The Blue Link (RUSH, Inc. Book 1)

by Carol Caiton

"Not unless he's got an IQ higher than Michael's. But nothing's impossible."

  "I want the trees roped off and guarded before we allow anyone back inside Threshold," Malcolm said.

  "I'm already working on it," Ethan responded even as three security guards exited through the tavern doors, two carrying large coils of rope over their shoulders.

  Malcolm tossed him a wry grin. "One step ahead of me now?"

  "Only where security is concerned. We have a crowd outside the gate. Word's spreading and curiosity is natural so I wanted the crime scene tape protected until the police take it down."

  Malcolm nodded.

  "We need to send out a memo as well," Ethan added. "The news media is going to put their own spin on this so we'd better make everyone aware of the facts. If they believe this guy is a client, we'll have a panic on our hands."

  "Mmm."

  "Also, I don't want our women wandering the grounds alone. There's little to no chance he'll get back inside now that the chip is deactivated, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

  "Agreed."

  "Agreed."

  "Do it," Malcolm said. "But run it past Mason first. Let him check the wording to cover our collective asses."

  Elliott stared over at the ropes already in place along the outer row of trees. "How the hell did he get over that wall without being seen? It's secluded back there, but the wall is popular and business inside Threshold picks up on Thursdays."

  "Cold weather maybe," Oliver suggested. "Everyone's staying inside."

  "Hmmph."

  Simon focused on the manacles attached to the base of the pillory. Others just like them were imbedded at private intervals along the wall, a pair for the wrists and a pair for the ankles. Serena's killer had strung her up by one arm. Naked.

  He looked over at Malcolm. "I wonder if the bastard knows how much damage he's caused. The media is going to have a field day with those cuffs."

  "And the pillory," Elliott pointed out. "All of RUSH is going to be judged by this one venue."

  "I've been thinking the same thing." Malcolm shifted the sleeve of his jacket and glanced at his wristwatch. "It's late. We'll put PR on it in the morning. After we've had a chance to see what's reported in the news."

  Simon gave a single nod.

  Ethan lifted his chin, looking up at the sky. "No helicopters swarming overhead."

  "Mason was on the phone a while ago," Elliott said with a partial smile. "I had the impression he was talking about our airspace when he said he'd file criminal charges before the night was out and have a lawsuit drawn up by Thanksgiving."

  Ethan jingled the change in his pocket. "Good for Mason."

  CHAPTER 18

  In the time it took Nina to leave the food court, cross the main path, and reach the central gate to the R-link complex, she learned how quickly gossip traveled through RUSH. She also learned there had been no accident at Threshold that resulted in the girl's death. Catching bits and pieces of conversation, she wasn't sure how much to believe, but everyone seemed to agree on one point. The girl had been murdered. Brutally.

  Pressing her palm to the scanner, she was a little afraid. This was RUSH. State-of-the-art security kept the rest of the world out. So that meant the murderer was someone on the inside. A client. Or an employee. Someone who had endured hours and hours of psychological probing and had passed all the markers for membership. And whoever he was, he knew enough about the security here to prevent the girl's microchip from setting off an alarm. Maybe he'd drugged her.

  Inside the gate she breathed a little easier. But it wasn't until her apartment door closed behind her, locking with a soft click, that she felt completely safe.

  She flipped the light switch that turned on the lamps at either end of the sofa and stood for a minute in the quiet. No wonder the voice on the other end of Simon's phone call had conveyed such urgency. No wonder his eyes had bored into hers with momentary shock. Something had gone horribly wrong.

  Skimming her gaze over the empty boxes still resting on the dining room floor, she wasn't sure he'd still want to take her to dinner. She would certainly understand if he didn't. The police would be questioning everyone for a long time. The media would be hovering out on I-Drive. And, as one of the owners of RUSH, he was facing more than the brutal murder of a girl. Something like this could be financially disastrous for the entire organization. If she was afraid to leave the safety of the R-link complex, how much more frightened were the women who had no sanctuary here? A large number of them might choose to stay away until the killer was caught. Some might even quit altogether. And if that happened, RUSH's male clients wouldn't have any reason to renew their memberships.

  Staring at the box of pastels, she reached a decision. If might be hours yet before he was able to get away, but if Simon remembered their dinner date and still wanted to take her to Gabriel's, she'd be ready. She hadn't planned to do more than dress appropriately and re-apply her makeup, but that plan had now changed.

  She strode down the hallway to her bedroom, opened the top drawer of one of the nightstands, and lifted out the glossy pamphlet Stephanie had given her the day she moved in. Carrying it out to the breakfast bar, she skimmed one finger down the list of venues until she came to the R-link salon. This might be her free day, but if they could fit her in, she wanted an oil-scented bath, a facial, and a stylist to do her hair. Simon might be dictatorial and rude at times, but proof of his generosity—a softer side of him—sat on top of her dining table. She wouldn't keep all of it, but the thought and the effort behind his apology went a long way toward relaxing her opinion of him. And after a day like today, she could at least give him the pleasure of eating in the company of a woman who had taken special care to look nice.

  Three hours later, hair shiny and flowing in soft curls to her shoulders, she took the elevator back up to her apartment and went directly to her bedroom. Humming softly, she undressed and looked at herself in the mirror. Ming Ue had applied her makeup, ending with a sweep of soft, glittery blush across her cheeks, and the effect shimmered faintly in the light. She liked it. She liked the curls as well. Loose and artfully disarrayed, they softened her features and made her look more feminine, even feel more feminine. Everything at RUSH made her look and feel more feminine. It was just as she'd been told. Becoming a member was a sensual experience.

  She thought about that. RUSH was intensely focused on the human body. Each day she not only saw it, but she felt it a little more, then a little more again. The clothes she wore forced her to consider how she moved, how she bent down, how she sat. Yes, she was almost always conscious of her breasts, but a thong, resting against the sensitive tissue of her anus, or the crotchless panties that allowed the erotic caress of a cool breeze to lightly tease, and the many hands that touched her every day, all brought her to a near constant awareness of her body. And when she wasn't being touched, she was learning about being touched or about touching someone else. She was becoming a sensual creature, experiencing a side of herself she'd had neither the time nor the inclination to think about before.

  With a little nod at the mirror, she turned away. She looked good, felt even better, and she was going out on a date with a handsome man who wanted her to get to know him. She still had a lot of reservations. Even on the heels of an extravagant apology, he'd threatened to tie her to a tree.

  She couldn't help but smile a little at that because she'd jumped to a lot of conclusions that had probably insulted him. So maybe she'd misjudged him in other ways as well. She'd try to approach tonight with an open mind. She'd try to look past the arrogance for a softer, generous side of him and maybe she'd find a different person.

  Most of the dresses in her closet were too short for Gabriel's or too revealing for the kind of evening she had in mind. A few were actually see-through.

  She decided on a burgundy dress when she noticed it had long sleeves and a skirt that would probably reach mid-calf. Holding it up by the hanger, however, it looked more like two halves of a dres
s connected across the bust by a silky string that would stretch from the inner edge of one nipple to the inner edge of the other, and across the abdomen by a deep V in the fabric. She'd have to go without a bra, and that silky string would reveal more of her breasts than she was comfortable showing, but she could wear a shawl with it. A shawl was fashionable for eveningwear.

  She chose a black one splashed throughout with creamy-white hibiscus petals. It didn't look as though it would keep her very warm, but the walk over to Gabriel's would be a short one and she wasn't likely to find a dress any less revealing.

  So she unfastened her bra, replaced the matching panties with a burgundy thong, and shimmied into the dress. Of course it molded to her body like a second skin. And the silky string that had been the width of a shoelace was now stretched to the diameter of a spaghetti noodle. Under no circumstances could she remove the shawl.

  Half an hour later she still had no word from Simon. She practiced walking in a pair of black, four-inch stilettos and wandered out to the living room to turn on the TV. Pushing two buttons for a local news station, she watched for a moment, then stared as the camera focused on a large crowd of protesters. She recognized RUSH's closed gates in the background and spotted several uniformed security guards lined across the driveway, prepared to defend.

  A television crew, probably more than one, had set up camp out on International Drive. Bright lights shone through the dark sky, so bright, she could make out the faces of the protesters along with the signs they carried. LEWD LIFE—MESSY DEATH. Another said PLAY HARD, PAY HARD. A larger one conveyed the message LOOSE MORALS = THE DECLINE OF SOCIETY. And another, LIVE FAST, DIE YOUNG.

  Carefully placing the remote down on the coffee table, Nina thought about the dead girl's family. So much ugly condemnation.

  It wasn't uncommon for people to carry signs outside the main gates, particularly on weekends. But they usually numbered from two or three up to fifteen or twenty. Tonight's crowd was vast, stretching along the outer wall of RUSH on both sides of the gate. When the news commentator mentioned PIC, Nina paid closer attention.

  PIC, or Principles, Ideals & Causes was an organization with sub-chapters throughout the country. Its members could assemble in just about every major metropolitan area at practically a moment's notice. Their favorite causes focused on genetically modified crops and government spending, but smaller groups with lesser known issues often turned to PIC for support. If those issues fell within its agenda, PIC lent its backing and, according to the newscaster, RUSH, Inc. had been added to its list of grievances.

  The telephone rang.

  Startled, she hurried over to the breakfast bar. "Hello?"

  "I've been calling you for hours!"

  "Lydia."

  "Why didn't you—" Her sister broke into tears. "You should have phoned . . . to let me know it wasn't you."

  Nina sank onto one of the barstools. "I'm sorry, Lyd. I didn't think. Is Mom okay? Dad?"

  "I don't think they've heard yet." She paused to blow her nose. "They're both working overtime this week and I'm the only one home. What's going on? RUSH promotes safety like it's their logo."

  "I don't know what happened. I don't have any details. The police are here, but I'm watching it on TV."

  "Hold on a minute."

  Nina waited.

  "They just released her name. Serena Mandek. Did you know her?"

  "No. I—"

  "Wait. A car just pulled into the driveway," Lydia interrupted. "I'd better go in case they heard something."

  "Does Dad know you and I are in touch?"

  "He hasn't asked, but I'm sure he does. You're my sister."

  "Let me know if he asks about me?"

  "I will. Love you."

  "Love you, too."

  No sooner had she hung up than it rang again—two short rings close together that told her the caller was using one of RUSH's house phones.

  "Hello?" It had to be Simon this time.

  "Are you ready?"

  She stared down at the granite counter. Couldn't he even bother to say hello?

  "Nina?"

  She reminded herself to look beyond his rude exterior and consider what he'd been faced with these past hours. A brutal murder. Reporters. The future of RUSH. And now, PIC. Maybe it wasn't arrogance behind his words. Maybe it was exhaustion.

  "If you'd rather—"

  "No." He cut her off, his tone harsh. Then he sighed. "Don't cancel. This is the high point of my day."

  She closed her eyes on a whisper of pleasure. She shouldn't let those words touch her. Anything would be a high point after a day like this one. But no one had ever said something like that to her. She'd never been the high point of anyone's day.

  "Where do you want me to meet you?"

  He exhaled. "I'm just outside the central gate at the main walkway. You'll see me before you reach it."

  "All right. I'll be down in a minute."

  Gathering up her shawl, she arranged one end over her breasts and passed the other across the opposite shoulder to drape down her back.

  In the elevator she told herself to relax. Tonight was a sort of trial date, not a date-date. She waved a silent greeting to the residence attendant, left the lobby, and told herself the same thing again.

  A gust of crisp, cold air swept up under her dress for a chilly surprise and she held the shawl closer as she stepped off the veranda.

  He was right where he said he'd be, framed between the two pillars that supported the gate, illuminated by the soft glow from both globe lamps. Tall, broad-shouldered, still dressed in his business suit, he watched as she approached.

  She paused three feet from the gate and considered him. It was one thing to daydream in her bedroom at home where fantasies could be manipulated. In reality though, standing face to face with a man who exuded so much presence, a man accustomed to authority who wouldn't take no for an answer, made her heart stutter. She might be tempted to stretch her wings a little, but Simon Yetzer wasn't a man who would stand on the sidelines and watch. He'd draw up the flight plan, control her speed, and steer her into a hurricane she wouldn't know how to get out of.

  He stood silently watching, as if guessing her uncertainty. After all the arguing and difficulties, why was he still here? Men who looked like he did—high-powered men with money—moved in a different orbit. She was Nina Millering, the girl from a neighborhood of tired, worn-down houses and all but penniless. Why would the linking system have paired them together in any color other than amber?

  "Nina."

  Her name. Just her name.

  His eyes held hers and she felt a little weak. A little breathless. Something was changing between them but she didn't know what to do with it. Between the hours since he'd threatened to tie her to a tree and now, he'd become less an opponent and more a man with unexpected depth.

  "Give me your hand," he said, his voice quiet, meant for her ears alone. He stood on the other side of the gate and held out his open palm. And something about his demeanor told her this—tonight—was important to him.

  She knew if a man passed his fingers through the wrought-iron bars an alarm would sound. Guards would appear from the tunnels beneath RUSH and escort the offender to Security Central. But Simon simply waited, palm open, watching her.

  She walked the few remaining steps and passed her free hand through the bars. Warm fingers closed around hers, strong but gentle.

  "It's just dinner. Give it a chance," he said. "Let's see where it goes."

  Before this moment she hadn't wanted to give anything a chance. She'd been coloring inside the lines, doing what Dr. Zeman instructed. But now she wasn't so sure. Viewing him in this new light, standing so close with her hand warmed by his larger one, she was tempted to do as he asked and give the link they shared a chance.

  "Have you been watching the news?" he asked, his thumb gliding over the tops of her fingers.

  "Yes. I'm so sorry. Do the police have any leads?"

  "No. And it's going to g
et worse before it gets better."

  He looked down at their clasped hands and back up again. Tiredness carved small lines at the corners of his eyes. "Come have dinner with me. Give me something else to think about."

  Her heart melted. Every nurturing instinct she had responded. "You're playing on my feminine compassion."

  He smiled a slow, easy smile. "Is it working?"

  * * *

  The chase was on and triumph pumped through his veins. For whatever reason, be it feminine compassion or those drawing supplies or something else entirely, he was no longer the enemy. It was in her voice and there, in her eyes. That guarded expression was still on the periphery, but it wasn't defensive this time. Instead, he thought it might be nervousness.

  He slid his index finger up over her wrist and felt for her pulse. When he found it, his short-lived triumph crashed. She was about to run again. Not in anger, but in fear. She was afraid. It was time to get her on this side of that damned gate.

  "Nina," he murmured. Then his cell phone rang.

  Damnation. But he forced his frustration aside. If it was Malcolm or one of the others, he'd have to answer. Too much was on the line.

  Sliding her fingers through his, he held onto her as he reached for the clip on his belt. The small display showed Michael's name and his insides tightened. Michael was with a link tonight and telephones were nonexistent whenever he was with a woman.

  Holding Nina's gaze, he answered. "Yetzer."

  "There's a picture of you on the floor in your office," said the voice on the other end. "Did your blue link draw it?"

  Simon's attention ratcheted up a couple of notches. "Yes. Why?"

  Standing this close, he knew Nina could hear both sides of the conversation and a question had formed in her eyes.

  "We've got a witness," Michael said. "A witness who can't go public. Can your girlfriend draw someone if he's described to her?"

  A witness. Simon stared into her eyes. "Can you?"

  "I . . . don't know. I've never tried."

  "Will you try it now?"