by T. K. Toppin
John snorted. “You could say that.”
After a short while, as though she’d been thinking very hard, she spoke again. “Madge…Madge Aguilar warned me I might be susceptible to a bunch of diseases and viruses. You know…over the years they’d have mutated and developed, while my body hasn’t. She recommended a series of immunization treatments and common cold and flu shots once I was strong enough and able to withstand the concentrated doses. But, well…that never happened. She also said I might be susceptible to relapses since my body hasn’t evolved, and was deprived for centuries. I don’t know what she meant by that. Something about not developing organically, but being force-started. A small injury might trigger any number of other ailments. I’m a sickly weakling, apparently.”
John, marveled as he was, nodded his understanding. “Aline will help you in any way. She’ll know what to do.”
“Why would I want to stay?” Josie changed the subject abruptly. Her jaw pushed forward, the pout back in place. As if realizing, she blinked and hastily tucked her lips in. “Does this mean I’m completely free? I’m not your prisoner, and you don’t suspect me of anything?”
He nodded. “I’m sorry for ever doubting you. But you understand the position I was in.”
“So you keep saying.” Josie glanced at her lap. “Fine. Okay. Yeah, I understand. Even though I got the raw end of the deal.” She plucked at the hospital pants and chewed on her lip. “Why’d you kiss me?”
John twitched. “I, uh,” his eyes shifted about the room, hoping for some inspiration. Found none. The truth. Always the truth where women were concerned. That’s what his father used to say. “I wanted to. You’ve…affected me.”
“Affected? You make it sound like I’m a disease.”
“A very contagious one.” He smirked, and watched as her face clouded over once more. She looked troubled, and grew silent. In nanoseconds, he felt like an idiot for admitting his feelings to her. After a while, she fell resolutely silent and closed her eyes, a deep line between her brows, jaws clenched as she ground her teeth. Seeing she didn’t seem up to talking anymore, John muttered his goodbyes and left, so worried for her that it made his insides hurt. Badly.
* * *
John found Simon hunched over his terminal, fretfully entering information into it. Simon, the son of his father’s body-assistant, had been his friend since childhood. They had been schooled together, played together and, no surprise, worked together. They had lived through all of life’s trials and tribulations; shared great laughter and all-consuming rage; created myths and lived them like a band of romanticized rogues; inspiring many and becoming living legends. They were inseparable and intolerable to each other. In fact, Simon was more of a brother to John than his real brother had ever been.
Simon was John’s opposite in every possible way. He was the positive to John’s negative, the doer where John was the thinker. And yet he was the ground-wire to John’s livewire. Talkative, boisterous, glib, and savvy, Simon oozed charm and personality while John preferred to sulk and skulk and blunder in like a wildebeest. But, like John, he was dangerous, secretive, and cautious. Of all the people in the world, Simon knew him best, as he knew Simon. John needed his old friend now.
“John,” Simon muttered without looking up. The office lights were on dim, even though brilliant daylight shone outside. Simon preferred the dark; it suited him more. His office was in the Primary Sub-Level, his and John’s former sanctuary, where they had lived and worked for many months—years.
John’s father had said they were a lethal pair, a force to be reckoned with, as they successfully shut down and eliminated countless anti-government organizations, groups, and individuals—sometimes by any means necessary. But when Baird Lancaster died suddenly, John was forced to be World President. Unwilling, he accepted the job he was born to do. Simon knew John missed the old days, but he also knew John had now accepted he had a different calling, a different purpose. The Primary Sub-Level was no longer John’s domain, but he missed it.
Simon raised his head to look John in the eye. He chuckled. “You look like that fretful cat of yours. Your shuffling footsteps are a dead giveaway, my friend.” Leaning back in his chair, Simon stretched, belching out a massive yawn. His hand lowered to scratch his crotch, and he shifted his backside. “Ah…that’s better. So, what frets you?”
“I just kissed her.” John mumbled, slumping into a chair facing Simon. He rubbed his eyes and pressed the heels of his palm against them. They hurt, itched, and his face still burned for no apparent reason other than humiliation.
“Ah.” Simon nodded, a wide grin burst across his face. “About time.” He sobered quickly. “So. What steps shall we put into place? Since telling you not to pursue is useless.”
“What?”
Simon sighed dramatically. “There will be talk. The situation, the possible speculations if this relationship were to continue. Who she is, what she was, her connection to Wellesley, the terrorists. The media will have a feeding frenzy unless proper damage control is set up. And fast.” Simon stared at John. “Tell me, John. Which head are you thinking with?”
John clamped his lips tight, giving his friend a withering look; he chose to ignore the comment. “She didn’t kiss me back, but she didn’t slap me in the face. That’s a good sign, right?”
“What?” Simon rolled his eyes. “You’re still on about the kiss? It’s like you’ve never kissed a woman before. What’s the matter with you? Oh no, wait. Tell me you’re not in love with her. I should’ve known it would come to this. The signs were there.”
“What? Why would you think that?” John knew he answered too sharply, too fast. “Is it obvious?”
“It is now.”
John rubbed his face and groaned. “I can’t stop thinking about her. And then she has to go and save my life. What was that for? She said I was in her way, but that’s a laugh.”
Simon chuckled. “But you were. You just stood there like a dumb deer with your mouth hanging open. Saw the whole thing, I did. Several times too, on the surveillance feed. So funny. The wife laughed ’til her tea came out her nose.”
“All right, so maybe I was in the way.” John narrowed his eyes at Simon. “But what should I do?”
“Look, just because I’m happily married doesn’t mean I’m the all-knowing, all-seeing sage of relationships—or women, for that matter. You say she didn’t slap you? Mmm.” Tapping his chin, Simon pursed his lips. “Here’s the thing, John. We’ll still need to create a new identity for her, and fast. The media are hungry, and they’re very resourceful. It’s only a matter of time before they start connecting the dots we already connected.”
John nodded, half listening. “But what do you think?”
“Oh, my giddy aunt. Do whatever you want. Have you forgotten who you are? And from where I’m sitting, I see you have it pretty bad. But can you just think first about the media?”
John waved him off with an annoyed click of the tongue. “Whatever you suggest will be fine. Something plausible and not too obvious. That should keep rumors and speculations at bay. I want her. That is what I want. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same if I don’t. Have her, that is. It’s like she belongs to me. Do you know what I mean?”
“Greedy much? Hmm? Oh, sorry. So go get her then, but please make sure she wants you back first before making a total fool of yourself?” Simon tapped at his terminal. “Operative sound good? Deep cover, one of us. That should fly, yes?”
John nodded. “That’s good. She’s still on about Wellesley.”
“And you’re jealous. Look, the man’s been good to her. Does she even appear to have been mistreated by him? Well, other than the obvious trying to blow her up scenario. But, no. If you were a woman, what would you do? And he is good-looking—of course, not as good-looking as you, mind.” Simon’s shoulders shook, unable to contain his laughter.
Around Simon, John had no secrets. In all the years Simon had known him, he knew the number of times John ha
d fallen for a woman was zero. There had been many, but none that floored John like Josie did.
“Don’t worry, my friend.” Simon grinned. “She’s a good person. I can tell. Damaged, but good. I like her. Didn’t think you’d be into older women, though. Let alone allowing them to make you swoon.”
John clicked his tongue in warning.
“What?” Simon erupted in a laugh. “She’s old! Three hundred years! Better make sure all her parts are working and not rusted. Ancient hag. And you are swooning. I never thought I’d live to see that happen. About bloody time!” Simon tried to fix his face without any luck. “So, she a good kisser? Oh, I forget—she didn’t kiss you back.” He guffawed, red-faced, slapping his thigh.
John clamped his mouth tight. “Pervert. I’ll tell your wife on you, I will.”
Before John slunk his way home, he passed through the clinic to check in on Josie. Though she slept, her troubled expression hadn’t changed. At times, she grunted and twitched. Whatever phantoms tormented her, it seemed she was arguing with them. He brushed a hand gently over her brow, wishing he could steal her troubles away and cast them off.
Chapter 27
Something troubled me. Bothered was a better word for it. It had bothered me the entire day. Something felt odd. Wrong. If I could just put my finger on it. But the confusion of waking after nearly blowing up, the mind-numbing pain it brought, all of it, seemed to have dumbed me down considerably. And just when I thought I remembered, while staring at the waterfall, John came in and made me forget again. He smelled really good too. Fresh, like the autumn air outside, crisp and spicy. It was very distracting.
And then he apologized, even though it seemed hollow and unsatisfactory after what I’d been through, I suppose it was good enough, but it furred my mind. Then he kissed me. Was that an apology kiss? But that did it. I really liked it, but it turned me into an amnesiac. Was it possible a simple kiss could do that to a person? I could tell he liked it too. He tasted so familiar, and yet wildly different. And if I took into consideration how I felt before the explosion, I was well on my way to becoming—most definitely—interested in John.
We had sat in silence afterward, John looking as if he wanted to say something, do something more. His manner had been shy and uncertain, quite unlike his usual behavior where he did things with purpose. And he fidgeted.
Uncertain what to do, and wanting to spare us any more embarrassment, I had told him I was tired and closed my eyes. It had been the truth, and I’m sure I looked it, since the room did spin a bit. He left a little while later, I heard him pause for a long moment at the door. It took everything in me not to open my eyes and look. Eventually, tiredness won out and I fell asleep.
That was four days ago.
Afterward, it was more sleep and medical check ups and injections, and being force-fed hospital food. Whatever pain drugs I’d been given made my brain dull and my joints turn to jelly. But I did feel well rested.
The release from the clinic came soon after, and had been nothing short of confusion and full of instructions and fussing from Aline Lancaster. When she’d been told who I really was, she recovered enough from horror and shock to dose me with a special cocktail of watered down antibiotics, anti-inflammatory, anti-cancer, anti-venereal, and a few dashes of the common cold virus to stave off any incoming germs lest my resistance be down—which, she insisted, it was. In time, the dosage strength would increase. Oh, joy!
She then gave me a full spiel on the care and maintenance of my harness and body cast, as well as specific instructions to return back to the clinic every second day to see how I was progressing.
Once safely ejected from the clinic, Simon came to escort me to my new residence. I was taken to a sprawling apartment, fully equipped and maintained with every conceivable modern convenience imaginable. For my comfort, I had a cozy and spacious living area that opened to a large kitchen. I also had a minder, Mrs. Trudesson, who doubled as my body-assistant—whatever that meant. She would look after my nutritional intake like a hawk, and make sure my metabolism was back on track. That just translated to me not having to cook. I was fine with that.
The apartment also had a formal dining area, full entertainment center, two bedrooms—one being the master bedroom—each with en suite bathrooms and plunge pools on private balconies overlooking the waterfall. The living room also had a private terrace with the same view. All balconies and windows had special privacy screens and filters to reduce the effects of sound, glare, and the elements. Most important were the sensors to detect incoming foreign bodies, such as missiles, explosives, and probes, among other things.
Downstairs was a small gym, swimming pool, and storage area, plus laundering facilities equipped with automated laundry-droids. Honestly, I had no idea why I’d been put in such a vast apartment that was clearly meant for someone far more important than me. I didn’t even want to touch anything for fear of contaminating it. But it was awesome, and I couldn’t stop grinning.
The main door swung open onto a wide foyer accented with lush plants and a burbling water fountain. To the right lay a lobby area that housed the elevators. The hall to the left led to another large foyer, and from there, Simon said, to a series of doors and checkpoints, and beyond that, John Lancaster’s residence. He, of course, used another entrance, one he accessed from his offices.
When Simon had finished his lengthy explanation and instructions about everything, he left me tuckered out and flustered, but bolstered with the words, “Don’t worry, it will come to you eventually.” Meaning, of course, his quick rundown of the residence I was about to occupy.
And that was when I finally remembered what it was that bothered me. It certainly took its time. It hit me like a brick. The last words Lorcan had said to me: “Just be careful.”
And then, further back, after I had the meltdown and he gave me that second kiss. What was it he’d said? That he would never intentionally hurt me.
Why would he say things like that? Was it out of care and concern, or had he known something? Had he been worried something dangerous was going to happen? Why would he say it, only to then turn around and try to have me killed? To make himself feel better? Or was it that he really hadn’t known, and was genuinely concerned? Worrying about something…
Just be careful…
Of what? Had he known what was going to happen? Or had he not known and was just worried since it was the first time I’d be venturing out of the house?
He never winked back at me!
I’d told him the story of the wink. Yet he’d either forgotten, or chosen not to wink back. So it meant that he didn’t care, then? He knew what it meant to me.
It was confusing, and the more I thought about it, it made me insanely curious.
But I knew one thing, and knew it clearly. I had to talk to him directly. I had to find out for myself.
Marching out the front door, I ignored Mrs. Trudesson’s query regarding what I wanted for supper. I turned right and smacked straight into Simon. We both grunted, me more so with pain. With a bemused look, he reached for my good shoulder to steady me.
“That didn’t take long. Place not good enough that you have to make a run for it?” he snorted. “There’s just no pleasing a woman, is there.”
“No. It’s not that.”
The last of the sharp pains subsided. Grimacing, I took a breath and managed a small smile. Simon wasn’t as scary as he first came across to be. You know, like the super-pleasant crazy serial killer who is trying to be your best friend kind of scary. He was just Simon, John’s friend, pleasant, but seriously dangerous. Period.
I’d thanked Simon earlier, in a foolish and stammering way, for mending my dislocated shoulder. He scoffed it off as nothing special, then in the same breath added that at least he was able to shut me up from all my caterwauling; it had given him a headache.
“I need to talk to John.”
Simon smirked, and an “I see” look brightened his face. I rolled my eyes, but my face hea
ted up like a sunburn. I didn’t doubt that he already knew about John kissing me. The two of them seemed to know everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were secretly in love with each other.
“I need to ask him something. It’s very important. In fact, I don’t think he’ll like it very much.”
“Can you tell me?” Simon raised a red brow, face serious again, but the humor was still there. “You know he’ll tell me anyway. We’re secretly having a torrid affair, did you know? Sometimes the wife joins in.”
Should’ve known. He read minds too. Ignoring him, I plowed on. “I need to speak with Lorcan. You have to find him.”
Simon sucked in a breath, but remained silent.
“Do you think he’ll agree to it? If he’s found. John, that is?”
“No.”
I stared back, crestfallen.
“Look.” His tone softened. “We…think he might be in Bali. All right, we know for a fact he’s there. He has contacts there for building materials. It’s all legal and proper, nothing amiss there. We only just got this information. He’s being questioned, quietly, so as not to spook him or anyone else he may be dealing with. We’re keeping him there for the time being. You should know, he’s being very cooperative, because he knows it concerns you, and claims he heard about the explosion on the news.” Simon directed icy blue eyes at me. “Are you all right?”
I nodded, swallowing hard. I wanted to faint. Just the mention that he was being questioned, that he had been found, rushed me with emotions. “Can I see him, then?”
“I’ll speak to John.” Simon made to walk away, but then his face hardened. “He’ll not like it, as you say. Josie, he does…care for you. Personally, I don’t know why. I mean you’re still going on about Wellesley.” He studied me for a moment, like a cat does a mouse before chomping its head off. I allowed him to do so while drawing my face into a scowl.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.” Simon lifted his shoulder with ease. “Just wondering if you might still be, you know, attached to Wellesley. I’m unclear on that right now.” He continued with the steely stare, suspicious.