Zara won’t, and Danyael can’t. And I have Kyle to keep me alive.
Sofia stared down at the printouts. What secrets did they conceal? She steeled herself. “Where would I be able to find that information?”
Danyael looked troubled. “Your best bet? Back at Proficere Labs.”
Chapter 10
It was just a little before midnight when Sofia and Danyael walked out of the free clinic. She threw a nervous glance over her shoulder as he locked the clinic door. The two IGEC agents who had attempted to accost her earlier lingered in their car across the street from Danyael’s clinic. Their baleful glares locked on her, but they made no move to get out of their car.
“Are the IGEC agents going to create any trouble for you?” Sofia asked.
“Not unless they want to cross the Mutant Affairs Council. It’s never a good idea to annoy an organization filled with short-tempered alpha mutants.”
“But aren’t they going to follow us?” she asked.
“They don’t need to. They know where I live,” Danyael said. He nudged his head down the street. “Just two blocks that way. It’s almost faster to walk than drive, even on a bum leg.”
Sofia glanced at his left leg. “What happened?”
Danyael shifted his weight on his single crutch. “Long story.” His tone did not invite additional discussion.
Sofia, however, was not any more intimidated by Danyael than she had been by Kyle. Besides, it was hard to work up an honest fear of someone who sagged so wearily against his crutch. “Aren’t you getting it fixed?”
“When I’ve saved up for it.”
Sofia’s brow furrowed. It made no sense. Danyael was an alpha empath, rare even among the high-powered alpha mutants who dominated the Genetic Revolution. He was treasured, even priceless, was he not?
So why was he driving himself to exhaustion working a dead-end job in a dangerous neighborhood? Why was his obviously incapacitating injury left untreated?
Would she ever understand the murky politics that governed the treatment of alpha mutants like Danyael?
Seeking answers, she stared at his face, as perfect and expressionless as a marble statue. No, not quite perfect. It was marred by that old scar. His dark eyes, glazed with weariness, revealed nothing.
She would receive no answers from Danyael.
Perhaps she ought to be grateful that her mutant powers were so miniscule as to escape the notice of the Mutant Affairs Council. She was too insignificant to be a threat, too pathetic to bother with.
Too weak to save the ones she loved.
Her teeth clenched against the familiar ache, the sharp pang of guilt that would never go away.
Danyael glanced sharply at her but said nothing. He had sensed her feelings, no doubt, but politeness kept him from inquiring further.
His home was two blocks away from the clinic, a small one-bedroom on the fifth floor of a walk-up apartment complex. The living area was cheaply furnished with Salvation Army castoffs. It should have been dismal, even depressing, but something about the place infused her with peace. The only reason her dazzled senses could identify was that it was Danyael’s home, the only place where he felt truly safe.
Even Danyael seemed to relax as he shrugged out of his black leather jacket. “Would you like something to eat?” he asked, limping into the kitchenette.
Her stomach rumbled at her, reminding her that she had skipped both lunch and dinner. “Sure, anything will do. Do you need any help?”
He shook his head and waved her over to the two-person dining table tucked into a corner of the living room. Instead of sitting, however, she wandered around the room, which seemed dreadfully impersonal except for the two plastic-framed photographs on the kitchen counter—one of a slightly younger though no less cherubic Laura Itani, and another of her mother, Zara. The assassin’s face was angled away from the camera, but her gaze was direct and held a hint of challenge, as if daring the photographer to close the distance. Her smile beckoned, offering the promise of something more.
Sofia looked up at Danyael as he moved with quiet efficiency around the small kitchenette. “Did you take this photograph of Zara?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“It’s a beautiful picture.”
He shrugged.
“You love her, don’t you?” Sofia blurted out the words before she could check herself. She clapped her hand over her mouth and shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She dropped her hand, her cheeks flushed. “It was rude.”
“You don’t understand why.”
Sofia searched for the right words before realizing, with regret, that there were none. “No, I don’t,” she confessed. Zara Itani was practically the dictionary definition of “she-demon.” She was cold and ruthless—the polar opposite of Danyael’s innate compassion and empathy.
He looked up and smiled. The curve of his lips seemed sad. “Most days I don’t understand it either.”
“But then—”
“Love doesn’t have to make sense. The people we love don’t have to be like us or live up to our internal expectations to make us want more from the relationship.”
She frowned. “But you’re an alpha empath. Can’t you just…you know…?” She wriggled her fingers at him. “Use your empathic powers to change her feelings?”
Danyael shrugged again. “What I feel for Zara is irrelevant if what she feels for me isn’t real.”
Sofia had not considered it that way before. “Does she know how you feel about her?”
“I don’t know what Zara feels about anything anymore.”
“But you’re an empath. You can sense my emotions. You know what I’m feeling.”
“That’s right, unless I erect a psychic wall between us, as I did with Zara.”
“But why?”
“It seemed easier that way.”
Sofia’s eyebrows drew together. “Easier?”
“Easier than working through her emotional turmoil every time I see her.” His tone turned reflective.
For a moment, Sofia caught the sharp glitter of pain in his eyes. She swallowed hard against the matching ache in her chest. She had pushed him too far. “Here, let me help you with that.” She took the plate of pasta from his hands, set it on the table, and returned for the second plate.
The sauce for the pasta had come out of a bottle, but the meal was hot and filling. Danyael, she noted, ate slowly. Frequently, he paused, closed his eyes, and fisted his hand over his mouth, as if fighting indigestion or nausea.
She did not ask.
Truth be told, she was not sure she wanted to know.
She was a mutant, but she was not an alpha. All her life, her parents had taught her to stay out of the political and social nightmare that ensnared the alpha mutants. It wasn’t worth the attention and publicity of using her mutant powers in public. Power had a price, but mercifully, it was a price she did not need to pay.
She had enough issues on her hands. Her thoughts trailed back to the one topic that had nagged at her for the past several hours. “Do you think Kyle will be all right?”
Danyael nodded. “Zara hires capable people. You’ll be safe with him.”
Sofia’s lips parted in a half-smile. She had not voiced the real question bothering her, but she was grateful Danyael answered it anyway.
The alpha empath continued. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
The drive from Baltimore to Washington, D.C., had taken hours, and had nothing to do with rush hour traffic. Kyle had employed every trick he knew and some he made up on the spot to shake the disgruntled IGEC agents on his tail.
Hell, disgruntled was too mild a term.
Lydia had been apoplectic when Xin showed up at the Johns Hopkins Hospital security office.
Like Zara, but with far more subtlety, Xin left chaos in her wake.
Kyle had met Xin several times, but had never seen her exercise her talents beyond an information-conduit role. It was apparently a rare treat to see Xin throw her real weight around.
Xin, a slim Chinese woman, did not even raise her voice. She identified herself, flashed her NSA credentials, and threw the rule book at Lydia.
Lydia sputtered objections.
Xin crushed it with legalese.
Lydia threatened to call the IGEC director.
Xin handed her a phone.
Kyle sat back, stifled a chuckle, and enjoyed the elaborate play.
After a terse, largely one-sided conversation that included long bouts of silence from Lydia, she had hung up the phone, her face red. The look she shot Kyle was not a pleasant one. No big deal. Kyle dismissed the implied threat with a shrug of his shoulders. Their relationship had hit rock bottom several months prior and had not improved since. He was not going to get tied up in knots over another new grudge she bore him.
He had pushed to his feet and followed Xin from the security office, Lydia’s glare burning into his back.
“I can’t vouch for how long they’ll behave themselves,” Xin said as Kyle escorted her back to her car. “I can keep them from arresting you, but I can’t keep them from following you. You should call Zara; she’s expecting an update.”
His conversation with Zara had been quick, but provided all the details he needed. The trip back to Washington, D.C., however, had taken the better part of the evening.
He had worried about Sofia the entire way.
Sure, Danyael was an alpha empath. In theory, he could protect Sofia, but Kyle would not count on it. Danyael was a mutant, and mutants were self-serving bastards, using their psychic powers for their own gain and advancing themselves at the expense of normal humans.
With a grunt, Kyle shoved away the memory of Danyael extracting the microchip from Sofia’s arm and healing the open wound.
Danyael might have done one good thing, but he was no different from the other mutants.
They could not be trusted.
As Zara had promised in her phone call, Kyle found Sofia waiting for him in Danyael’s apartment. His knock on the door was promptly answered. Kyle nodded at the alpha empath who opened the door and walked into the apartment.
With a smile, Sofia rose from her seat at the dining table and walked into his arms. “Are you all right?”
Her frame was small; her weight was slight, but comforting. The cold nip of fear fell away. He nodded. “Hell of a day.”
Behind him, Danyael chuckled. “Fortunately, it’s after midnight, so you can consider it a new day and get a fresh start.”
“We should go,” Kyle said. Zara had been explicit that Danyael needed his rest and was to be relieved of his babysitting duties as quickly as possible. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Danyael smiled as he followed them to the door. “Be safe.”
Kyle rolled his shoulders and released a relieved sigh when Danyael closed the door. One thing had come through loud and clear in his conversation with Zara. She did not like anyone messing with Danyael.
Kyle and Sofia walked down the stairs together, but he tugged her away from the front door of the apartment complex. “My car’s around the back.”
“Did someone follow you?” Sofia asked, alarm spiking her voice.
“Four detours and three car changes later, I should hope not. But the IGEC is camping outside the front door of Danyael’s apartment. They know not to mess with him, but all bets are off if you walk out of the apartment without him.”
Sofia sighed. “I don’t think I knew what I was signing up for when I decided to hold on to the microchip.”
“Never too late to turn it over to Zara.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve thought it over. We need to talk about what to do next.”
“Sure, we can do it over food.”
“Danyael fed me.”
“Well, nobody fed me. Is there food back at the house?”
“Oh, the food you berated me for buying this morning? Yes, there is food back at the house. Can we go back there, though? Won’t they be watching the place?”
“Not unless they follow us there. Zara got Xin to work some of her hacker magic. As far as anyone knows, your family has never owned that town house. No one can link you back to that property unless they see us walk into it.”
“Do all your friends possess such dubious skills?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Well, yeah.”
“Does that make me the only normal friend you have?”
Kyle grinned. Friend. Yeah, he liked the sound of that. Friendship was great progress considering their less-than-auspicious first meeting twenty-four hours prior. He nodded. “Pretty much, unless you know Krav Maga.”
“What’s that?”
“Tactical martial system used by the Israeli Defense Forces.”
Sofia interlaced her fingers behind her back and offered Kyle her most innocent smile. “Uh, no, but I can hit people really hard over the head with an umbrella.”
“That works in a pinch. You have to start somewhere. I can teach you.” He peered out through a grimy shade that covered the glass on the back door of Danyael’s apartment building. Several cars were parked under the pale glow of streetlamps. They were still empty. Nothing had changed in the five minutes it took to pick Sofia up from Danyael’s apartment. All clear. He unlocked the door and stepped out. His hand did not stray from the Glock in its holster.
Sofia inched out the door and followed him down the empty street. “This is your new car?” she asked, looking with skeptical distaste at the nondescript white Ford.
“It’s a loaner from Three Fates. The Ford’s just a shell. It’s nicely retrofitted underneath with an engine that can make 750 hp at 8,000 rpm.”
Sofia did not look impressed as she buckled herself into the seat. “What’s that in English?”
“It’s more powerful than a Lamborghini.”
“Hmm, sounds cool.” She looked thoughtful. “Assuming the Ford frame doesn’t fall apart when your Lamborghini engine hits its full potential.”
He cast her a startled glance. It was a surprising insight from someone who probably could not explain the difference between horsepower and revolutions per minute. Sofia understood something fundamental about cars. It was never just about how powerful the engine was; in reality, a car’s maneuverability and speed came down to the coherence and unity of the design, including its structural support—the frame.
Perfection, in cars as in life, was found in the whole, not in its parts.
He pulled away from the curb. “So, you say you’ve thought about the situation?”
She nodded. “I have, but can we not talk about it until you’ve had a bite? I’ve done nothing but think about it for the past twenty-four hours, and I want to relax for a moment.” Sofia sagged into the ripped leather upholstery and closed her eyes.
She was fast asleep by the time he pulled up at the town house.
Kyle suppressed a chuckle as he carried her indoors and up the stairs to her bedroom. She sighed as he laid her down on the mattress. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her eyes opened into narrow slits. “Kyle?”
“Yeah?”
Her voice was a sleepy mumble. “Stay with me?”
Kyle grunted. How could he refuse an offer from a soft, willing female, especially one who turned him on as much as Sofia did? He shrugged off his leather jacket and stretched out on the bed beside her.
He wrapped an arm around her, and she wriggled deeper into his embrace. She sighed, a contented sound that did little to counteract the arousal her wriggle had triggered. He fought to keep his grip relaxed. Judging from her slow and steady breaths, she had fallen back asleep.
Damn, it was going to be a long night.
Dawn was a crack of light through slits in the curtains. Sofia peered, eyes half closed, at the familiar pictures on the wall, of seascapes enclosed in wooden frames.
&nbs
p; Home. She was home.
She yawned and stretched.
She did not even manage to sit up. A heavy arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back, snuggling her in the warmth of another body.
His possessive motion should have irked her, but at that moment, it made her feel safe. A smile escaped her. “Kyle?”
His sleepy grunt sounded distinctly unfriendly.
“It’s morning.” She infused her tone with unnatural cheeriness to get a reaction out of him.
“Too early. G’back to sleep.”
Sofia twisted around to lie on her back so that she could look at his face. A faint dusting of whiskers covered his cheeks and jaw. He looked at peace, his face relaxed in slumber.
For several minutes, she lay in his arms, content to linger in the quiet of the early morning. She could not recall when she had slept so well in this particular house, unburdened by nightmares of her parents’ murders less than twenty feet away.
How much of her sense of security emanated from the man who had held her through the night—a man she had known for little more than twenty-four hours? But what a twenty-four hours it had been, and through it all, Kyle had protected her.
How odd that she would feel so safe in the arms of a professed mercenary.
She reached out, her fingertips not quite brushing against his cheek.
A corner of his mouth quirked up as if he had sensed the near contact. “Unless you want to go all the way, you should stop now.”
“Oh?” Apparently, he was not as asleep as she had imagined. A mischievous urge seized her. “You mean I shouldn’t do this?” She wriggled her denim-covered hip in a slow, circular motion against his groin.
He inhaled sharply. His grip tightened. “You’re running out of time, babe.”
“Time to do what?” She continued her coy grind.
“Change your mind. Hell.” His eyes flashed open. He rolled over and pinned her to the bed in a single swift motion. “You’re out of time.” His grin was wicked, but his eyes were questioning. “Last chance to say no.”
He had cared enough to ask. Relief and a giddy snap of joy coiled within her. She smiled at him. “Yes.”
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