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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
Strange New World
Copyright © 2009 by Jennifer Colgan
ISBN: 978-1-60504-393-7
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Angela Waters
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First
electronic publication: February 2009
Strange New World
Jennifer Colgan
Dedication
To JB. Thanks for always having time to read my ramblings.
Chapter One
Blue lightning split the clouds gathered on the eastern horizon.
Chase Calder trained the telephoto lens of his Canon E50 on the
distant rocks and counted off seconds in his head. When he reached
ten, he looked up, lowered the camera to chest level and sniffed the
dry desert air.
No thunder accompanied the second flash, either. Heat
lightning. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about rain interrupting
his work.
He lifted his camera again, adjusting the heavy nylon strap
from which it hung, and aimed at the coppery streak of sunlit
sandstone he’d been trying to capture on film. In contrast to the
bronzed glow of the land, the Nevada sky had turned the darkest
shade of cobalt gray Chase had ever seen. The bowl of the sky had
become an iron kettle and, despite the lack of thunder, the air
seemed to crackle.
Two more shots and he’d knock off for the evening, go back to
his motel in Rattlesnake Flats and suck down a cold beer or two
before a mesquite steak dinner and a much-needed night’s sleep.
He’d been working too hard on this project, pushing himself
physically to keep his mind off troubling memories of a bad
breakup. After his relationship with Brett dissolved, he’d thrown
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The next flash of lightning nearly blinded him. The Canon
slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground, kicking up an eddy
of brown dust. Chase stared at it. It lay gleaming in the russet light
of sunset, still attached to the camera strap.
himself into his work at warp speed. Now it was time to slow down
and regroup.
He bent to retrieve his equipment, and a wave of dizziness sent
him stumbling forward. He caught his balance then staggered back,
reaching for the door of his Jeep. Two, three, four steps and he still
hadn’t connected with anything solid. Where the hell had he
parked? He couldn’t have wandered that far from the road while
searching for the perfect bristlecone pine.
The world spun cruelly around him, and his heart began to
pound, the rhythm uneven and out of control. When he looked up,
the Jeep sat in front of him. How had he gotten turned around?
He lurched forward just as another brilliant sheet of light
obliterated everything. The desert landscape blanched then winked
out. Cold blackness enveloped him, and he sank into nothing.
“Where did they find him?” Martina Sanchez pushed her wide,
tortoiseshell reading glasses up the bridge of her nose and focused
her tired eyes on the official incident report that lay open on her
desk.
In front of her, Sergeant Hal Baker’s impressive physique filled
most of her cluttered office. The sergeant’s precise, military gaze
focused on a spot somewhere above her head, and his hands were
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clasped behind his broad back. A mountain in crisp khaki, he
intimidated everyone around him without even trying.
Martina forced herself to read the report rather than let her
curious gaze linger on the weapon holstered at Baker’s hip.
“Service road, one quarter mile within the perimeter, ma’am.
It’s in the report. No breach was found in the border fencing. His
footprints just…went right through.”
“An electrified fence?” Martina permitted herself a quick
upward glance. Baker’s allure stopped at his collar. The most
severe, humorless and downright mean looking face she’d ever seen
topped his magnificently muscular torso. His polite manner and
clipped speech contrasted with the honed steel of his gaze. Martina
shifted in her chair and dropped her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am. Ten thousand volts, topped with razor wire. We
never shut off the juice. If he’d tried to climb the fence, we’d be
collecting his ashes in a dust pan.”
“And he has no visible injuries?” Martina studied the crisp
white pages before her, noting the intruder’s vital statistics. Six foot
four. Impressive. Approximately two ten. No scars or tattoos. Blue
eyes, brown hair and perfect teeth. Nothing specific to make his
dental records unique.
“Not a scratch on him, ma’am.”
“But he’s unconscious.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Blood work…?” Martina sifted through the report, but found
nothing from the infirmary to indicate any further tests had been
authorized.
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“Still waiting on that. General Dobbs thought you’d like to
conduct any medical tests yourself. He said the results would be
classified. His eyes only.”
“Of course.” Martina rose and snapped the report file shut.
“Dobbs’s eyes only” meant whatever her findings might be, no one
would ever know about them. “I’d like to see Mr. Calder and get
started on my assessment of his condition.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Baker swiveled on his booted heel and opened
the door for her. She sidled past him, the report tucked under her
arm.
It was going to be a long day. The first of many now that
Dobbs had begun testing the Undertaker.
Long, feminine fingers caressed the tense muscles of his neck,
and Chase’s heartbeat ramped up in response. The sweet, musky
scent of a light perfume teased his sleepy senses, and warm breath
laced with mint tickled his ear.
His mind rebelled, too weary to think of anything except dark
oblivion, but his libido began to stir.
His cock thrummed to attention when those soft hands grazed
his thigh. Sleep could wait. If his woman wanted him…his woman?
“Brett?” The moment her name passed his lips, he
remembered. Their divorce had been…acrimonious and mostly his
fault, but he still missed her now and then. More so now, with a
hard-on straining against his Jockeys.
“Who’s Brett?”
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The voice brought him instantly and completely awake. He
stared up into mocha brown eyes rimmed with thick, black lashes.
Soulful. Sexy.
Before Chase could focus, she brought a pair of thick-rimmed
eyeglasses down to rest on her nose, as if she were erecting a shield
between his curious gaze and hers.
“Who?”
Her lips, painted a tempting shade of coral, pursed in
consternation. “You called me Brett.”
“Sorry. I was dreaming.” Bit by bit, Chase’s senses returned.
The warm, fuzzy feeling of arousal lingered, but cold fingers of
reality crept into his brain as he took inventory of his surroundings.
Long, fluorescent lights stretched across the stark, white ceiling
above him. Square tiles in a familiar shade of institutional green
lined the three visible walls. A metal door, set with wired glass, held
a heavy locking bar—the kind they put on walk-in freezers. The
place smelled like a hospital, but something distinctly sinister
flavored the chilly air. Where the hell was he, and how had he
gotten here?
“Who are you? What happened to me?” Chase craned his neck
to get a better look at the woman. Waves of chestnut hair fell to her
lab-coated shoulders. Trim lines of a delicate sapphire blouse
peaked out beneath the starched white lapels. A laminated ID badge
came into focus, and she answered as he read her name.
“I’m Dr. Sanchez. Martina Sanchez. You’re safe, Mr. Calder,
and apparently uninjured. As for what happened to you, I’m hoping
you can tell me.”
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I’m naked. Chase ruminated on that for a moment. Except for
his underwear and a thin paper sheet that covered him from knees to
nipples, he wore nothing.
His heart rate increased again when he realized his wrists and
ankles were secured to the chrome rails of the bed on which he lay.
Instinct forced him to test the bonds. The bed frame rattled, and the
sexy doctor stepped back.
A face that made Frankenstein’s monster look friendly
appeared in the cross-hatched square of glass set into the metal door.
The doctor waved one delicate hand at the apparition, and it
disappeared.
“What the hell was that? Why am I tied down?”
“Relax, Mr. Calder. Nothing can hurt you here. The man
outside is Sergeant Baker, my bodyguard.”
“Bodyguard? Sweetheart, you’ve got nothing to be afraid of.
I’m not going to hurt anybody.” As long as they don’t hurt me first.
Dr. Sanchez placed a cool hand on Chase’s shoulder. A teasing
whiff of her perfume momentarily drew his thoughts away from his
predicament.
“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Now, if you would
answer some questions for me, we can keep Sergeant Baker in the
other room where he belongs.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He wanted to add
that he had nothing to hide, but that would only make it seem like he
did. Whatever was happening here was serious shit.
“Good. Now, what were you doing on restricted land?”
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Martina gauged Calder’s reaction to her question. He closed his
sexy, azure eyes and sighed. “I’ve been all over Nevada in the past
two months, Doc. I’m well aware of how much of it belongs to the
government. I know I was on a public road.”
“You weren’t found on a public road, Mr. Calder. You were
found inside a restricted area of the Air Force Base. All we want to
know is how you got in.”
“I didn’t. I know where I was, and I wasn’t anywhere near the
base. There are maps in my Jeep with all my work sites marked.”
“Your Jeep?”
“Yeah—Christ, you mean you didn’t find my Jeep? Somebody
must have stolen it.” All Calder’s muscles clenched in frustration,
and Martina had to force her eyes back up to his face.
“Can you describe your vehicle, Mr. Calder? What’s the model
and plate number?”
“Why? Did you find it?”
“No, but we will.”
“We, who? The Air Force? I’m on the base now, right?”
“Yes, you are.”
“Well, I’m not here trying to steal military secrets if that’s what
you think.”
Martina nodded. She didn’t think that, but Dobbs would. A
surge of sympathy for Calder replaced the buzz of arousal she’d felt
when she’d run her hands over his body, searching for injuries. He
was gorgeous, perfectly proportioned, and his face—rugged lines, a
strong jaw darkened by a day’s growth—belonged on a male model.
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By the time Dobbs released him, he wouldn’t look quite so
good.
“No one said you were after military secrets, Mr. Calder. We
just find it odd that you managed to gain access to restricted land.
There’s no entrance to the base anywhere near where you were
found. It’s very rugged country out there, no place for a man on foot
with no supplies to be wandering around.”
“I wasn’t wandering around on foot. I drove out to a spot about
forty miles from Rattlesnake Flats. That’s where I’m staying, at the
Raintree Motel. I’m a photographer. I’m writing a book on Nevada
wildlife and landscapes. I’ve got about forty rolls of film, all trees,
cactus, rocks, lizards. Nothing classified. I’m not one of those nut
jobs who hangs around the fence trying to sneak pictures of Area
51.”
Martina stiffened. When she arrived at the base she’d been
given the standard lecture by Dobbs. Area 51 doesn’t exist. The
myth is perpetuated to draw the attention of the public away
from…other things.
A thrill-seeking UFO buff she could handle. If that were the
case, she’d let Baker put the fear of God in him and dump him back
at the front gate where the Nevada State Police could pick him up
and charge him with criminal mischief.
Calder was clearly no thrill-seeker, no desperate abductee
hoping for a glimpse of the “mother ship”.
“Area 51 is a myth, Mr. Calder. There’s no such place.”
“Fine. Whatever. I don’t care whether it’s real or not. I just
want to get out of here.”
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“I’m sure that can be arranged after a few more questions.”
He sighed, his chest rising and falling beneath the paper sheet.
Martina resisted the desire to brush a stray lock of hair from his
forehead.
Why did this man intrigue her so? Since she’d arrived in the
exam room, her pulse hadn’t stopped racing. Beneath the layers of
her clothing, her entire body tingled. Her nipples peaked tighter
each time she let her gaze feast on his tanned muscles.
She’d been here too long surrounded by men who were off
limits to her. Even though she held a civilian post, her security
clearance bestowed a certain honorary rank. Four months in the
company of the fittest, hardest men in the US military had left
Martina Sanchez horny as a hellcat. She had to get a grip and
concentrate, but with Chase Calder’s deep blue eyes boring into her
soul, she could barely think.
She fixed her gaze on the wire-covered wall clock and took a
deep breath. “So you’re a photographer, Mr. Calder?”
“Yes. I’ve worked with National Geographic and several
conservation magazines for the past decade. I can give you
references.”
“Do you normally work without a camera?”
He rolled his eyes. “I had a camera. One in my hand and five in
my Jeep. I guess I dropped it. Maybe I was mugged.”
“That’s unlikely in the middle of the desert.”
“Why? No witnesses.”
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“True.” Martina smiled. Calder wasn’t lying. How he’d gotten
on the base was as much a mystery to him as it was to her. Dobbs
would never believe that, though.
“I’ll be back shortly, Mr. Calder. With your indulgence, I’d
like to take some blood and a few other samples and run some
tests.”
“I’m not on drugs, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m sure you’re not.” Martina backed toward the door, her
heart heavy. What secrets would Calder’s medical tests reveal about
the Undertaker?
“Can you at least open these cuffs before you go, Doc? I
promise I’ll be a good boy while you’re gone.”
His voice was a caress. Chase Calder knew how to charm a
woman. Martina backed up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Calder. Not yet, but—”
Calder strained against the cuffs again. Frustration furrowed his
brow and corded the muscles in his neck.
“Mr. Calder!” Martina gasped when he sat up, the paper sheet
falling away from his rippled abs.
Calder held his arms out in front of him, his shocked gaze
bouncing from his wrists to the cuffs that had held them. The heavy
leather bands were intact, still buckled around empty space.
Their eyes met for one startled second, then Chase Calder fell
through the mattress of the medical cot. He landed on the floor
beneath the bed, eyes wide, mouth agape, completely free of his
restraints.
Martina screamed, and Sergeant Baker sprang into action.
Chapter Two
“He was the only living thing larger than a jackrabbit in ten
square miles,” General Melvin Dobbs said, pounding a clenched fist
on the table to punctuate each word. “And he survived. He should
be as dead as everything else in the test site.”
Martina stirred her coffee with a scratched steel spoon and
watched the liquid slosh against the sides of her cup. “He was the
only human in the test area. We already know the Undertaker works
on plants and lower animals, but—”
Dobbs gave Martina a sour look. “Dr. Sanchez, the official
name of the project is Acheron. You know I prefer not to use the
term ‘undertaker’.”
“Yes, sir. Acheron hasn’t been tested on humans. Now we
know it doesn’t work.” Relief colored her response, and she didn’t
care if Dobbs picked up on it.
“It works well enough. It wasn’t designed to be genocidal, after
all.” The odd lilt in Dobbs’s voice betrayed his more sinister
thoughts.
Martina bit her lower lip. What Acheron had been designed for
was as far from its current purpose as heaven was from hell. She
stared into her coffee. It had gone cold, just like the metal
conference table at which they sat, the cinderblock walls of the
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windowless room and Dobbs’s little black heart. “Just because
Chase Calder is alive now, doesn’t mean Acheron won’t kill him.
I’m still waiting on his test results. Right now he seems perfectly
healthy, but I’m concerned about the long-term effects of the beam.”
“No more phasing out?”
“Not since yesterday. Of course, Sergeant Baker knocked him
unconscious.”
“Hmm.” That seemed to please Dobbs. He ran a hand over his
steel gray hair and leaned back in his chair. Casual arrogance oozed
from his pores. “Keep me informed. Observe his every move. I’m
betting this little side effect is temporary.”
“You call phasing through solid matter a ‘little side effect’?”
“At least we know how he got through the fence.” Dobbs
leaned forward. His brows knit together, and deep worry lines
creased his forehead. “The man is going to die, Doctor. There’s no
point in getting worked up about his symptoms.”
“General.” Martina swallowed a bitter comment and flattened
her hands on the table to still their trembling. “Mr. Calder’s Jeep
was found more than two miles from the perimeter fence. He was
outside of the test zone, which means—”
“I know what it means. The range is greater than we
anticipated. We overcompensated with the power input.”
“It means Acheron can’t be controlled properly.”
“For now. We’ll make some adjustments and conduct another
test in a smaller containment area.”
“General—”
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“Get back to work, Doctor. I still need a full report on the plant
and animal specimens you were given yesterday.” Dobbs rose, gave
Martina a dismissive nod and left the room. She remained in her
seat for a long time afterward just staring into space and wishing
she’d never laid eyes, or hands, on Chase Calder.
Chase’s last memory was of a uniformed behemoth slamming a
massive fist into his skull. Once again the world had faded away,
and he’d awoken with a headache and a lump the size of Texas
above his left eyebrow.
At least he wasn’t strapped down to a bed anymore. Nor was he
naked. They’d given him a gray coverall that matched the steel
walls of the ten-by-ten cell he now occupied. His accommodations
included a shelf-like cot covered with a thin, foam mattress, a
stainless steel sink and toilet and a small water fountain. A glass
partition separated him from a narrow observation area. The foot-
thick glass muted any sound from outside, and his frustrated cursing
had done nothing but bounce back at him, making his head hurt
even more.
In the antechamber sat two metal chairs and a small folding
table with a plastic plant on it. Chase wondered if he’d become
some kind of exhibit. Were spectators going to sit down over coffee
and croissants and watch him pace back and forth like a caged
jungle cat?
He’d been in enough Third World countries to know that the
only way to deal with a government snafu like this was complete
and humble cooperation. Later, when he was free, he could rant
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about injustice and threaten to sue, but right now he had to behave
as well as possible and avoid getting slammed into a wall again.
He turned a sharp glance at Martina Sanchez when she walked
through the heavy door of the antechamber. She flipped a switch on
the wall, and sound reached him through a speaker set into the
ceiling of his cell. He followed her movements as she sat in one of
the chairs, crossed her long legs beneath the hem of a tight, navy
blue skirt and regarded him over the thick frame of her glasses.
“Dr. Frankenstein returns.” Chase’s comment seemed to bristle
her. Her dark eyes pierced him, and she licked her lips.
“I do apologize for this, Mr. Calder. But you understand we
must take precautions.”
“Because I fell out of bed?”
She seemed startled by his question. Her upper body stiffened,
and her breasts rose against the neckline of her crisp white blouse.
With her knees pressed together she looked prim and stern. Those
gypsy eyes and ruby lips certainly didn’t belong to an uptight
schoolmarm, though. A fire blazed under those tailored clothes, and
Chase couldn’t figure out why that intrigued him so, when his only
concern should have been getting the hell of out this place.
“You recall falling out of bed in the exam room, Mr. Calder?”
“Call me Chase. Everyone does. Even people who don’t like
me.”
“Do you think I don’t like you…Chase?”
“You’re not a regular doctor, are you? You’re a shrink or
something. I can tell by the way you answer all my questions with
questions.”
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“And you seem to cleverly avoid answering my questions using
the same technique.” The hint of a smile curved her lips. Chase
tugged at the pants legs of his coverall, grateful for something more
than a sheet to hide the evidence of his fascination with Dr.
Sanchez. He sat on the narrow cot that took up one wall of his cell
and studied her features before responding.
Her high cheekbones spoke of Native American blood, maybe
Navajo, but her skin was the color of fine bisque tinged with rose,
attesting to a European branch of her family tree. Classic beauty
with an exotic cast. She’d look magnificent draped across a slab of
ruddy stone, naked. Or better yet, stretched across his bed…
“Yes, I fell out of bed.”
“That wasn’t how it looked to me. I’d say you fell through the
bed.”
Chase laughed. “Maybe you’re the one that needs a shrink.”
Again she stiffened. Chase fought the urge to apologize. His
memories of the last two days were sketchy, but he wasn’t insane.
Whoever had put the restraints on him hadn’t done a very good job,
and they also probably hadn’t set the brake on the wheeled bed
frame. Obviously his sudden movement had caused the bed to roll
out from under him.
“So far all your tests have come back normal.” She recovered
from her pique at his remark. “You’re a very healthy man, Mr.
Calder.”
“I work out.”
“You’ll be glad to know that Sergeant Baker’s men found your
vehicle. All your equipment was intact and, as you said, the forty
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rolls of film were all photographs of rocks and plants and animals.
I’m told you do astounding work.”
“Will I get the negatives back? That’s four months of work and
thousands of dollars of film. I’d hate to have to start over.”
She shrugged, and a blush colored her cheeks. “I don’t see why
not, but it’s not up to me.”
“Well, with all due respect, Doc, can I talk to the person in
charge? I’d like to know when I can get out of here and get back to
work.”
“Very soon, Mr. Calder. After a few more tests.”
“More tests?” Chase stood, began to pace in front of the glass.
“You just said I’m healthy. What are you hoping to find?”
“We’re hoping to find nothing.”
Hoping. The word echoed in Chase’s brain. That meant there
was something they didn’t want to find. “I know better than to ask
too many probing questions, Doc. But answer me this, am I going to
get out of here?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On everything.”
Engulfed in sultry heat, Martina stretched. Muscles she’d held
stiff and tight with apprehension for too long began to loosen under
the sensual glide of strong male hands. They caressed her body,
cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples.
Chase Calder stood before her, naked and bathed in a warm
amber glow. Desire flickered in his eyes, and she responded to his
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intimate touch between her thighs by spreading her legs to allow
him access.
The logical, professional part of her brain warned her to stop,
to pull away from his intoxicating touch. She might have obeyed,
but she’d spent far too many nights alone, focused only on her
duties. She needed this too much to let the moment slip away.
Eager for him, she grasped his shoulders, flexing her fingers
against his rock hard muscles, and pulled him closer. Her body
trembled, and moisture soaked her thighs. The heat of him lulled her
into a state of utter contentment.
“I want you,” she whispered. Her voice wavered. This wasn’t
right, but she couldn’t worry about consequences now. Her needs
could no longer be denied.
His response was a hot kiss on her neck, a nibble on her own
naked flesh. Yes!
She slid her hands down his chest and over the ridges of his
abdomen, searching for completion. He smiled, encouraging her
bold exploration.
Then as quickly as it had appeared, his grin faded. His touch
cooled, and he backed up, leaving her bereft and longing for their
illicit contact. Confused by his change in demeanor, she reached for
him. To her shock a cold, howling wind extinguished the soothing
light that surrounded him, leaving only an ashen shadow in its wake.
Before she could process this inexplicable transformation, an
agonized scream tore from the open mouth of the specter that had
once been a man. Martina cried out then cringed away when the
wind shifted and blew fiercely against his withering form. Horrified,
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she could do nothing but watch while Chase Calder crumbled to
nothing before her eyes.
Gasping, Martina sat up, clutching the thin cotton sheet to her
chest. Good lord, what a dream.
She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Two A.M. She felt
like she’d only been asleep for a moment before the terrifying vision
took over and swept away all remnants of the more satisfying
sensual interlude.
After a few deep breaths, Martina rolled out of bed and
dragged shaky fingers through her tangled hair. Chase Calder had
been on her mind when she tucked her tired body into the narrow
bed. He’d invaded her dreams and made her ache for his touch. Her
heart pounded, and her pulse drummed between her breasts and her
legs.
Agitated by her sensual vision, she paced the confines of the
small room that served as her base living quarters. Logic told her to
go back to bed and forget about Chase Calder until morning, but
desire had her pulling a thin cotton robe over her night shirt and
heading for the door.
She made it halfway to the containment ward when the
absurdity of her actions hit her. What was she thinking? She
couldn’t waltz into Calder’s cell, still flushed and panting from the
arousal of her dream, and suggest a tryst.
Ashamed at letting her libido rule her brain even for a moment,
Martina executed an about face that would have made any military
officer proud and adjusted her course for the mess hall. A soothing
cup of tea was all the heat she needed right now.
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Voices reached her from the juncture of the next corridor.
Conscious of her immodest outfit, she thought first to flee in the
other direction but decided nonchalance was her best defense in this
situation. She would just stroll by whoever it was with her head
high, ignoring the fact that her sleeping attire was far from military
issue. The embarrassment of being caught in her skivvies by a burly
soldier or two would fade faster than the humiliation of waking up
practically orgasmic over a man she’d just met.
When she realized one of the voices heading in her direction
was General Dobbs, however, she rethought her strategy and ducked
into an alcove rather than face him with nothing more to protect her
dignity than two thin layers of cotton.
“Schedule the autopsy for 0800 on Wednesday, Lieutenant,”
Dobbs said as he neared Martina’s hiding place.
“Wednesday, sir?” The male voice that responded was
unfamiliar to her. He was probably one of the new transfers from
the base in Anchorage.
“Yes, Lieutenant. Is there a problem with Wednesday?”
Autopsy? Martina’s mind whirled the word around. Aside from
the lab rats, there was nothing recently dead on the base that would
require…
“No, sir. Wednesday will be fine. I suppose we can reschedule
if Calder is still…um…alive by then?”
Dobbs’s reply held a chilling hint of humor. “There won’t be
any need to reschedule.”
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Sudden panic drained the heat from Martina’s face. If Dobbs
was so certain Calder would require an autopsy by Wednesday,
plans for his untimely demise had to already be in motion.
Momentarily at a loss, she held her breath until the general’s
quiet conversation receded down the corridor perpendicular to her
own.
Good lord. This was it. There wouldn’t be time to formulate a
plan or somehow manipulate Dobbs into letting Calder go. She had
to get him off the base. Now.
With swift, efficient movements Martina returned to her
quarters where she opened the drawer of her nightstand and pulled
out her private cell phone. She dialed the three-digit action code
she’d been given by her commanding officer.
When a familiar voice answered on the second ring, she spoke
rapidly and hung up without waiting for acknowledgment. There
wasn’t time to change clothes or make further preparations. If she
wanted to save Calder’s life, she had to move fast.
Once again she slipped out of her room, this time unabashedly
heading for Calder’s cell. Hopefully Dobbs hadn’t put his plan to
murder the prisoner into action yet. Clearly the general wanted to
keep the strange results of the Acheron test under wraps. If anyone
outside the base discovered Calder had been exposed, the resulting
investigation would derail whatever “unofficial” plans Dobbs had
for the project.
The corridors of the base were mostly empty at this hour.
Thankfully no one accosted her, and the guard outside the
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containment ward didn’t have clearance to question why she wanted
to the see the detainee at such an ungodly hour.
Once through the outer checkpoint, she used her ID badge to
unlock the anteroom. She didn’t turn on the microphone
immediately but stepped up to the glass partition to observe him in
silence. Crystal clear despite its depth, the glass afforded her an
unobstructed view of Chase Calder’s sleeping form. He lay flat on
his back, his hands folded on his chest, which rose and fell
regularly.
His color was good, though faint circles had begun to darken
the areas beneath his eyes. An empty mess hall tray sat on the floor
next to the cot, plastic knife and fork crossed in the center, a paper
napkin folded neatly beside them.
He was trying to be a model prisoner. How long would his
cooperation last once he realized Dobbs had no plans to set him
free?
Fine hairs on the back of Martina’s neck prickled in
anticipation when his eyes fluttered open. His gaze narrowed on her
instantly, and her body responded with a shiver that resonated all
the way to her womb.
He spoke, but with the mic turned off, she couldn’t hear. She
pointed to her ear then motioned him away from the airlock beside
the glass panel. Curiosity furrowed his brow while she opened the
door with her ID badge and stepped inside. Protocols be damned.
No one would know she’d been in here without Baker for
protection.
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The inner airlock popped open, and a puff of temperate air
cooled Martina’s heated cheeks.
“Is this a conjugal visit, Doc?” Calder’s smirk annoyed her.
She pulled the edges of her robe closed over her thin
nightgown, ignoring the sudden awareness that washed over her.
“Give me your hand.”
His perfect eyebrows rose. She thrust her hand forward and
grabbed his fingers, turned his hand palm up in hers. His skin was
warm and smooth. Heat coursed between them, but Martina ignored
it.
“What are you looking for?”
“Yesterday we did a glucose test and drew blood from your
fingertip. I’m looking for the pin prick.”
“I don’t even remember which finger it was.” He bent his head
close to hers and examined his hand in the harsh, fluorescent light.
None of his fingertips showed even the slightest hint of broken skin.
After a thorough inspection she dropped his hand and pushed
up the sleeve of his coverall. Her fingers skipped over his flesh to
the softer skin at the crook of his arm. “There’s still a faint needle
mark from where I drew blood.”
“So? I’m not Superman. I don’t heal overnight.”
“No, and the wounds haven’t festered. That’s a good sign.” She
pushed an errant strand of hair from her face and blew out a nervous
breath.
“What the hell is going on? Why should I be festering?”
“You shouldn’t. I just wanted to make sure—ah!”
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Calder’s hands clamped over her forearms, and he brought her
close. His grip was like iron. “Make sure of what? You’re testing
some chemical warfare out here, aren’t you? I got dosed with
something, didn’t I? And now I’m patient zero.” He shook her just a
little, and she gasped again, not in pain but at the tension that built
in her lower body at his touch.
Her clit thrummed. The muscles in her belly and thighs coiled.
This close, the heat of his body penetrated her robe and what little
she wore beneath it. “No, you’re not. I wouldn’t have come in here
if you were contagious.”
“Then why did you?” He dropped his hands, and she deflated a
bit, ashamed to admit she liked his demanding touch.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right. I had a dream.”
“A dream? You must definitely be a shrink, then. You
interpreted a dream to mean I’d begun to fester?”
She sighed, leaned back against the cool steel wall and crossed
her arms over her chest. “I’m a molecular biologist.”
The change in his expression made her feel like she’d just
admitted to hideous scientific experiments.
“So you are testing bio-weapons.”
“I’m…not at liberty to give you any details. But—”
“What?” He met her gaze. Compassion mixed with worry filled
his eyes. “This has more to do with you than me, doesn’t it? What’s
bothering you? What happened to me in the desert, and why do you
blame yourself?”
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Chase watched the doctor’s dark eyes, and his pulse raced.
He’d already figured out this was more than just a case of stumbling
into the Air Force’s back yard. He’d seen something, done
something, though he couldn’t remember what, and now he had
himself in big trouble.
The fear in Martina Sanchez’s eyes lanced into his heart and
made the air in his lungs begin to burn. “Tell me.”
“You seem to be fine. The effects should be instantaneous, and
you’re not showing any signs of…”
“Signs of what?”
She broke their searing eye contact, but Chase refused to let her
off the hook. He closed the distance between them with one step and
trapped her against the wall with his body. He planted one hand on
each side of her head and leaned close. “Tell me.”
This close, with her face a breath away from his, her body rigid
between his and the wall, she looked terribly vulnerable.
With her soft thighs pressed against his and each breath
pushing her breasts closer to his chest, Chase’s concentration
wavered. Her skin was flawless up close, her lips far too tempting.
Her eyes seemed fathomless and clear as dark water.
“I can’t talk about it here. The only way you’re going to
survive is if we get you out of here.”
“What’s going on? How did you get mixed up in something
like this?”
Her breath caught, and her eyes blazed. “I didn’t know. I had
no idea until last week what Dobbs was really doing here. I can’t sit
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on this any longer.” She bit her lip, and her eyes glazed. She’d
obviously said too much.
Chase backed up, pushed off the wall, and his jaw dropped.
“What’s wrong?” Martina leaned forward and craned her neck
to follow his gaze toward the wall behind her head. Deep and
detailed, like imprints in soft clay, two hand prints marred the gray
steel.
Chapter Three
“Oh, my…” Martina lifted her finger to trace the perfect
indentations of Chase’s hands. Ripples buckled the steel between
the two impressions as if they’d been cast in wet resin rather than
cold metal.
The ridges between the fingers radiated heat.
“I didn’t—” He stared at his unblemished hands.
“You melted the wall.”
“Yeah…uh. Put it on my bill?” That familiar smirk tilted the
corner of his mouth again. Martina’s heart lurched.
“You think this is funny?”
He shrugged and held up his hands. “Hey, I know the
government cuts corners. I didn’t think they made holding cells out
of Silly Putty.”
“That’s six-inch thick steel.” She rapped on the wall, producing
a dull, metallic thud. There was no way to hide the impressions. If
someone else saw them… “We have to get you out of here.”
“I agree, but how?”
“I’ll think of something.” She paced the floor, and Calder
backed out of her way. “Can you fix them? Smooth them out?”
“Fix them? I don’t even know how I made them.”
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“Just try.” She put her hands on his back and pushed him
toward the wall. “Put your hands up there.”
He obeyed, but cast a curious glance over his shoulder at her.
“Now what?”
“Now think about whatever you were thinking about a few
minutes ago. You were angry.”
“I wasn’t angry.”
“What then? Frustrated? Agitated?”
“Horny.”
Martina gulped cool air and resisted the urge to fan herself.
Good God, had he been as hot as she was when he’d pushed her
body against the wall?
She’d convinced herself that she imagined feeling his erection
pressing into her thigh. “Horny?”
“Yeah.” Calder leaned his weight into the wall and looked up
at the indentations that fit his big hands like steel gloves. “I was
thinking how I’d like to photograph you. I don’t normally do
portraits, but God, you’d look good nude, lying on a bed of red sand
to contrast your skin tone. With your hair flowing over your
shoulders, your lips parted and one hand covering your breasts…”
Martina sank to the cot. She should have been offended. How
dare this man she’d just met imagine her naked, spread before him,
her body on display? Why did the image excite her? Her mind raced
to a dangerous place. What would it feel like with the sun beating
down on her, the hot desert air stealing the moisture that formed
between her legs? She pictured Calder looming over her, urging her
to lick her lips for him and arch her back while he snapped shot after
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shot. His lens would travel up her body, pausing to capture the flare
of her hips, the gentle valley of her navel…he’d touch her, pose
her—
“We have to get out of here, now. Come on.”
Chase watched her with a mixture of shock and fascination as
she slid her ID badge through the security lock inside the cell.
“Whoa, wait a minute. We’re just going to walk out of here?”
He nodded toward the windowless door that led out of the
observation area.
Martina stopped, one delicate, slippered foot in the airlock.
“We’re going to have to hide for a little while. We need to get off
the base by sunrise.”
Chase swallowed the cold lump of doubt lodged in his throat.
Besides being locked in a windowless cell for God knows how long,
the last thing he wanted was to get caught trying to escape from the
most secure air force base in the lower forty-eight. There was no
question in his mind that anyone who saw them would shoot first
and worry about red tape and paperwork later.
He touched her arm, and the look she gave him made his heart
race. “How are you going to do this?”
“I have a plan, but I need you to trust me.”
At that moment, looking into her bottomless brown eyes, he’d
have followed her anywhere.
She ducked through the airlock, and Chase followed her. A
second later they emerged into the observation room where the air
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was warmer, not as crisp and certainly not as sterile as his cell. The
place smelled like stale coffee and military sweat.
Martina hushed him with a gesture. “We’re going to go two
doors down this hallway to the left and into the supply closet. I’m
going to leave you there and go around to a work room on the other
side. We’ll work our way toward the mess hall. That’s the least
secure area.”
Chase nodded as if the plan made a rat’s ass worth of sense to
him. Cold steel seemed more comforting at this point than hot lead.
Somewhere on this base was a bullet with his name on it, and he had
a bad feeling he was going to meet it all too soon.
The inner corridor was empty, stark white and way too bright.
Martina felt completely exposed as they slithered along the wall,
trying to stay in the blind spot of the security camera that swept the
corridor every two minutes.
Ten nerve wracking steps brought them to the supply closet.
They ducked inside, and when the heavy door shut behind Calder,
blackness closed around them like a shroud.
His breath heated the back of her neck, and his body was warm
and solid behind her. She wanted to press against him and absorb
his strength, but there wasn’t time. She thrust her arms out in front
of her and felt around for the handle of the opposite door.
Something rattled behind her, and his swift movement startled her.
“Shh!”
“Sorry. Broom.”
“Stand still.”
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“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m sick of everyone calling me ‘ma’am’.
It makes me feel a hundred years old.”
“What about ‘babe’?”
She heard the smirk this time and clucked her tongue. “Mr.
Calder.”
“Sorry, Doc. You realize you’re going to get us both killed,
right?”
Martina stiffened as her hand closed over the door knob in the
dark. “Do you want to go back? They’ll keep you in that cell until
you die, which could be pretty soon if Dobbs has his way. Then
they’ll probably move you to a medical testing facility and take you
apart cell by cell until they find out why you survived.”
Again, his breath heated the nape of her neck. The fine hairs
there prickled, and her body sparked with desire when his lips
brushed her ear. “If we get out of here in one piece, Doc, you’re
going to tell me every gory detail of what’s going on here.”
“I will. I promise.” She twisted the door knob, and a sliver of
light illuminated the closet. “Just stay here until I come for you.”
“Why can’t we go together?”
“I have to sign out of the containment area. If I don’t, they’ll
start to wonder why I’m taking so long.”
“All right.”
She slipped by him, sucking in her breath to avoid brushing
against his chest in the tight space. “I won’t be long,” she said, not
daring to glance at him in the dim light. She wanted to add a
hundred different things. Sit tight. Be careful. Don’t move.
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Everything that came to mind seemed so lame. Ultimately she left
the storage area without another word, took a deep breath and
marched down the corridor, rehearsing the casual lie she’d tell the
check point guard on her way out of containment.
For the space of thirty seconds Chase considered striking out
on his own. For all he knew, Martina Sanchez was leading him into
some kind of trap.
Whatever had happened to him in the desert, if anything had
happened at all, the Air Force wasn’t going to just let him waltz
away into the night. Even if they got off the base, he already knew
more, had seen more, than they’d be comfortable letting him get
away with. The prospect of running from the authorities left cold
tendrils of panic tightening his gut. If he had something they
wanted, or needed to hide, they’d never let him just fade away into
the sunset. He’d need some kind of leverage to secure his survival.
He counted seconds in his head, then minutes. He gave up after
ten, swiped at the cold sweat that had beaded on his forehead and
pushed the metal door open another half inch.
Martina stood in the vertical slit of light, her eyes huge and
dark. She held out her hand. Leverage. “Come with me.”
Their silent flight took them through a maze of soundproof
interrogation rooms to a stairwell that seemed to go on forever.
After four flights they emerged in another blinding white hallway.
Double doors at the end of this corridor opened into the mess hall
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kitchen. There they made their way between stainless steel tables,
rolling freezers and dangling pots and pans. Chase followed Martina
over the clay-tiled floor, looking over his shoulder every few steps
until they reached the back door.
“Across the lot is a warehouse. We can hide in there,” she said.
He followed her out into the cool Nevada night. After ten steps
across the hard-baked macadam, Chase realized how eerily silent
the base was. He’d spent months listening to the sounds of the night,
cicadas, coyotes, even the occasional air traffic, but here, there was
nothing.
The unnatural silence chilled him.
“The motor pool and impound is on the far side of the
warehouse. Your Jeep will be there.”
“We’re going to steal my Jeep?” He wanted to laugh. This plan
was becoming more farfetched by the moment.
“We can’t walk.”
Chase sighed and followed her into the warehouse. This was
insane. A molecular biologist in a negligee was rescuing him from a
government lock-up in the middle of the night. It sounded like the
plot of a comic book.
The vague amusement that colored his skeptical thoughts faded
abruptly when Martina sagged against the warehouse’s cool metallic
wall.
Her hands shook as she ran them through the dark cascade of
her hair, then crossed her arms tightly over her breasts.
Chase refrained from comforting her. There wasn’t time,
though part of his muddled brain longed to put his arms around her.
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“What is this place?” he asked. His voice, though barely audible,
echoed in the cavernous space.
She shrugged. “Storage for old machinery, I think.”
The odors of oil and gasoline flavored the air. This was
probably part of the motor pool. “How does a molecular biologist
know so much about escaping from a military base?”
“I’ve done it before.”
Chase’s jaw dropped. Was she kidding? For a moment, a
mischievous sparkle lit her dark eyes. Even in the half-light, pale
and disheveled, she was beautiful. He pictured her portrait in black
and white, the stark lines of her patrician profile softened by that
suddenly daring expression.
A muffled yell from outside the warehouse sent her scrambling
past him, fear replacing the mischief in her eyes. “Come on.”
She dragged him through the warehouse past what looked like
airplane parts, engine chassis and a partially dismantled Sherman
tank. Behind them, the door through which they’d entered opened,
and heavy footsteps echoed around them.
“In here!” Martina pulled Chase between two aluminum
shelving units and down to the dirty cement floor.
Again, Chase obeyed, his conscious mind intent on escape
while some deeper part of his brain tossed up a red flag that halted
his thought process. Why was he trusting this woman with his life?
Then again, what choice did he have? The search party now
canvassing the warehouse would never believe he hadn’t intended to
escape.
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On instinct, he swept one arm out and caught Martina around
the waist. He dragged her against him, and together they slid
beneath a dented metal work bench that sat next to the shelves.
Booted feet raced past their hiding place not long after, and a
brilliant beam of light skittered across the floor only inches from
Chase’s nose. He sucked in his breath, tightened his grip on
Martina’s ribcage and waited.
With the fragrant, apple-scented cloud of her hair around his
face, her long torso cradled in his arms and the firm curve of her ass
pressed against his pelvis, it was easy to forget they were fugitives.
The detached portion of his brain, the one that always seemed to get
him into trouble, considered how well their bodies fit together. She
was tall, with a full but athletic figure that felt solid in his arms,
unlike Brett who’d been a thin wisp of a woman, fragile to the point
of brittleness. Brett had been dry reeds, crackly and flammable.
Martina was a ripe armful of blossoms, cool, crisp and resilient.
“Stop feeling me up,” she whispered, and his mind snapped
back to the present.
“I’m not.” Much, he added before adjusting his grip on her
waist. “I think they’re gone.”
“I don’t know how they missed us.” She rolled over in his arms
and once again, when she looked at him, her eyes registered
unbridled shock. “Where are you?”
“I’m right here.” He waved his fingers in front of her face, and
she blinked. “Are you all right?”
“My God.”
“What now?”
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“A second ago you…were invisible.”
Chapter Four
Martina cast a sidelong glance at Chase Calder as they settled
into the front seat of his Jeep. It hadn’t been hard to find in the
motor pool garage, with the keys in a clear plastic bag taped to the
steering wheel. Everything else had been removed. The condition of
the vehicle, utterly spotless inside and out, told her Dobbs was
planning to dump it somewhere in the desert, probably torch it, and
plant a story in the local news about a missing photographer. Chase
Calder would disappear. Case closed.
“How much gas is in the tank?” she asked after he dumped the
keys into his palm.
“I had half a tank, but now it’s full.”
More evidence of Dobbs’s treachery. A full tank would make a
bigger fireball.
“Good. Once we start the engine, we can’t stop for anything.
Gun it through the barrier and drive straight north.”
“What? Head deeper into the base?” He gave her another one
of those skeptical squints. He already thought she was nuts. Telling
him he was invisible hadn’t set well with him. Of course he didn’t
believe it. The effect had only lasted a second or two, just long
enough to evade the search of the warehouse. Martina wondered if
he’d made her invisible also, just by touching her. So far, Chase
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Calder could do a lot to her just by touching her. She didn’t want to
think about lying next to him, the solid wall of his body against her
back, the searing heat of his large hand splayed across her stomach.
“They’ll expect us to head for the nearest road. We’re going to
lead them out into the desert and double back.”
“Now you’re just talking crazy, Doc.” He laughed, but there
was no humor in it. He jammed the key into the ignition and
hesitated, waiting for the moment of truth.
“It’s up to you. If you don’t trust me, turn yourself in.” He
wouldn’t. He was too intelligent to deliberately choose death.
Nevertheless he hesitated for an eternity before starting the Jeep,
flooring the gas and sending them flying out into the night.
Chaos reigned behind them. The wooden check point barrier
they’d blown through flew ten feet into the air and slammed down
on the pavement behind them. Splinters of wood and plastic
scattered everywhere. A guard who’d been walking across the
compound wasted a full three seconds just gaping at the Jeep as it
sped away.
Twisted around in the passenger seat, clutching the headrest
with one hand, the other braced against the dash board, Martina
watched the base come to life behind them.
Chase gave a rebel yell and stood on the gas pedal. In less than
sixty seconds they were off road and bouncing over the desert.
Behind them sirens wailed, men scrambled, and flood lights sliced
through the darkness.
We’re in trouble, the voice of reason announced in her head.
This was not how it was supposed to work. But then again, she
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hadn’t counted on Chase Calder being part of her escape scenario.
“Don’t slow down!”
“I’m not. Just trying not to hit any boulders…” He jerked the
wheel to the left and right, swerving around cacti and rocks the size
of buses as if he were making a getaway through busy city traffic.
He moved like a pro and, despite the churning in her stomach, she
had to give him credit for rallying to the cause.
“Do you think you could do that invisible thing again?” she
asked, turning back toward the dash. The wheels of the Jeep kicked
up a shower of rocks and sand as Chase banked hard to avoid a
gulch.
He spared her that narrow glance again. “We’re going to have a
long, long talk if we make it out of this alive.”
Martina didn’t respond. She kept her eyes straight ahead and
her hands braced in front of her. “If we get out of this alive, I’ll tell
you more than you ever wanted to know.”
Melvin Dobbs sat up in bed, completely alert at the first wail of
the alarm claxon.
He was back in uniform in less than twenty seconds and
matching Sergeant Baker’s strides down the corridor to the security
command post a minute later.
“The prisoner’s vehicle was taken from storage at 0346,
General,” Baker said. The sergeant locked his large hands behind
his back and stood vigil while Dobbs paced in front of the bank of
video monitors that showed him constantly changing views of the
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base. “We are in pursuit. The vehicle is heading due north…into the
test area, sir. There are two people inside.”
Dobbs nodded. The prisoner and Dr. Sanchez. He didn’t need
to ask for confirmation. He’d begun to suspect the lovely civilian
biologist would cause him trouble the moment the first field mouse
fell victim to the Acheron beam. She didn’t understand the device’s
true value and how it would finally begin to tip the balance of
military power back in the right direction.
She would have to be eliminated.
“Call your men back, Sergeant.”
“What?” Baker did a verbal about face, then bowed his head at
his breach of protocol. “Sorry, sir, but…please repeat.”
“I did say call your men back to base, Sergeant. We’ll follow
them on the surveillance feeds for now, and gather my team
together. We’re going to conduct another practical test of Acheron. I
want everything ready in ten minutes.”
Baker stiffened. “Yes, sir.” If he had a personal problem with
Dobbs’s orders, it certainly didn’t show. Dobbs liked that about
Baker.
The sergeant saluted and whirled away. Dobbs leaned over the
bank of monitors. “Where are they now?” he asked the lieutenant on
duty.
“They’re approximately…uh…thirty…”
“Is there a problem, Clouden?” Dobbs made a show of reading
the officer’s name tag. “Is it too early in the morning for you, son?”
“No, sir. It’s just, they’re gone. They’re not showing up on any
of the surveillance cameras.”
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Dobbs sighed and began switching feeds randomly. They’d
turn up. They would definitely turn up.
“They’re not showing up anywhere, sir. Our pursuit unit lost
track of them, too.”
“It’s not that damn dark out there, Lieutenant.” Dobbs swore
and rechecked all the video feeds in sequence. There was barely a
square inch of the base that wasn’t visible by short or long-range
surveillance, yet Calder’s Jeep had disappeared with no more than a
three minute lead into the desert. That wasn’t possible.
“They can hide, but they can’t outrun Acheron, Lieutenant.
We’ll get them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Yes, sir, indeed.
“I don’t think they’re following us anymore.” The realization
did nothing to comfort Martina. It was not a good sign. “Can you go
any faster?”
Calder glanced at her in between dodging rocks and a dead
Joshua tree. “This is top speed, Doc, and the engine isn’t sounding
too good.”
“We may have to look for a place to hide.”
“That should be real easy out here in the middle of all this
nothing.”
Martina didn’t respond. She scanned their surroundings, and
the cold band of apprehension that circled her lungs began to
tighten. Ahead of them, the color of the desert changed from the
cobalt blue of night to a dirty brown. The sand that sped away
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beneath the Jeep soon darkened to black, and the skeletal remains of
scorched cacti and singed desert grasses reached for the brightening
sky.
Martina’s silent prayer that Calder wouldn’t notice the change
went unanswered. The Jeep slowed, and she braced for his
inevitable questions.
“What the hell happened out here?”
She could have lied. This was, after all, the southern tip of the
military test range. What happened out here was nobody’s business.
“The Undertaker,” she said.
The Jeep ground to a halt. “That’s the name of the weapon?”
She nodded and waved him on. “Don’t stop here. I’ll tell you
all about it, just keep moving. Now head west, toward the fence.”
Calder threw the wheel to the left and gunned the engine. The
vehicle lurched forward, and Martina braced herself against the dash
again.
“Go on.” Calder barked the command. His eyes had gone
steely, and Martina didn’t want to mention it, but the steering wheel
seemed to have bent in his angry grip.
“The official name of the project is Acheron. In Greek
mythology it’s known as the ‘river of woe’, which is a sad sort of
irony for something that wasn’t meant to be a weapon initially. It
was originally designed to clear areas of useless vegetation and
vermin by reducing organic debris to ash that would wash away
with natural rain or sink into the soil and improve growing
conditions. Blighted areas, places overrun with pests, could be
cleared in a matter of hours with very little manpower.”
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“Burning everything to a crisp sounds like a weapon to me.”
Calder kept his eyes straight ahead. A muscle in his jaw pulsed
when he clenched his teeth.
“It sounded that way to General Dobbs, too, and he’s been
conducting experiments with it. This is the result.” She gestured to
the dark desert before them. They’d driven into what looked like a
war zone. What little plant life that clung to existence in this small
patch of desert had been reduced to black ash by the Undertaker.
Calder slowed but didn’t stop. His gaze followed the disintegrating
husk of a cactus as they passed it.
“It looks bad now. But theoretically, after a single rainstorm,
the ash you see will begin to fertilize the land. In a year, this could
be the greenest patch of nothing in Nevada.”
“So Dobbs is afraid I saw this?”
“No. He’s afraid…well, he’s not afraid of anything. That’s one
of his vices. You wandered into the test site.”
“I don’t even remember it. There was a lightning storm, I got
dizzy and I must have passed out.”
“You were hit with the Acheron beam.” Martina’s heart felt
like lead. Just because Calder was still alive didn’t mean the
Undertaker wouldn’t kill him eventually.
The Jeep stopped again, and this time he looked at her. “So I’m
going to burn up?”
Martina shook her head, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. “The
beam targets lower life forms. It was never intended to be used on
people or in a populated area. I don’t know what the beam did to
you, but it certainly did something.”
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Calder leaned his head back and sighed. “Radiation? Cancer?”
“No. I don’t think so. Are you forgetting the hand prints? The
invisibility? And apparently you walked through an electrical fence
completely unscathed. That’s a side effect Dobbs never anticipated.
No one could have because the Acheron team was forbidden from
performing tests on humans or human tissue samples.”
“So if anyone finds out what happened to me—”
Now Martina met his gaze. “Dobbs’s going to make sure no
one does. That would shut down the project, and he’d lose clearance
to use Acheron completely. I think he’s planning to package it as a
weapon and sell it on his own.”
“And right now we’re the only two people who can stop him.”
Calder hit the gas again. He plunged the pedal down and didn’t stop
again, even when the perimeter fence came into view.
“Hang on, Doc.”
“What the hell are you going to do?”
“Try to rip a hole in the fence.”
Martina threw her body back against the seat, her eyes wide.
“That’s ten thousand volts!”
“We’re grounded.” Calder floored it, and Martina didn’t like
the determined and slightly evil grin on his face, nor did she like the
way he seemed to glow a little. A bright, internal light began to
leach the color from his skin and hair as the Jeep picked up speed.
Her mouth dropped open as they sailed through the fence
without impact.
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After an hour racing along the road that skirted the base, Chase
pulled over. Behind them the sky had darkened again to a deep,
unnatural blue-gray.
He coasted to a stop, and the Jeep’s tires crunched on the
gravelly sand. The sound seemed to wake Martina from her deep
thoughts. She shivered and turned a questioning gaze on him. “We
shouldn’t stop.”
“Look.” He pointed through the rear windshield. “That’s why
they’re not following us. I don’t think we can outrun it.”
She twisted around in her seat, and one sleeve of her robe
dropped from her shoulder, exposing creamy skin. “No, we can’t.”
Angry at the futility of their situation, Chase threw the Jeep
back into gear and rotated the wheel viciously. The tires crunched
again, and the engine sputtered. Martina met his gaze. “What’s
wrong?”
A flash of lightning answered her, and instinctively Chase
swept an arm around her shoulders. He pulled her against him and
covered her upper body with his. “I remember this part,” he
whispered.
“He’s expanded the range—” Her voice seemed to wither in
her throat.
“Keep your head down and close your eyes,” he commanded.
Even huddled in the seat, clinging to each other with their heads
bowed together and their breath mingling, Chase saw the second
flash of light. The entire world lit white hot for a split second, and
again the disorienting feeling clouded his brain. Martina went limp
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in his arms, and a moment later unconsciousness washed over him
like dark water.
Chapter Five
Martina woke to the thrumming of rain on the Jeep’s roof. The
downpour pounded overhead, and sheets of water hit the ground like
a fall of arrows, bouncing off the road and splashing in the puddles
that had already formed in the sandy soil. All the nearby vegetation
had turned black.
Next to her, Chase sat staring at his hands. A crimson glow
emanated from his palms, lighting the bones and the fine network of
blood vessels in his fingers.
“Oh, God.”
“No, no…” He shook his hands out, and the glow subsided.
“I’m okay. I’m just experimenting.”
“With what? How long have we been out?”
“A couple of minutes. The engine won’t start.” He reached
across her body and shoved the passenger door open. “Get out. We
shouldn’t stay with the Jeep.”
Her first instinct was to argue, but she clamped her lips closed
over her protest and followed his lead, lurching out into the driving
rain. The force of the storm stole her breath, but she commanded
herself to join him at the front of the Jeep. He slid his arm around
her. His touch seared her through her clothes.
“This way,” she said. “The rendezvous point isn’t that far.”
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“And just who are we rendezvousing with anyway?” Chase
moved deliberately, one foot in front of the other, but the set of his
body, the subtle dominance he exerted, told Martina he wasn’t
going to follow her blindly anymore.
She stiffened, unsure of how much information to give him at
this juncture. None of it would sound credible. Then again, most of
what they’d experienced in the last two hours certainly wasn’t
credible by anyone’s standards.
After another few steps, he stopped. The rain pelted them
relentlessly, but when he turned his dark gaze on her, he seemed
utterly oblivious to nature’s temper tantrum. “Look, I get the whole
‘top secret’ business, but it seems I’m in this thing up to my neck. I
want answers.”
“We don’t have time for this right now.” Martina glanced back
toward the Jeep. Though it sat only a few yards behind them, the
curtains of rain made it appear as no more than a bulky shadow.
Fear of Dobbs’s wrath and the destructive powers of Acheron set
her insides churning. “Please. We have to keep moving.”
“No.” Calder crossed his arms over his chest. “For all I know,
I’m dead no matter what I do. What’s the harm in sharing
information with a dead man?”
Martina glared at him. The horrendous vision from her dream
played through her mind. Would she have to watch Chase Calder
turn to ash and fade away on the wind? Would the same thing
happen to her?
“I will. I’ll tell you everything, once we’re safe. You
just…have to come with me to the rendezvous point.”
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He shook his head. Drops of rain flew from the saturated ends
of his hair. Rivulets of water ran down his face and dripped off his
chin and his sensuous lips. Her resolve faltered, but before she could
relent, he turned his back on her and lumbered down the road.
Deep down in his gut, Chase had no real desire to abandon
Martina Sanchez by the side of the road in the blinding rain, but he
had no other leverage to get what he wanted from her. None of the
events of the past few days made any sense to him. The whole
incident seemed like a bad dream from which he couldn’t awaken.
Turning his back and storming away was one of the hardest
things he’d ever done, but he didn’t see much of a choice. He
wouldn’t amble blithely to his death just because a beautiful woman
led the way.
He’d made it about ten yards when the wet slap of her footsteps
caught up to him. He forced himself not to slow his stride until she
scurried in front of him and blocked his path. “If Dobbs finds us,
he’ll kill us both. He won’t wait to see if Acheron has side effects.
And what’s worse, he’ll probably choose one of the men on the base
as his next test subject. He needs to be stopped.”
Dark, pleading eyes met his. The driving rain had flattened her
unruly curls to her skull and plastered her thin robe and night dress
to her curves. In the gray light her skin looked like sculpted
alabaster, sleek and so touchable, but Chase refused to allow her
apparent vulnerability to mask her deception. She was much more
than what she seemed. Rather than indulge his growing desire to
touch her, he forced himself to meet her hard stare. “Sorry if I sound
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callous, but right now the only hide I’m worried about saving is my
own. I have a life back in San Francisco that I’d like to get back to
in one piece.” He tried to move past her, but she sidestepped to keep
herself right in front of him.
“If we split up, you’ll have my people searching for you, too.
You might be able to elude Dobbs on your own for a while, but you
won’t ever be safe at home in San Francisco, and eventually you’ll
get tired of running.”
“I’m already tired of running.” He wanted to say more, to
launch into a diatribe about the time he’d spent running from his
own uncertainties and his own mistakes, but the deep rumble of an
approaching vehicle silenced him. Instinctively he stepped toward
her and swept her into his embrace. Twin headlights from a long-
distance semi cut through the deluge, bearing down fast on their
position.
Chase’s heart thudded. The sound of it in his ears almost
drowned out the steady thrum of the rain. Could Dobbs have
commandeered the rig? Out here in the middle of nothing, they had
no refuge. The Jeep was too far back, and they’d have to run toward
the approaching truck to reach it, anyway.
A moment of truth collided with a moment of clarity. “That’s
my ride,” he said. He’d take his chances on whoever was in the
truck.
“What? No. You can’t just—”
“I’ve got to get away from here. You can come with me or stay
behind. The choice is yours.”
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She glanced down the road, and her expression pinched with
worry. “I told you, I’ll give you all the information you want as
soon as we’re somewhere safe.”
He slipped away from her, reluctant to separate himself from
the heat she radiated despite the rain. He couldn’t let his attraction
to her sway him, though. This was all about survival.
“Get yourself to your rendezvous point, Doc. Or stick with me
and we’ll work something out, on my terms.”
She hesitated, biting her lower lip in a way that made him want
to drink the rain off her skin. Finally she sighed, but said nothing.
Chase began waving his arms. He didn’t want to stand in the
middle of the road. With visibility so poor, he had no desire to test
the truck driver’s reflexes or the condition of the semi’s brakes.
The headlights flashed an acknowledgment of their existence,
and the massive vehicle slowed down. Chase tossed what he hoped
was a cavalier glance in her direction. “Last call, Doc.”
She cursed, and he blinked at the salty expletive then fought to
hide a grin. He had her. This might be his last victory when it came
to self-determination, but at least he still had some control over his
own destiny.
The semi rumbled to a halt, and the passenger door swung
open. A lanky man in worn jeans and a red flannel shirt smiled
down from the cab. “You folks blow a tire?”
“Something like that,” Chase replied. “Could we bum a ride to
Rattlesnake Flats?”
“Oh, no. Come on,” Martina muttered behind his back. Chase
ignored her.
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“Once I get to my motel, I’d be happy to pay you for your
trouble.”
“Looks like you got a lot more trouble than me. Hop in. I’ve
got a towel in the back for the missus.”
Chase swung a sodden foot up on the truck’s running board and
offered his hand to Martina. “We’re not married,” he said with a
daring wink. “Yet.”
She slapped her hand into his and allowed him to help her haul
herself into the cab.
“Name’s John. John Mason,” the driver said, extending a
calloused hand to Chase once they’d settled hip to hip into his extra
wide passenger seat.
“Dave,” Chase responded without missing a beat. “And this
is…Marie.”
Martina said nothing. Her tight-lipped smile accompanied a
brief nod. Chase knew he’d pay for this coup later on, but for now,
at least, he’d managed to get them both out of the rain.
Annoyed by Calder’s little mutiny, but still circumspect,
Martina permitted herself a moment to enjoy being out of the
downpour. Warm air blew in a steady stream from vents in the
semi’s massive dash, and the faint vanilla scent of pipe tobacco
permeated the cab. John Mason gave her a sympathetic look, which,
to his credit, she noted didn’t include a perusal of her nearly
transparent clothing.
He maneuvered the steering wheel with long, wiry arms, and
the truck bounced back into the west bound lane of the empty
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highway. Once the rig picked up speed, they’d be racing farther and
farther away from her pick-up point and deeper into danger. She had
to do something to convince Calder to abandon his ambitious escape
plan. He’d probably be furious at her, but she didn’t have many
options.
“Maybe we should pick somewhere besides the Raintree to
hide out.” She clamped her lips shut on her calculatedly innocent
words and waited for Calder’s reaction. Mason continued driving,
seemingly unaware of her telling remark.
Calder nudged her. “We won’t stay long. But we need our
luggage.”
“You know they’ve already searched our room and probably
bugged it. If we go back, they’ll catch us in no time.” She kept her
voice low and faced her companion, meeting his annoyed gaze with
defiance. She couldn’t let him win this.
Calder gave a nervous laugh. “Nobody’s interested in us,
honey. We’ll just grab our luggage and call the auto club to come
and pick up the Jeep.”
Martina decided it was time to play her trump card. “But what
if the police find the body?”
It worked like a charm. Mason’s booted foot slipped off the gas
pedal and the truck slowed just a bit. His eyes narrowed, and his
thin-fingered hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.
“Why are you doing this?” Calder demanded, his voice tight.
Then louder, for the driver’s benefit he said, “She’s joking. Always
joking.”
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“I’m joking,” she agreed with a wide grin. “It’s not like we
killed anybody or anything.”
“Uh…?” Now Mason hit the break. The truck skidded a little
before rumbling to a halt.
“I’m kidding! I’m kidding.” Martina laughed, a tease with a
slightly hysterical edge to it.
Mason reached for his radio. “I think you two better—”
A flash of light filled the cab then, rendering everything in
shades of platinum. Martina blinked hard and her eyes teared. Next
to her, Calder sat motionless, angry and glowing.
Mason screamed.
For a split second Chase stared down at himself. His frustration
seemed to have manifested in a burst of internal light that left his
very bones visible through his skin. He might have panicked, as the
truck driver did, or merely passed out if the strange effect had lasted
any longer. Before he could fully process what happened, the glow
subsided, leaving the two other occupants of the cab staring at him,
dumbfounded.
Mason actually recovered first. He lunged over the seat and
produced a shotgun from the back of the cab.
Chase didn’t bother trying to explain anything. He flung open
the door of the cab, grabbed Martina’s hand, and together they
spilled out into the rain once again.
Fortunately no blast from the shotgun followed them. Mason
dragged the door shut and in a heartbeat the semi lurched away from
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them, kicking up mud and sand in its wake. Once its taillights
receded in the murky distance, Calder turned to Martina.
“Nice work, Doc. You’re a pro.”
“I couldn’t let you stumble back into your motel. Dobbs
probably has lookouts posted there. Whether you like it or not, Mr.
Calder, you don’t have any choices left here. The rendezvous point
isn’t far. Can you trust me long enough to get there, or would you
rather take your chances on the next vehicle that comes along?”
He glared at her. Stress had caused his reaction in the truck, but
now, despite his anger, he looked and felt perfectly normal.
Whatever was happening to his body was beyond his control, and
that irritated him.
Finally he relented and gestured for her to lead the way.
Chapter Six
Side by side they walked, their long strides eating away the
narrow road until the boxy shape of a flea bag motel appeared on
the horizon. Long abandoned but well stocked, the place would
afford them shelter until her cavalry arrived. He didn’t question her
when she broke from his grasp and hurried up to the scuffed, paint-
peeling door of the first of four uninhabited units. “The rain will
wash away our trail. We’ll be safe in here for a while,” she said and
slammed her shoulder against the door. It didn’t budge. The sudden
humidity must have swollen the frame.
After a moment of watching her struggle, he bumped her aside
with his hip. Rather than rattle the door knob or throw his weight
against it, he placed both hands on the old wood and closed his eyes.
A second later he stumbled through the door, leaving her standing
outside alone.
Before she could process what she’d just seen, he yanked the
door open from the inside. What had happened in the truck should
have prepared her for anything, but this amazing feat still managed
to shock her. Speechless, she gaped at him until he reached out and
pulled her into the dark, musty room where the only amenities were
a sagging double bed and a beat-up three-drawer bureau topped with
a dusty mirror. He threw the deadbolt and drew the tattered drapes
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across the square window, blocking most of what little light the
ongoing storm afforded them.
“You’ve developed a command of your abilities pretty
quickly,” she said. He ignored her and dragged the worn green
spread from the bed. Beneath it the pink woolen blanket looked
scratchy but relatively clean.
He handed that to her. “Wrap yourself up. Get warm.”
She met his steely gaze in the dimness and held it while she
tossed her glasses on the bureau and shrugged out of her soaking
wet robe.
Beneath the terrycloth, her nightgown was transparent. The
silky material, now colorless, clung to her curves, revealing every
nuance of her body. Tight, dark nipples tipped her breasts, and her
hips flared from a slim waist. A triangle of darker silk rode between
her thighs, and Chase had to fight to drag his attention back up to
her face after a lingering perusal of her assets. “Do you want me to
turn around?”
“While I strip?” The lilt of her voice challenged him. “Why?
You’ve just seen everything I own.”
Not quite everything. “Uhhh…” He turned his back anyway
and faced the mirror, which incidentally afforded him a filmy but
uninterrupted view of wet, naked skin as she peeled off her useless
clothing.
He wished for a nice, tight pair of jeans instead of the formless
coverall he wore. His erection, instant and insistent, tented the fabric
below his waist.
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“You can look now,” she said, apparently unaware that he’d
never actually stopped looking.
He turned. She’d fashioned the faded pink blanket into a sarong
which drew her breasts together tight into a deep and alluring
décolletage. Drops of water from her still-streaming hair glistened
on her bare shoulders and above her collarbone, begging to be
licked away.
Chase sat on the bed and clamped his thighs together. “Talk,”
he commanded, though his mind provided a hundred other things
he’d have rather had her do.
She sighed and scraped clinging hair from her face. Drops of
rain scattered, leaving dark dots on the scuffed carpeting. “What
else do you want to know? I’ve told you all there is to know about
Acheron.”
“I doubt that, but right now I’d rather know about you. You
said you’ve escaped from military bases before.”
“One base.”
“So who are you, really? And what’s your involvement with
Acheron? How did you know this place was here?”
“This is my pick-up point. I was instructed to come here when
my mission was over.”
“Do I have to ask you what mission?”
“I’m with Homeland Security Special Ops. I’m a civilian
operative, assigned to keep an eye on Dobbs because they suspected
he was retooling Acheron to turn it into a weapon. I was supposed
to find proof then leave the base quietly, without drawing attention
to myself.”
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Chase held up his hand. After a moment’s concentration it
began to glow, first yellow, then orange and finally white hot. Just
as in the Jeep and back in his cell, he felt no pain, but the heat of it
warmed the room. “This proof enough?”
“You’ll do.”
“Gee, I’m flattered. How could this happen? What is Acheron
that it can turn me into this?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice barely carried over the sound of rain
pounding against the window. “This was never supposed to be a
side effect.”
“Well, what happens next?”
“I already called for backup before I left my room. We’ll be
picked up in a few hours—assuming Mr. Mason doesn’t drum up
enough courage to call the local authorities on us. If all goes
according to plan, Dobbs ends up in the stockade and Acheron will
be dismantled.”
Chase rose and crossed the room. He stopped just an inch
beyond her personal space, close enough to feel her own, natural
heat radiating from her damp skin and far enough away that he
couldn’t drag her into his arms. “And these people of yours, will
they dismantle me, too?”
He watched the muscles in her throat contract with a nervous
swallow, and something flared inside him—part unbridled lust
perhaps, but mostly the flame of self-preservation. He put his hands
on her upper arms. She flinched at the contact, but didn’t resist
when he tugged her closer to him. “Well?”
She held his gaze, her lips a tight, thin line.
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“Just remember, Doc, the same thing just happened to you.
Whatever they do to me, they’re going to want to do to you, too.”
She threw her head back in a gesture of defiance that also
served to expose her vulnerable throat to him. The pulse in her neck
leapt, and her breasts strained at the tight knot of wool holding them
hostage. “Are you saying you’d tell?”
“Damn right I would.”
“We don’t even know if it affected me the way it did you. I
haven’t shown any signs of—”
“Your feet are invisible.”
Startled by his revelation, she backed out of his grasp and
looked down at her legs which seemed to end just beneath the hem
of the rough blanket. She stumbled, and Chase caught her around
the waist to keep her from falling.
His breath warmed her skin, and all over beneath the scratchy
fabric of the blanket she tingled at his touch. His lips hovered over
hers, a millimeter away from taking possession. “We’re in this
together. And we’re in deep. What do you propose we do?”
Martina’s heart thundered, and moisture that had nothing to do
with the rain dampened her thighs. For the first time since she’d
joined Special Ops, she didn’t have an answer. “They won’t hurt
us,” she murmured finally, inching her lips a fraction closer to his.
“I can promise you that.”
“What else can you promise me?”
“I promise Special Ops will help you in any way they can.”
“And if Acheron does prove fatal? Then what?”
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“You won’t die alone. That’s all I can give you.”
“I think you can give me a little bit more than that.” His lips
came down on hers before she could draw a breath to answer. Just
as she’d dreamed it, his touch left her reeling. His kiss stirred long
repressed needs in her, and she responded by snaking her arms
around his neck. His body heat had already dried the skin of his
nape and the fine hairs above his collar. She tangled her fingers in
the soft strands and pulled him close. Opening to him, she allowed
his tongue to sweep inside her mouth. His exploration was cautious
at first, then whatever inhibitions he might have harbored dissolved,
and he dove in hungrily.
He tasted cool and clean, like the rain that dripped from his
lashes down to his lips, mingling with the kiss that left her
breathless and hyper-aware of her nakedness beneath the makeshift
sarong.
With skillful hands Chase loosened the tight knot holding the
blanket closed over her breasts. A shiver raced up her body as the
fabric dropped to the floor.
Drawn to his heat like a moth to a candle, she arched toward
him. While his hands roamed the planes of her back and slid down
her still-damp skin to cup her ass, she spread the front of his
coverall open and pushed the top of the garment off his shoulders.
His wide pectorals flexed under her eager hands. He shrugged out of
the sleeves and helped her slide the rest of it over his hips.
She’d seen his body before, but then her hard-earned clinical
detachment had been firmly in place. Now, he was a different type
of specimen, and she could fully appreciate his physical perfection.
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Smooth, tanned skin collided with hers. Strong thighs worked
their way between her legs, and the dusting of dark hair on his chest
caused a delicious friction against her nipples.
“I was right,” he whispered next to her throat as he trailed his
lips over the last few drops of water running down her body.
“About what?” She let him ease her onto the bed, ignoring the
creaking of old bedsprings as he settled his weight atop her
trembling body.
“You look good nude.”
“Just good?” She wrapped her legs around him and braced her
hands on his shoulders.
He smirked and bent his head to nuzzle her neck. “I’d like to
show you how good, but—”
“I’m on the Pill…for medicinal purposes, of course.”
He raised a brow, but the wicked smile never left his lips. “Of
course.”
He entered her in a long, swift stroke that was neither careless
nor tentative. Martina arched as he filled her, and her breath came in
a startled gasp. Four months immersed in the Acheron mission, and
she’d almost forgotten how to be a woman. In that one breathless
moment, Chase Calder reminded her.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Concern roughened his voice, or
perhaps it was desire.
She met his dilated gaze and concentrated on her movements to
let him know just how good it felt to have him inside her. “I’m just
fine…” In fact, she’d never been quite so fine. She sighed when he
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began to move and forced her hips up off the sagging mattress to
meet him.
Damp rain on his skin became a sheen of sweat as he moved,
skillful and determined. He ran those dangerous hands up and down
her body, coaxing sensations that traveled from the surface of her
skin deep into her core.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, reveling in the sinuous
movements of his long, lean body. Muscles bunched beneath her
fingertips as she ran her hands over his broad back, and his breath
heated her skin. Long sighs became quick panting when he neared
his climax, telegraphed in the rigid feel of his thighs where they slid
against hers.
Martina tensed. The mere thought of him coming inside her set
off her own orgasm. She bit her lip and moaned when the electric
wave broke within her. Sparks danced behind her eyelids, and above
her Chase trembled. He caught her lips, pushed them open with his,
and drank her in as he reached his own peak.
Their eyes met and held for an eternity, and he smiled. “We
didn’t melt the bed.”
“Maybe we didn’t do it right. We might have to try again.”
He laughed and dropped his forehead to hers. His hair tickled
her skin, and in her embrace, his body relaxed. “I’m all for that,
Doc.”
He shifted his weight off her but kept her in his arms as he
rolled to one side. Martina moved to keep her legs touching his. She
liked the feel of those masculine muscles against her skin. His
strength and the warmth of his touch had eased some of her
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apprehension. The pent up anxiety and frustration of all these
months spent gathering evidence of Dobbs’s treachery seemed so
far away when he was inside her. She’d almost forgotten the strange
new world they’d entered upon leaving the base, and she wanted to
savor this bubble of peace and contentment before everything
changed again.
For a moment, they both lay contemplating the ceiling while
the storm raged outside. She hoped the aging roof of the tumble-
down motel wouldn’t leak and force them to abandon the bed.
“So who’s Brett?” she asked only after the silence grew cool
and heavy between them. She trailed a finger along the sharp angle
of his collarbone.
“Why do you ask?”
Martina shrugged and the movement exposed a nipple to the
suddenly chilly air. He brushed the backs of his fingers against her
breast and the skin there puckered. She shivered and stretched,
recalling the satisfying beginning of her dream the night before.
“That was the name you said when you regained consciousness. She
must be important to you. Or he.”
“She. She was someone important to me.” He blew out a
breath, found the swell of her hip beneath the sheet, and stroked her
skin.
Martina raised a brow. “But not anymore?”
“I care about her. I wish her well, but there’s nothing left there.
I suppose I pushed too hard. I wanted more from her than she was
willing to give.”
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“Sometimes it’s okay to be selfish.” She grinned, thinking of a
million and one ways to be selfish with him.
“Have you ever been?”
She leaned toward him and rubbed her lips over his. She delved
beneath the sweat dampened sheet, seeking her own pleasure and
his. “Yes, about fifteen minutes ago. And I plan to be selfish again.”
He grew hard at her intimate touch and with a swift, practiced
movement, rolled her beneath him. “I think you know this is not
what I meant.”
She closed her eyes and sighed when he slid once again
between her thighs. “I have a feeling where you’re concerned, Mr.
Calder, this may only be the beginning of how selfish I may
become.”
This time he took her slowly as if they had all the time in the
world. She responded to his touch beautifully, meeting every nuance
of movement with a sense of abandon he’d never experienced
before.
It could have been the circumstances. Like him, was she
desperate for something real and normal to combat their incredible
situation? Or was Martina Sanchez simply the most enthusiastic and
attentive lover he’d ever had?
Cradled beneath him, her curves filling his greedy hands, she
moaned softly when he entered her and whispered encouragement
as he began to move. He placed a deep kiss on her parted lips, then
nibbled his way down her jaw, her throat, to the racing pulse in her
neck. Feeling her heartbeat under his lips and her body clench and
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release in sync with his thrusts, he could almost imagine they were
made for each other.
With perfect timing she arched into his embrace, lifting her
hips to take him in deep and accept his climax. His second orgasm
raced through him, and she shuddered around him rewarding him
with a sensual sigh as he emptied into her.
After a moment suspended in time Chase gulped the humid air
and rolled away, too exhausted now to give voice to the thousand
questions rolling around in his head. Once again they lay still and
quiet, the only sound their labored breathing, which slowly subsided
to normal.
“Did it hurt?” she asked, her voice soft in the thick air.
“Did what hurt?”
“What happened in the truck. It seemed like you couldn’t
control it.”
“I didn’t feel anything. In fact everything that’s happened
feels…perfectly natural, like breathing. I barely realize it.”
She propped herself up on one elbow and eyed him. “Even
phasing through the door? How did you know you could do that?”
“I didn’t know, exactly. I was actually just trying to melt the
door like I did the wall back in the cell.”
She smirked at him. “Wood doesn’t melt.”
He laughed. “Lucky for me, I guess.”
“Maybe you should conduct a few experiments to see how
much control you really have.”
He hadn’t had time to consider that. What if all these changes
were permanent? Could he go through life turning white hot based
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on nothing more than a quick change of emotion? Briefly his
thoughts raced ahead to a myriad of uses for these extraordinary
abilities—assuming he lived long enough to master any of them.
Rather than indulge the scientist lying naked beside him in their
borrowed bed, though, he arched a brow and tipped her luscious
body back onto the pillows. “If it’s control you want, it’s control
you’re going to get.”
Chapter Seven
Tangled in the sheets, Chase estimated they’d slept no more
than a quarter of an hour when the whup-whup-whup of chopper
blades cut the damp air outside.
He nudged the woman dozing in his arms. Her eyes flew open,
and she blinked at him. A half-smile curved her kiss-swollen lips.
“Someone’s here,” he whispered.
In a heartbeat her expression morphed from languid
satisfaction to military alertness. She scrambled off the bed, slid
back into her wet clothes with precise, economical movements and
retrieved her glasses from the dusty top of the dresser. Chase
noticed all her parts were visible now. She’d stopped wanting to
disappear.
Apprehensive, he climbed out of bed and joined her at the
window. She peered out between the tattered drapes at the sleek
form of a stealth chopper angling out of the gray sky.
Chase tensed, and she must have sensed it because she smiled
over her shoulder at him. “It’s okay. That’s our ride.”
“Our ride to where exactly?”
“Somewhere Dobbs won’t look for us. Get dressed. I’ll go
check in.”
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She brushed a quick kiss across his jaw before she slipped out
the door, leaving Chase to clamber back into his soggy coverall. He
spared a glance at the bed and grinned at the memory of her luscious
body rising above him. If this was the end of his life, he couldn’t
say he had any regrets at the moment.
Outside in the empty stretch of desert next to the motel,
Martina ducked under the whizzing rotary blades of the copter and
spoke to a man in black fatigues, a bulky Kevlar vest and neon
orange ear phones. Mirrored aviators hid his eyes. He nodded in
response to Martina’s words and swung himself back into the
chopper.
She turned and waved for Chase to join them. He pulled the
door open and jogged out into the wind-driven grit stirred up by the
blades. The man in the earphones met him and gave him a hand up
into the helicopter. Martina sat buckled into a canvas seat in the
back, looking tiny and incredibly feminine with an oversized flak
jacket wrapped around her robed shoulders.
“Have a seat and buckle up, sir. We have about an hour ride,”
the man told him.
Chase lurched into the seat next to Martina and, once he was
buckled, took one of her chilly hands in his. “Looks like it’s you and
me, Doc,” he yelled over the increasing engine noise as the chopper
lifted off the desert floor. “All the way.”
She nodded and squeezed his fingers as the motel fell away
beneath them.
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Little more than an hour later, the helicopter circled a small
landing pad on the roof of a low slung, military style building. In the
midst of what appeared to be an installation similar to Dobbs’s base
in Nevada. Only the abundance of foliage distinguished the place
from the Air Force’s desert compound.
Chase tensed as the chopper descended and tightened his grip
on Martina’s hand. He struggled to remain calm, eager to avoid a
repeat of the incident in John Mason’s truck. No doubt Special Ops
possessed much greater firepower than a double-barrel shotgun, and
Chase had no desire to see what the government’s reaction to his
light bulb act might be.
He forced his breathing to steady. With Martina by his side, he
could do this. He could play it cool.
The chopper touched down with a thud, and within seconds
they were surrounded by a phalanx of men in black uniforms,
mirrored glasses and expressions devoid of all emotion.
“It’ll be all right,” Martina said as she unbuckled herself from
her seat. “I’ll be with you.”
As if the universe conspired against her, though, the uniformed
men converged and, before Chase could protest, they’d escorted him
from the helicopter.
“Chase! It’ll be all right,” she called as broad, black-suited
shoulders blocked his line of sight and a mountain of armed muscle
separated them. Doubt made her voice high and thready.
Chase struggled against hands that prodded him to move away
from Martina. His protests were met with stern glares and clipped
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commands. “This way, sir. Keep your head down and keep
moving.”
Overwhelmed by the sudden crush of bodies around him,
Chase allowed himself to be swept farther and farther away from
Martina. He figured this was it. He’d never see her again.
Bowing his head, he concentrated on breathing and walking.
He had no doubt if he tripped on the rough macadam, his phalanx of
guards would trample him.
A shout drew everyone’s attention, and a half-dozen crew-cut
heads turned in unison as Martina broke from her escort. She
sprinted toward Chase and, surprisingly, the uniformed bodies
stepped back—just a fraction, but enough to let her pass.
She didn’t throw herself into Chase’s arms, as he might have
hoped, but she pulled up close, put her hands on either side of his
face and drew him toward her. Would she kiss him here with this
stoic audience watching?
His heart raced at the thought then stuttered a beat when she
planted her lips not on his mouth but next to his ear. “It’s not over
for us. I’ll find you, I promise,” she whispered, her voice steely and
fierce.
He wanted to lock his arms around her and make all the chaos
surrounding them go away, but some magnetic force seemed to be
tugging her away from him. She held for one more second, and her
final words reached him over the pounding of his pulse. “Whatever
they ask you about Acheron…lie.”
She broke away then, and the armed guards maneuvered to
separate them once more.
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Chase managed a final, lingering glance at her before the ranks
closed between them. The conviction in her dark eyes told him she
could be trusted to do the same.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed before they whisked her in the
opposite direction from where he was being herded. He wanted to
respond, but he never got the chance. In a moment he saw nothing
but black uniforms and heard only the steady beat of the chopper
blades as the helicopter vaulted above them into the now cloudless
sky.
Chapter Eight
Chase held his pounding head in his hands and studied the
swirls of non-dairy creamer floating in his third cup of coffee. After
sixteen hours under interrogation, he could neither think straight nor
summon the energy to lift the plastic spoon they’d given him and
stir the sweet, white powder into his drink.
He drew a breath of stale, metallic flavored air and dragged his
gaze up to meet that of the Special Ops officer with whom he’d
been sequestered for more than half a day.
“Can I please see Dr. Sanchez?” he asked again. His final
glimpse of Martina as they herded her away from him played over
again in his mind. Would obeying her final, desperate command
really keep him safe?
“In time, Mr. Calder. I just have a few more questions.” The
man’s name, embroidered on a patch above his olive drab pocket,
was DeMarco. He had thick-fingered hands, hard, squinty eyes and
the hint of a Spanish accent. His unfailing politeness provided a
balm to Chase’s frayed nerves in the way a Band-Aid provided a
balm to a limb amputation.
“What’s left to ask, Major? We’ve been over everything
twice.” Any minute now, Chase expected he’d lose the battle to
keep his emotions in check. He feared phasing out or becoming
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invisible if he indulged the frustrated anger festering in the back of
his mind.
To maintain his concentration, he wrapped his hand around the
Styrofoam coffee cup and tried not to think about what might
happen to the rapidly cooling liquid inside if he accidentally slid a
finger through the thin layer of plastic.
DeMarco stood, slinging a massive thigh from the chair he’d
been straddling in a failed effort to seem less intimidating. “All
right, Mr. Calder. Let’s go over one last thing before the medical
team comes for you.”
“Please define ‘one’ and ‘last’.” Chase’s muttered comment
drew half a smile from DeMarco, the first crack in the man’s
seemingly impenetrable emotional armor.
“I promise, sir. This is the final question. For now.”
“Okay. Shoot.” Chase shook his head and swiped a hand over
his eyes. Bad choice of a response considering DeMarco seemed to
be equipped with no less than three military issue firearms.
Two other guards who flanked the door to this sterile cell held
AK47s and wore brick-like expressions. Neither of them had so
much as flinched since this debriefing began.
DeMarco leaned over the table, placing his considerable upper
body weight on his knuckles. “During the time you and Dr. Sanchez
remained at the rendezvous point, did anything unusual happen to
either of you?”
Chase stifled his knee-jerk response. So much had happened,
the least of which being he’d begun to fall in love with the
enigmatic molecular biologist. Clearly that kind of confession
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wasn’t what DeMarco was after. Nevertheless, Chase had
endeavored this long to keep his feelings to himself. Determined to
remain detached, he bent his head and stared into the tepid coffee.
The first cup had smelled great, the second had been too strong, and
this one resembled dirty dishwater, with flecks of undissolved
creamer still clinging to the edges of the cup, a bit like suds. He
needed a sandwich, a shower, a phone call…a lawyer and a
believable answer. Preferably in that order.
A host of arbitrary thoughts filled his head while some deeper
part of his psyche debated how to answer the question. He’d been
lying all along to DeMarco, playing dumb about Acheron and
Dobbs’s intentions. He hoped Martina wasn’t in some nearby cell
spilling everything that had transpired since the moment he’d
awakened naked and strapped to a gurney with her whispering in his
ear. He had only her word to go on, yet he desired nothing more
than to trust her instincts and her feelings, even if he couldn’t yet
trust his own.
He met DeMarco’s expectant stare. “No. Nothing.”
One Week Later
The lights of downtown Washington, DC winked and
shimmered through the sheer curtain of Chase Calder’s hotel room.
He stretched out the kinks in his back from too many days spent
lying in a hospital bed at Bethesda Naval Medical Center
undergoing every medical test known to man and a few he wished
man had never invented.
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Tonight he planned to actually get some sleep. Knowing he
seemed to have suffered absolutely no ill effects from two
exposures to the Acheron beam would certainly help him drift off to
dreamland, and the all-expense paid, first-class accommodations
and plane ticket home to San Francisco wouldn’t hurt, either.
Martina hadn’t lied. Special Ops had bent over backwards to
help him in exchange for a complete debriefing on everything—or
almost everything—that had happened to him while he was General
Dobbs’s prisoner.
The only thing they hadn’t been able to do was get his
confiscated film or his equipment back. Seems Dobbs had destroyed
every bit of evidence of his time on the base, which ultimately
suited Chase just fine. He could replace the equipment, and he’d lost
most of his appetite for photos of the stark Nevada desert, anyway.
Bored now with his newfound freedom, he paced around the
room, debating whether to go out or stay in and rent something on
Pay Per View. A knock at the door interrupted his inner dialogue. A
quick glance through the security peep hole sent an anticipatory
shiver down his spine, and he flung the door open.
Martina Sanchez stood in the hallway, her voluptuous body
wrapped in a short, black satin dress. She held a Nikon digital D300
in one hand.
“Hi.” She bit her lower lip, which was slick with sin-red gloss.
“I’m glad I caught you in.”
Special Ops had kept them apart after they’d landed at the base
in California. As the hours in custody had grown into days, he’d
begun to wonder if he’d ever lay eyes—or hands—on her again.
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Relief at seeing her alive and well spread through him like wildfire,
and he broke into what he had no doubt must have looked like a
dopey grin.
“Hi.” Smooth, Calder, very smooth.
She strolled into the room and handed him the Nikon. “I know
you lost your cameras in Nevada. This is a consolation prize.”
His mouth watered, and he tried to convince himself it was
because he’d never seen a more beautiful piece of equipment.
“Consider me consoled,” he said, following her feline movements
across the room.
“I heard you got a clean bill from the docs at Bethesda.”
“Yeah, they haven’t found anything to write a report about.
They got bored and kicked me out. How about you?”
“Same here.”
“What did they say about the invisibility?” He gave her a brief
but intense once over. Yes, all her parts were visible and, though she
seemed to glow, there was nothing unnatural about it.
She shrugged. “I didn’t actually mention it.”
“Oh?” His mouth went dry.
“I read your statements. Neither did you, it seems.”
“Hmm. Didn’t I?”
She sat on the edge of his king-sized bed and demurely crossed
her legs at the ankle. Chase licked his lips, and his grip tightened on
the Nikon.
“And why is that?” she asked.
His turn to shrug. “It never came up.”
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“What happens when they find the hand prints on the wall in
your cell at the base?”
“I can’t recall any hand prints.” He held up one hand, palm out,
and they both watched while absolutely nothing happened.
“The effects seemed to have worn off.” Her statement lacked
any inflection, but the unspoken question lingered.
“Yeah. All gone. You?”
“I don’t recall any side effects at all.”
“Good. Then we’re both pretty lucky, I suppose.”
An awkward silence enveloped them, and they stared each
other down. Chase had the feeling Martina was daring him to
question her decision to keep quiet.
“Uh…are you in the mood for some dinner, Dr. Sanchez?”
“No.” She pouted just a little, and Chase watched the dim light
shimmer on her glossy lips.
“How about a movie?”
“Actually, I came here to have my picture taken.”
Chase nearly dropped the camera. “Oh?”
“You said something about wanting to photograph me, naked, I
believe.”
He coughed and fought to get control of his brain and his
breathing before he spoke again. “Are you serious?”
She reached behind her back, and the sharp sound of her
unzipping her dress arrowed straight to his cock. “It’s not red sand,
but will a crimson bedspread do as a back drop?” Black satin fell
away and, with a decidedly come-hither smile, Martina Sanchez
covered her breasts with one hand. “How do you want me?”
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Chase tossed the camera on a nearby chair and dove onto the
bed next to her. She squealed and wrapped her arms around his
neck. “For now, naked will do. I think I’d like to start with the
close-ups.” He lowered his mouth to hers and tasted her desire.
After a deep kiss that left him aching for more, he raised his head
and nodded toward the window. “Let me pull the drapes so all of
DC doesn’t get an eyeful.”
She smiled and pulled him down into a full body embrace. Out
of the corner of his eye he noticed their lower bodies seemed just a
little bit transparent. Perhaps it was a trick of the light.
“Don’t worry. No one can see us like this.” She drew his face
close to his for another searing kiss, and together they disappeared.
About the Author
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The Rebound Guy
La Mirage
This is NOT a test…
The Last Man on Earth
© 2008 Raine Weaver
Iris Foley and Russell Carr are old friends who share
everything. As they indulge in a marathon viewing of old, campy
horror films on a stormy Halloween night, they are suddenly faced
with the very real possibility that something has happened to the
outside world.
Just as the last gasp of the Emergency Broadcast System issues
a dire warning, they are plunged into isolation and darkness.
Naturally, they decide to do what any frightened, civic-minded
young couple would do.
They decide to have sex.
Now if only old fears, a surprise adversary, and the Apocalypse
wouldn’t keep getting in their way…
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Last Man on Earth:
He watched her scoop up the last of her scrambled eggs,
enjoying every mouthful, as if it was her last meal on earth.
He, unfortunately, had not been able to swallow a bite.
“Okay.” Iris finished the small sample of orange juice he’d
provided and, satisfied, sat back in the dining room chair. “I’m
relaxed. I’m well fed. I’ve taken the time to think things through,
just as you asked. Can we have sex now?”
He blanched, using his fork to stab his cold sausage in
frustration. “Iris. This is not something to be taken lightly. Just
because there’s no electricity—”
She laughed, and the sound of tinkling light filled the old, cold
house. “You think I want to have sex with you because there’s
nothing on television?”
“I didn’t say that. I think…I just don’t want you doing
something rash under duress, something you’ll regret afterward.”
“Suppose there is no afterward?”
“Stop that! Everything is fine.”
“But just suppose—”
“No. Let’s have you just suppose.” A wee, small voice
somewhere in the back of his head was screaming at him in its wee,
small way: “What the hell are you doing, man? She wants us!”
No, it didn’t seem to be coming from his head at all; it was
coming from a lower, far more sensitive extremity, one that seemed
to be making him feverish and edgy and more impatient by the
minute. “Suppose this is all, as I said, just the result of a pre-winter
storm and some freakish blurb of dialogue we picked up at exactly
the wrong time. And suppose, due to this misunderstanding, we go
ahead and do this—this thing you’re suggesting. How are you going
to feel when the lights come back on?”
She nodded slowly. “You mean, will I still respect you in the
morning?”
“You think this is funny?” he retorted. “I’m serious! I promised
your brother when he went into the Navy that I’d look out for you,
take care of you. We have a life-long friendship going here, a
business partnership, and I don’t…” He paused, scrubbing his face
with his hands. “I don’t want to lose that.”
Her smile faded into softness. “That’s either the sweetest thing
anybody’s ever said to me, or—or you’re trying to let me down
easy. If you don’t want to have sex with me, Russ, just tell me. I’ll
understand.”
“I never said—”
“I mean, we’re not talking serious commitment or anything.”
“It’s not that—”
“And it’s not as if we’re total strangers.”
“I’m just worried that—”
“Then you’re saying it would be all right for us to climb all
over each other if we were not friends?”
He pounded the tabletop with both fists. “God, woman, you’re
making me crazy here.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing,” she persisted. “I
don’t expect you to suddenly get the hots for me because I suddenly
want to ‘do it’. I know you don’t think of me that way. But I’d
handle all the preliminaries, do all the persuading, take care of
everything. You could just sit back and enjoy—or tolerate,
whichever you prefer. I mean, it’s not about lust or anything silly
like that. We could just be fuc—er, sex buddies. Just for whatever
time we might have left. I’d try to make it worth your while.”
“Dammit, Iris, here I am trying to be noble, and—” He paused,
eyes widening. “What did you say?”
She looked downward, her cheeks coloring slightly. “I said I’d
spare you the effort. I said I’d be happy to seduce you. Or give it a
try, anyway.”
He fell back in his chair, his body boneless.
Dear God. It really was the end of the world.
“We could start now, if you think you can manage. I’d like to
get as much in as possible.”
He blinked, then blinked harder, his thoughts losing the race
against his hormones. “Iris? That is you sitting there, isn’t it? I
mean, you didn’t have any memory lapses last night, or dreams
about being abducted by aliens?”
“It’s almost funny,” she said wistfully. “Here I was, wallowing
in celibacy because the jerk I was with wanted sex without an
emotional relationship—and now I’m propositioning a man who
just wants a relationship without sex. Isn’t that funny?”
Oh, yeah. Funny. He was laughing so hard inside his testicles
ached. “I…I don’t know what to say—”
“I think it’s the right thing to do. It’s strange that we never
think of these things,” she mused. “We live as if we’ve got all the
time in the world. Well, I don’t know how much time I’ve got left. I
guess nobody does. And I’d like to squeeze in as much living as
possible.”
Russ stuttered, choking on the words he wanted to say to her,
the words he couldn’t find.
“You’ve always been so sweet, so caring, so honest with me,”
she said gently. “I can’t think of anybody I’d rather do this with.”
He brushed the pang of guilt quickly aside, his gaze focusing
on her generous mouth, and what it would be like to have it prompt
him into hardness, to have her slip those taut, round nipples into his
mouth, to feast until she begged for something more…
And he wouldn’t have to say a word? No bumbling attempts to
explain his feelings, no coaxing, no persuading, no seduction?
He leaned forward in his chair, ready for action. Even if it was
the Judgment Day, God would understand. He was, after all, a
masculine God. Everybody knew that. “You said something about
starting now?”
A delighted smile spread across her face. “You agree then?
You really don’t mind?”
He humbly shrugged, reaching for her hand. “You’re one of
my best friends, sweetie. I think I understand. If this is the end, I
wouldn’t want you to check out feeling deprived, or denying
yourself the pleasure of one last sexual encounter. Let’s go upstairs
and—”
“No,” she said firmly. “It’s cold up there, and I don’t want to
waste any time. How about right here, on the couch in front of the
fire? Will that do?”
He was dizzy, actually deliriously dizzy with excitement.
“Well, if that’s what you want, I’ll try to manage. For you.”
“Good!”
She pushed away from the table and grabbed his hand, eagerly
leading him to the sofa. He blindly followed, his mind muddled with
disbelief. After all this time, and all his wasted planning, she was
really going to be his. And he didn’t have to cloak the proposition in
champagne, or worry about getting tongue-tied and flustered.
It was a gift.
He watched her from behind, already imagining what it would
be like to get his hands on that tempting tush, to feel her feverish
against him, to savor her mouth, rather than resign himself to the
usual friendly peck on the lips.
Russ took a deep breath, trying to control himself. If he wasn’t
careful, she’d wonder why he was already hard enough to cut
diamonds.
She placed him in the center of the sofa and sat beside him,
chewing the nail of her forefinger. And there she sat. And sat,
forever, it seemed to him, nibbling away. He watched her out of the
corner of his eye, trying to appear relaxed, fervently praying that she
had not changed her mind. “Okay,” he ventured, trying to sound
casual. “Here we are.”
“This is sorta awkward, isn’t it?” She gave a nervous, tittering
laugh. “It’s just occurred to me that I’ve never seduced a man
before. Never had to.”
“I don’t suppose so,” he muttered, a pang of jealousy knifing
through him. “That’s probably all Gary and Milton ever thought
about.”
“Why do we keep coming back to Milton Edwards? I told you I
never slept with him.”
This was not the time to provoke an argument. This was the
time to fulfill his fantasies. “Sorry. Guess I just feel like neither of
them deserved you. And this is a tricky situation for me, too. I’m
not accustomed to being so…passive.”
She smiled, resting her hand on his thigh. “I think I like that.
That makes this more of a challenge, more interesting, doesn’t it?”
God, if it were any more interesting he’d shoot the works
before she even started.
How many times can one man die?
Killing Joe
© 2008 Marie Treanor
To professional assassin Joe, life is cheap, and crash researcher
Anna just another hit. Until his own unplanned car crash changes
everything.
Dr. Anna Baird, dedicated to the point of obsession, suddenly
finds her state-of-the-art crash test dummy haunted by a weird and
exciting stranger—who seems doomed to repeatedly experience the
fate he’d intended for Anna.
Lost in a reality only he and Anna inhabit, Joe finds himself
falling in love with his intended victim, and ultimately fighting to
save her life—because whoever hired him still wants her dead.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Killing Joe:
Anna licked the last drop of whisky from her upper lip. Joe’s
eyes followed the gesture, making her self-conscious.
Hastily, she hid her tongue again. “This is weird. But the whole
situation’s so weird that I’m going to tell you anyway. Do you know
what we do here?”
“Automobile crash research.”
“Yep. We do mock-ups of various situations to test car safety
and try to improve standards. Well, we had one such mock-up
today, using the dummy that has now disappeared. Just before the
impact I saw…I thought I saw the dummy’s face change. It
became—it seemed to become a man’s face. Yours.”
His eyes searched hers, but not with either surprise or derision.
As if the idea had already occurred to him.
Oh Jesus Christ…
How could either of them believe such a thing? There had to be
a rational explanation.
He was in an accident—sustained some head injury I’m not
qualified to discover. Somehow, he wandered in here unseen and
fell asleep…
So where are his clothes?
He took them off somewhere, obviously in a daze. They’re
probably in a corridor or something…
But his face…I saw his face on the dummy!
“I’m wondering,” she said shakily, “if that—seeing your
face—was some kind of warning. When did your accident happen?”
He shrugged again. “About nine-thirty, I suppose.”
She drew in a breath. “That’s when we tested.” And the
dummy had gone. Was it lying around the building somewhere with
Joe’s clothes? Why would he have moved it? It didn’t make any
sense. None of it made any sense, unless…but that was impossible.
Forcing herself, she met his gaze once more. “Joe, what does
this mean?”
He said nothing. So she poured herself some more whisky and
drank gratefully. He hadn’t touched his. At last he said, “Has
anything like this ever happened to you before?”
Anything like what? Like suspecting a man of changing bodies
with a crash test dummy? Was she really that insane?
No! So pull yourself together, woman. Think logically.
She shook her head. “No. At least not really…” She slid her
eyes away from his penetrating gaze. “When I first worked here and
we set up the crashes…I should tell you my family died in a car
crash. I saw it happen from a bus stop where they’d just dropped
me. Anyway, I used to…imagine…the dummies were family
members. But it wasn’t really like that today. Then I knew what I
was doing—the test just brought back the memory with extra
vividness. This today was…it was like it was really you. And I’ve
never seen you before in my life, have I?”
“No,” he agreed. “No, you haven’t.” She had no idea what he
was thinking, how mad he thought she was, how scared he was by
his own situation. Not very, it seemed. She could find no trace now
of the despair she had sensed earlier. He seemed almost resigned,
though to what, she still had very little clue.
She returned to her own more immediate alarm. “You know
my name.”
He nodded.
“And you know where I work.”
“Yes.”
She took a breath. “Were you stalking me, Joe?”
“Yes.”
“No you weren’t!” she disputed, perversely. “Stalkers like their
victims to know about them.”
“Perhaps I was waiting for my moment to get you alone, ask
you out for dinner, sweep you off your feet…”
“Aye, right,” said Anna derisively, resorting to the language of
childhood, which at least lightened his hard eyes, brought a faint
curve to his lips.
“You find that difficult to believe?”
“Impossible, actually.”
“Why? You are a beautiful girl and when I’m not wearing
overalls, I’m reasonably presentable.”
“You’re pretty presentable without them, too,” she retorted,
then flushed with embarrassment. His dark eyes glinted
acknowledgement, but before he could say anything, she rushed into
speech herself.
“But you’re avoiding the question. How long have you been
watching me?”
He shrugged. “A couple of days.”
“But why?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Oh trust me, I do!”
“Then let’s say I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why not?” she flashed back.
He hesitated. “Because it’s got nothing to do with this weird
situation.” His eyes fell. “And because, for once, I nee— like the
company.”
She stared at him. His vulnerability was suddenly terrifying,
because it gave credence to her own impossible suspicion. “You
think I’ll leave you to your fate if you tell me? Is it really that bad?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?”
He didn’t say anything at all to that, so with conscious courage
she asked, “What exactly do you think your fate is, Joe? The one I
would leave you to?”
He looked up at the light bulb, as if deliberately dazzling
himself. “Hell.” His lips twisted. “Not the fiery hell children are
taught about in school—or at least in the schools I went to. My hell
is continually reliving—re-dying—in car crashes.”
Her throat tightened unbearably. Oh Jesus, Jesus, we both
believe the same thing… And her own doubts, her own sanity,
counted for nothing beside his pain. Instinctively, she leaned over
and with a feeling of great daring put both her arms around his
broad, strong shoulders.
Damn it, feel sorry for yourself!
His body was unyielding, hard as she’d known it would be, but
warm, strangely exciting. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder,
knowing somehow that it was sheer surprise that held him so rigid.
He wasn’t used to being embraced for reasons of comfort.
“You really believe you deserve to suffer such a punishment?
Joe, no one is that bad, no one…”
He jerked in her hold. “You don’t have a clue, do you?” The
words burst out of him with violence, frightening her all over again.
Panicked, she pulled back, but his arms lifted suddenly, seizing her,
holding her hard against his chest, his hand tangling in her hair to
keep her still. “You really have no idea what people do to each
other, for no reason worth a damn…”
Her heart thundered. Behind the fear came a hot, leaping surge
of desire. She whispered, “What was done to you?”
“Done to me? Nothing I haven’t given back worse. I’m not the
victim here.”
His fingers in her hair, fisting, made her every nerve tingle with
warning as well as excitement. Twisting her head in his hold, she
gazed up into his face, absorbing each tiny line around his dark,
almond-shaped eyes, every crease in his forehead, the texture of his
lips suddenly so close to hers that her stomach began to burn. His
eyes, the cold, opaque eyes that she was sure never let anyone in,
were suddenly a maelstrom you could drown in.
She said, “If your—soul—is trapped inside a crash test dummy,
then victim’s exactly what you are.”
“I don’t do victim,” he said savagely, and kissed her mouth
before she could draw breath.
It was rough, bruising, his purpose to shut her up, even punish
her for her unacceptable view of him. Knowing it, she slid her hands
up over his thickly muscled arms to his shoulders and pushed. It was
like shoving at a mountain. Truly panicked now, she tried to speak
under his mouth, but the movement of her lips only excited him to
delve deeper. While his big hand held her head steady, his tongue,
strong and insistent, swept around her mouth, pressing behind her
teeth as if to pull her closer.
Bombarded, devoured, Anna could do nothing but let him. Yet
as soon as she relaxed, sensation flooded her, sweet and raging. Her
whole body burned, the fire spreading from her mouth to her groin,
devastating her. She was so wet she could feel it on her thighs. And
suddenly his motive didn’t matter. She’d had sex while less turned
on than this.
Faintly, almost shyly at first, she moved her lips under his,
dared to touch his tongue with hers, caress it, and then she was
kissing him back fully, passionately, and his arms tightened,
pressing her breasts to his chest. She clung around his neck,
exploring his mouth with the same urgency he did hers, shivering
with delight as his hand caressed her back, her waist, the curve of
her hip, then slid up her side and over the curve of her breast.
The pleasure of that made her moan into his mouth. His hand
moved, softly kneading, until his palm discovered her rigid,
pleading nipple pressing through her shirt. And as abruptly as he’d
seized her, he released her mouth.
Her glasses had steamed up. Deftly, he removed them, and his
eyes, hot and clouded, stared into hers. Slowly, unable to help it, she
touched his face with her fingertips, the lean line of his jaw, the
hollows of his cheeks, the corners of his lips.
He spoke with fierce triumph. “You want me.”
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