how relieved I am you weren’t permanently injured.” His tone sounded more like a rebuke than an expression of concern.
“I know—”
“You listen. I talk.” He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “What department do you work in?”
Was that a trick question? She wasn’t sure what to say.
“Answer me,” he snapped.
“You told me not to talk!” she shot back. But after a glimpse of his darkening face, she muttered, “Logistics.”
“And that involves what, exactly?”
“The coordination and movement of materiel and personnel.”
“Where in your job description does it state you are to act like a bodyguard, security agent, or human shield?”
“Other related duties?” she quipped. Humor had worked for Swain.
It didn’t for her.
Carter stalked toward her, stopping a mere arm’s length away. “If you ever put yourself between a target and an attacker again, I will fire your ass and ensure you never work for another security firm anywhere. Do you understand?”
“I didn’t mean to!” she cried in her defense.
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.” She sniffed back tears and stared at her feet.
He should cut her some slack. She might have saved the president’s life! The blaster had been set to stun so Mikala only would have been temporarily paralyzed like she had been, but still. An Aym-Sec security guard would be getting a commendation instead of a reprimand. He wouldn’t listen to her explanation! She hadn’t intended to throw herself in front of Mikala, but she’d panicked, her feet somehow had gotten all confused, and she’d stumbled in the wrong direction.
She risked a glance at his face.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” He grabbed her and kissed her.