Deadly Sight. Cindy Dees
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sat down on the couch and crossed one long leg over the other in a blatantly sexy display. “But I’m not trying to fit in. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
“Neither do I,” he snapped. “Jeff Winston asked for my help and, for some reason that completely escapes me, saw fit to send me you.”
He packed all the derision he could muster into that last word. Man, this woman got under his skin. Nobody ever got this big a rise out of him this fast. And that was bad. For him, feelings were dangerous things. Lethal even. If he felt too much he might lose control, and then he might let go of his will to live. He hadn’t fought to hang on this long only to let go now.
He commented more reasonably, “I have no idea whatsoever what I’m supposed to do with you.”
“I could make a few suggestions.” Her lips curved into a sinful smile. “You look like you could stand to learn a thing or two from me.”
An unwilling grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He was confident enough in his skills in that department that he definitely didn’t need to rise to that jab. But she was tempting.
“Tell me about you,” he said in as businesslike a tone as he could manage.
“I work for Winston Enterprises. I’m an operations controller and analyst in the Winston Operations Center. Are you familiar with it?”
He nodded. He’d visited the high-tech, information-gathering hub once and been stunned. Most governments didn’t have anything better. Winston Enterprises, which was a sprawling international conglomerate of dozens of companies, practically had its own private intelligence agency.
“I’ve worked with Jeff for five years,” she continued. “Two years ago, I volunteered for the HIVE Project. Are you familiar with that?”
“Nope. Never heard of it.”
“That explains a lot,” she replied cryptically.
“What is it?”
“Hang on a sec,” she muttered as she fished in her jacket pocket and emerged with a cell phone. “I’ve got to talk to Jeff.”
“Your phone won’t work. No cell phone towers inside the NRQZ. And if you turn it on, the radio emissions police may show up and bust you.”
She swore colorfully as she stuffed the device back in her pocket. “Have you got a string and some tin cans for me to make a call with?”
“Landline’s over there on the wall. They bury the phone cables so they don’t screw with the telescopes.”
She marched over to the ancient rotary phone and glared at it. “How … quaint.” She dialed number by slowly rotating number.
“Hi, it’s Sam. Is the boss around?” There was a brief pause. “Hey, Jeff. What am I authorized to tell your buddy Grayson about HIVE?” She listened for a moment, and if he wasn’t mistaken, surprise crossed her face. But he couldn’t be sure. He really wished she’d take those shades off. It was unsettling not being able to read her expressions at all. Was this HIVE thing the reason he’d been dragged into the middle of nowhere and thrust into the company of this annoying woman?
She hung up the receiver. “Apparently, Jeff trusts you a freaking lot because I’m green-lighted to tell you all.”
An intimate undertone slid into his voice. “Are you, now?”
She rolled her eyes. “About HIVE. Tell all about HIVE.” She was cute when she was discomfited. Speaking hastily to cover her obvious discomfort, she said, “So. Does the local antitechnology monitoring mean this shack isn’t under any kind of electronic surveillance?”
“As far as I can tell. The locals would pick up the transmission from a bug or a parabolic microphone in a heartbeat. A few years back, not far from here, a heating pad in a doghouse had a short circuit in it too small for the dog to feel, but it still caused interference with the telescope.”
“Cool.” She sank down on the sofa facing him and studied her fingernails as if she’d rather avoid the conversation to come.
“So, what’s HIVE?” he prompted.
“Human Improvement Via Engineering. The name’s actually a joke. The project’s head scientist hates the moniker. Real name’s Code X.”
“Very spooky,” he murmured. Human improvement? What on earth did that mean? A buzz of consternation vibrated in his gut at the possibilities. He asked much more blandly than he felt, “What kind of engineering?”
“Give the city slicker points for asking the right question.”
She stretched a languid arm across the back of the sofa and drummed a complicated rhythm with her fingers on it. More delaying body language. She really didn’t want to talk about this HIVE thing. He was intrigued at the aggressive overall body posture. It made her look like some sort of predatory animal at rest, although which kind, he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
She continued, “A team of scientists who work for Jeff have been experimenting with a combination of stem-cell therapies and genetic engineering to enhance certain characteristics in test subjects.”
“What kinds of characteristics?” he asked.
“When’s the last time you saw Jeff? Like in the flesh?”
He was thrown by the abrupt shift of topic. “About two years ago. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Let’s just say he has changed a bit since you last saw him.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he demanded, alarmed. “You’re using human test subjects? Has Jeff done this experimenting on himself?”
She grinned. “Let’s just say he’s put on a little, umm, muscle mass. The guy can pick up a Jeep and throw it if he wants to. Literally.”
Gray’s mind went blank. He couldn’t believe the implications of what she was saying. His old friend had used far-out, experimental science to make a … a … superhero of himself? “Has he become some sort of freak?”
The woman flinched at the word. “Yeah,” she said grimly. “A freak.”
He asked cautiously, “And are you also one of these test subjects?” She didn’t look like she could pick up a Jeep, let alone throw it.
“Yes,” she answered flatly. “I’m a freak, too.”
“You throw Jeeps?”
“No. My special abilities are somewhat different than Jeff’s.”
“Indeed? Do tell.”
That was definitely a wince tightening her facial features. What in the hell was going on with her?
Chapter 2
Sam warily eyed the dark-haired man lounging in the chair across from her. She had to admit, he was a hunk. Although that wasn’t exactly the right word for him. He looked … patrician. Not a word she used frequently, or that frankly ever came to mind. But it fit him. His features were classically handsome. Heck, flat-out well-bred.
“Do people actually call you Grayson?” she asked abruptly.
He looked irritated at the change of topic. Must be the intensely focused type. In her experience, such men made great lovers if they could get over their other hang-ups. But this guy seemed wired pretty tight. Probably would be as boring as they came in bed.
“My friends call me Gray. Why?”
She snorted. “The name suits you.”
A flash of heat flared in his gray-green gaze. Hmm. Maybe not so boring in bed, after all. Were he not Jeff’s friend, she might be tempted to find out for sure.
“What’s