Chapter 3
Black coffee for him, black tea for her. Fetch, Zade. Good boy.
He wove his way through the crowd at the bar, feeling like a jackass for carrying steaming stoneware mugs to their booth when everybody else in the place was downing boilermakers, cheap vodka, and beer. The bar was a seedy dive with a neon sign outside that blinked intermittently, but she needed to get warmed up fast.
She could have been hurt. It would’ve been his fault. He had to make amends.
His instructions to those buttheads had been so simple any fool could have followed them. He’d drilled them for different scenarios and been right on hand to monitor the situation. They were supposed to approach her, act vaguely menacing, and then fade away when he showed up. A hint of danger, swiftly averted. Easy.
He hadn’t imagined a scenario where Simone fought back with pepper spray and a wrench. She’d pissed them off. Stung their macho pride. Put herself in danger.
The least he could do was bring her a hot drink.
She was focused on her phone conversation, ignoring his approach. Shaggy, cold-eyed biker types looked him over as he sidled around the pool table and made his way to their booth in the back. He set the cups down on the table and slid into his seat.
Hannah, a fellow Midlander, had told him about Simone when her brother Noah got engaged to her. Ms. Perfect, Hannah called her. Brilliant, beautiful, and cool as a cucumber. Unfailingly polite to everybody all the time, but distant. Chilly.
Based on that, he thought he’d be dealing with an attractive female-shaped popsicle. One who would freeze in shock and stay conveniently in place until he gallantly rescued her, according to his brilliant fucking watertight plan.
That was not this woman.
His mind kept replaying that blow to her head. Seeing her fly through the air and hit the ground hard. Fuck.
She closed her call with the tow company and pushed his phone back across the table toward him. “Thanks for the phone,” she said. “And thanks again for helping me out with those guys.”
“No big deal,” he said.
“It was for me.” Her voice was quietly emphatic.
“Yeah, well. I’m glad to have helped. No honey for your tea, by the way. They were out. Plenty of lemon, though.”
“Sugar’s fine.”
He gazed into her eyes. Beautiful, like the rest of her. Gray-green irises, streaked with gold. She lifted one well-shaped dark eyebrow.
Uh-oh. She was on to him.
“Looking for something?” She took off her glasses, leaned forward, and opened her eyes wide. “I checked myself for signs of concussion already, if that’s what you’re wondering. Took a close-up selfie.”
“You did?” Then he had a photo of those beautiful eyes on his phone to remember her by. Sweet.
“Don’t worry. I deleted it,” she said briskly. “And I’m fine.”
“Ah. Okay.”
She smiled at him, which momentarily affected his ability to reason.
Then it dawned on him. Fuck a duck. What else had she been doing while his back was turned? His phone was full of unique apps, encrypted messages, secret functions that ordinary smartphones didn’t possess. And for some inexplicable reason, it hadn’t even occurred to him that she could snoop into it. He just had to be a goddamn gentleman. Offer up his unlocked phone, and then walk away from her.
The brain-dead idiocy of that move took his breath away.
“Really,” she assured him. “No head pain. No double vision. No nausea. I’m perfectly fine.”
She’d mistaken his dismay for concern. She took a sip of her tea and smiled at him, studying him serenely. “Mmm,” she murmured. “Warms me right up.”
Full lips, made rosy by the heat of the tea. Calm, level gaze. Zade took a gulp of his scorching coffee. He was up against a woman who could swing a wrench, maybe hack an encrypted phone, and maybe lie through her perfect pearly teeth—unless he was being paranoid.
Too bad he couldn’t just bring her a nice hot cup of truth serum and find out what she was really up to. How much she knew about Luke. And Obsidian.
Patience. He looked at her gleaming pink lips, her brilliant eyes, and flexed his hands under the table. This was a long game, and he was totally up for playing it.
“You look fine,” he said. “But I can still take you to the ER.”
“No,” she said, stowing her glasses in her purse. “Don’t suggest it again.”
“What about the police? You want to report this?”
“No, those guys are long gone. And besides, that’s not how I want to spend my evening.” Her eyes glowed at him over the rim of her cup.
Heat roared in his groin. Whoa. Down. It wasn’t remotely safe to read sexual innuendo into random small talk.
He’d keep it gentle, keep it simple, keep it classy. Keep her close. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her for one single goddamn second. Not after what had just happened out there.
But forget about getting lucky. After a fuck-up like that? No way. Certainly not until he combed through his phone in private looking for her digital fingerprints. And the photo she thought she’d deleted? He was totally fishing that image out of his phone’s deep memory. It was there, and he wanted it.
He could look at those eyes for hours.
Simone pulled off her crocheted cap. Her hair was a long, tousled mass of undulating curls and waves. She was pretty with no makeup. The shadowy fold of her eyelid looked incredibly soft. He wanted to touch it.
Simone—no, Alison. She was Alison tonight. He had to stay on top of that.
She squeezed a wedge of lemon into her tea and he got a heady whiff of lemon peel. The fragrance drifted around her like a tangy cloud. It suited her somehow.
She wiped her fingertips on the napkin, then rested her hands on the table. No jewelry, no nail polish. No-nonsense hands that got things done.
She pulled out her broken smartphone case and pieced it deftly back together. The faceplate had a starburst crack, but the touchscreen actually still worked.
“What were you doing wandering around in that shit neighborhood?” he asked.
Her eyes narrowed. “I tutor a group of kids,” she told him. “We meet at the Mercer Center.”
“Oh. What subject?”
“Science and math. This week, we covered zero. In depth.”
“Huh. Sounds interesting.”
His lack of enthusiasm wasn’t lost on her. Her lips curved. “Zero is a very big deal, numerically speaking.”
He harrumphed. “If you say so.”
She was on a roll. “It just so happens to represent a transformative moment in the evolution of human thought. Zero is very exciting.”
“Okay. That’s good to know. But park your car closer to the Mercer Center next time. It’s safer.”
Her eyes slid away. “I know.” She hesitated, and he heard her heartbeat rev up as if she was scared. “There’s more to it.”
He hadn’t expected her to go all honest on him. He studied her for a moment. “You can tell me,” he said.
“I was, um, hiding,” she blurted. “Someone was following me.”
Alarm jangled through him. “Who? A stranger? An ex? Sorry, didn’t mean to get personal.”
“It’s okay.” She stared into her tea, fiddling with her lemon peel. “It’s my stepdad. He’s very controlling. Sometimes he sends a guy from his security staff to monitor me.”
He waited a careful moment before replying. “And this bugs you.”
“It does,” she agreed fervently. “Our meeting got moved to the Center and I didn’t want them to get a fix on the new location. Of course, they will eventually. Not right away, though. I’m so sick of it. Like they think I’m going to freak out and do something dangerous.”
A charged silence fell between them. He slid his hand across the table next to hers without touching it. Several moments passed before he made contact. Just barely. The side of his hand brushed the side of hers. Her heart tripped over itself, then set off at a wild gallop.
“How about you tell me all about this jackass stepdad of yours and the evolution of human thought over dinner?” he offered.
She froze, mouth open. Eyes wide. Heart still thudding. Excited. Scared.
“Bad idea?” he asked, but he didn’t move his hand away. “Look, I’m sorry. We don’t know each other, and sometimes I don’t know when to shut up. And you’ve had a rough night.”
“Ah … not really,” she said. “It got off to a rocky start, but it seems to be looking up. So don’t apologize.” Her voice gained strength. “You stepped out of nowhere and saved my ass. Which puts you in a special category.”
A huge grin wrapped itself around his head. “Yeah?” Special category sounded good. Until he remembered her checking out his phone on the sly.
Allegedly checking it out, that is. He had no proof.
“Yeah.” Her chin was high.
So was her color. He could kiss that pink in her cheeks, her lips. If she’d let him.
“Don’t treat me like a victim,” she said. “Thanks to you, I’m not one.”
“I don’t think you’re a victim,” he said, with absolute sincerity. “I think you’re a terrifying hell-cat. I mean, underneath. Not on the outside. Trust me, it’s a compliment.”
That surprised a peal of laughter out of her. “Nobody’s ever said anything like that about me in my life.”
“Nobody’s been paying attention.”
Her smile swiftly faded. “You got that right.”
Aw, fuck. He’d chased the beautiful smile away. He turned his hand, clasping hers completely in his own. “Let’s go someplace else and keep talking,” he suggested.
She looked like she wanted to reply, but the words had gotten stuck in transit. She stared down at their clasped hands.
Then she blushed.
He actually sensed the sudden release of emotions that made it happen. She got even pinker, and that hot, sweet woman scent intensified. Fucking delicious.
His short hairs stood up on end in stiff salute. Everything saluted. The same rush of blood that happened to her was happening to him in equal measure—but down on the basement level. Swelling his dick to massive proportions.
Down. Chill. Control.
His face was hot now, too, as his ASP sputtered to life again, like it always did when he was rocked by any strong emotion. It flickered and scrolled wildly on his field of vision, spitting up random bits of irrelevant data. After years of practice, he could mostly ignore it, but he did not appreciate the distraction right now.
He breathed it down. Kept on holding her hand. Playing it cool.
“So?” he said carefully, after a few moments. “Dinner?”
He heard her heart rev again in response. She took a breath to reply—
And her phone rang.
Four chiming tones. Strange, out of tune intervals. The volume was so low he was surprised she heard it at all. It was below the threshold of normal unmod hearing.
Her reaction was sudden and violent. Her pupils contracted to pinpricks, her face went white, and her hand ice cold. Her body suddenly vibrated with tension.
The chimes sounded again. Her hand jerked away from his, white-knuckled.
Chimes, again. Her lips had gone purplish-blue. Sweat shone on her forehead.
Holy shit. He recognized that look. That fixed stare. Frozen on the outside and screaming mortal agony inside. He recognized it viscerally. He’d been there. He knew.
He could hear the huge grinding, screeching noise in her head, echoing through his memory. Felt the lethal grip of terror.
The Midlands stare, they called it. Body systems on lockdown. Brain about to explode. One of the painful consequences of fighting an active compulsion pattern.
No. No way was this even remotely possible. Simone couldn’t have been modified with a slave soldier compulsion pattern. His logical mind dismissed the idea. It was total bullshit. Simone had family, money, status. She was no discarded stray kid without any official identity who could be viciously used without protest or consequences.
It wasn’t possible that she’d ever undergone anything like what they’d—
Her spoon rattled violently in the cup she held as the chimes sounded a fourth time. Hot tea sloshed heavily over her hand. She made no sign that she felt it.
He steadied her cup, set it back on the table, and tried to take her hand, but she jerked it away. The table jiggled and shook.
Chimes, again. Her lips were blue now. He could hear and feel her blood pressure drop. No air going into her lungs. Shitshitshit, she was losing consciousness, and that was just for starters. He couldn’t bear to watch this. Not tonight. Not her.
“You going to answer that?” he demanded. “Alison! Your phone!”
“Don’t … want … to.” Her voice was strangled.
“Pick up. You can’t do this right now. You’re not ready. Go on. Answer it. Right now!”
Her lungs strained for air. She stared into his eyes, desperate. Still fighting it.
Fighting an active compulsion pattern took all you had. It required a plan, a strategy, a system, support. You had to work up to it slowly, or you could fucking kill yourself. He’d seen it happen. It was sad and ugly.
“Answer it!” he hissed into her face. “Goddamnit, Alison. Now!”
She picked up the phone with a shaking hand.
* * * *
The instant Simone answered, the agony relented. Just enough to let in a life-saving gulp of air. Then another. And another. She concentrated on keeping her voice from quavering. “Hi. Rand?”
“Simone? What the hell? I’ve been calling every five minutes for the last half hour! You never picked up! What the hell is going on with you?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. I was just, ah … busy.”
“I’m not buying it.” Rand waited expectedly for another round of excuses from her, but she didn’t trust her voice yet. After a few seconds, he barreled on. “I understand you need time to process what happened with Noah, but you’ve been holed up in your house for months and you have symptoms that need to be addressed.”
She clenched her teeth against a fresh, nauseating wave of pain. “And?”
“I made an appointment for you with Dr. Laera. She’ll see you tomorrow morning. A car will pick you up at eight.”
“Cancel it,” Simone said. “I’m not going to see Dr. Laera.”
The grinding noise began to swell even as she said it. She put her hand to one temple, bracing herself for the pain that she somehow knew was going to follow.
And oh fuck … It did. Like an icepick to the head. She wanted to vomit.
Rand was the last person on earth she wanted to talk to right now. Particularly right after that panic attack, or whatever the hell it was. Right in front of the hottest, most intriguing guy she’d ever seen in real flesh and blood.
Her neurological symptoms were getting worse. All at once. Fate was such a spiteful bitch.
Rand’s voice faded in and out. “ … hate to lecture you—”
“Then don’t,” she said, gasping at a fresh stab of pain.
Through the wobbly haze of pain-tears, she could see the alarm in Zade’s face. Shit. Pull yourself together. She tuned back into Rand’s yammering. “ … so unprofessional to abandon your colleagues mid project!”
“I haven’t taken a day off in years,” she blurted.
“But you can’t just disappear!” His voice distorted again into meaningless sound as she clenched against another wave of sickening pain.
His voice blared suddenly loud in her ear. “ … prototype of the latest neurostim wand for my meeting with Phillip Holt tomorrow. You know Holt needs visual aids to pry his mind open to anything new.”
“I need more time,” she whispered. “To work out bugs. Not ready.”
“I need to have the latest version. For security’s sake.”
“Soon,” she said. “Gotta go, Rand.”
“Come back to work, Simone,” Rand lectured. “I insist.”
She was intensely conscious of Zade listening to her side of the conversation. His clear, attentive gaze had a strange effect. It made the brain-numbing buzz ease.
Great. She’d take it. She just kept staring at him. Whatever helped. “I’m moving forward,” she repeated. “Everything’s all on track.”
“That’s good, but you have to see Dr. Laera.”
“No. I refuse to go back.” She braced for the pain … and there it was, right on cue. A flare of searing, white-hot agony. Longer than before.
Her hand jerked, knocking the mug over. Tea spread over the table.
“Where are you, Simone?” Rand demanded.
She stopped even trying to keep her voice from shaking. Lost cause. “Home,” she told him.
“Don’t bullshit me.”
Amid the pain and the noise, a stab of clarity. Rand knew she wasn’t home. That sneaky son of a bitch. “One of your security guys found me, right?”
Rand didn’t deny it. “Yes. Kruger found you, after wandering in circles all evening to track you down. Who’s that man you’re with? Kruger sent me photos. I don’t recognize him.”
Another knifelike jab of pain as she forced the words out. “None of your business.”
“This is no time for adolescent rebellion. You’re not well. Dr. Laera can—”
She ended the call and turned the phone off before the next wave of agony.
She braced herself for it, fists clenched.
It hit, and her vision went dark.