Deadly Sight

As they turned into the parking lot of the motel, his alien-wannabe companion broke the silence. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” she prodded. “Who are you?”

“I’m an old buddy of Jeff’s who owes the bastard a favor,” he retorted. “Why he chose to collect it like this is beyond me.”

He assumed she was looking at him. Her sunglasses were pointed at him, at least. “What kind of work do you do?” she asked.

Caution kicked in and he said carefully, “I work with computers.”

“Hmm. Why would Jeff bring you here, then, where you’re useless?”

He knew all too well the feeling of being useless. It had ripped out his soul, burned every last bit of the humanity out of him and left him the hull of a man he was today. But to be told he was useless by this impertinent female didn’t sit well with him.

Irritation flared in his gut. An errant urge to tell her the truth rose in the back of his throat. But the pain rose, too, and he wasn’t prepared to face the fire today. He pushed down the grief, pushed down the memories, pushed down any feeling at all.

He guided the Bronco into a parking spot in front of the two-bedroom motel bungalow Jeff had arranged for them. Gray’s manners were too deeply ingrained to ignore no matter how irritating this woman might be, so he went around the SUV to open her door for her. But of course, she’d already barged out of the car and stood beside it looking around.

“What?” she demanded as he frowned at her.

“I would’ve opened your door for you.”

She snorted. “I can get my own doors.”

“I’m sure you can. But that doesn’t mean I still shouldn’t open them for you.”

“Are you some kind of throwback to the olden days?”

He allowed himself a little smile. Wait till she got a load of how people lived in this region. The whole place was one giant throwback. “Something like that.”

He fetched her bag and headed for Home Sweet Home. The mint-green cinder-block structure had the metal roof so common in this region. Either that, or someone had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to paint rust stains on the thing. Metal apparently helped shield the minor electrical emissions of small household appliances from the nearby telescopes.

He hurried his steps to reach the door first and opened it for her with a flourish. He couldn’t actually see if she rolled her eyes at him, but he sensed that she did. He smirked at her back in satisfaction as he followed her inside.

“Wow. This is … rustic,” she declared.

He snorted. “This is as modern as it gets this far inside the NRQZ.”

His gaze strayed to her delicious tush, cupped in that naughty black leather as she closed the vinyl-lined curtains over both living-room windows. She headed for the kitchenette’s tiny window, and he enjoyed the view as she bent over the rim of the sink to yank the curtains closed over the small, high window there. The cabin’s interior went dim. But oddly, she didn’t remove her sunglasses. Hangover from partying too hard the night before? Or maybe something more mundane like a migraine?

“Better,” she announced. She turned back toward him but stopped abruptly as she caught sight of the pictures spread out across the counter. He’d forgotten those were there. She stared at the surveillance photographs closely. “Who’s this guy?”

“His name is Luke Zimmer. Jeff sent me those and the kid’s dossier yesterday morning.”

“He’s cute. You stalking him?”

She was clearly trying to get a rise out of him, therefore he refused to take the bait. He answered blandly, “Jeff hired young Luke a few months back to come here and have a look around. Kid has a history of some rather extreme political views and has been known to act upon them from time to time.”

“What constitutes extreme in your world? Which side of the political spectrum do you fall on?”

It went contrary to every bit of his training and years of field experience to tell a complete stranger any details of his personal life. He was all about living the cover story. He never revealed the real man inside, for down that path lay self-destruction. “Not pertinent to the investigation at hand,” he replied stiffly.

“Are you always this uptight?” she asked curiously.

“Uptight? Why … I … Not at all,” he spluttered. Lord, this woman threw him off balance.

She strolled right up to him in a sexy catwalk, invading his personal space. Ahh. Come-ons by hot chicks—now those he had down pat. His world righted itself and, as he regained his equilibrium, his right eyebrow went up in sardonic amusement. She had another think coming if she thought she was going to intimidate him. One nicely shaped, albeit black, fingernail ran down the front of his shirt. Damned if his pecs didn’t tense at her touch, though, in spite of his best effort not to react.

“You don’t look like the jeans-and-flannel-shirt type, Sparky,” she purred. “And those hiking boots look brand-spanking-new. They’re a dead giveaway that you’re a city slicker.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” he retorted. “You’ll fit in around here about like an alien from outer space.”

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.”