The Mammoth Book of Futuristic Romance (Mammoth Books)

by Trisha Telep

  He laughed. “Where’s your mind at?”

  Then he presented her with a rectangular box.

  She raised a brow and took it, pulling off the lid. Inside, a thin silver chain with a heart-shaped pendant sparkled.

  Anger flared.

  She glared at him. “There are no gift shops on this spaceport. Who did you really buy this for?”

  He took a step back, hurt. “I’ve had that since the day you left. I bought it for you after I left the club. Before I knew you’d gone.”

  Her mouth fell open to speak, but nothing came out.

  “It was going to be a please-don’t-be-mad bribe. I was going to grovel on my knees, like this.” He dropped to the floor, his hands skating up her legs to rest on her thighs as he looked up at her with emotion-filled eyes. “And I was going to say, ‘I’m sorry I’m such an ass and if you don’t like the necklace, I’ll get you something else.’”

  She felt her face freeze in shock. She glanced down at the box. The corners were old and worn. When she examined the pendant again, her memory stirred. A few days before her birthday, she had not-so-subtly pointed it out to him.

  Her throat suddenly tightened and her response came out breathy. “I would have said you are an ass, and I love the necklace, and if you ever touch another woman again I will shove it in a place that doctors will take hours to extract it from.”

  He gave her a heart-stopping grin and stood to kiss her with renewed hunger. Her arms clasped around his neck and she hitched her legs around his waist. Taking her full weight, he carried her to the bed, following her down onto the mattress. He kissed her in quick succession, finding a new place each time: the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, making his way to her cleavage.

  The sensation made her squirm.

  She pulled at his shirt. He sat up to shrug out of it, and then went for her dress. As he pushed the hem up her thighs, he made sure to trail his hands along her skin, making her shiver. He discarded the dress to the floor. His belt and pants soon followed.

  He returned to the cradle of her thighs, and his delicious muscles covered her. He found her center and entered. They both let out a guttural sound. As he began to move, euphoria took her and ecstasy assailed her. She became intoxicated by pleasure. At first, she matched his speed with her hips, but soon his thrusts became frenzied, and she could only accept him and the bliss he offered.

  Powerful jolts shot through her, and her orgasm burst out in the form of a primitive cry. He followed with a rough groan. Finally, he stilled. His weight came to rest on her while they both gathered their breaths. Her fingers trailed over his back.

  Then his head snapped up. “I love you, Priya. I never want to lose you again. Marry me.”

  She choked on a gasp and searched his expression. He looked sincere and anxious.

  “It’s a little soon for proposals, isn’t it?”

  “Not for me. I’ve spent far too long without you. I know I only have a tiny sliver of your heart back, but I am going to hold onto it with everything I have. You want a ring? I’ll get you a ring. More necklaces? I’ll buy them all.” He paused. “Being without you was like being without my best friend. I don’t want to go back to that.”

  Her vision blurred. Could this truly be happening? He’d made a mistake that day, a humongous mistake, but so had she. If she hadn’t acted so rashly and jumped the first flight out of there – or perhaps left him a note – she might have saved herself countless nights of misery.

  “Would you really have come for me?” she found herself whispering.

  “Without a second thought.” His voice held no hint of doubt. “I will never forgive myself for missing your little clue.”

  She offered him a tentative smile, when what she really wanted to do was laugh till she cried.

  Lifting her hand to the side of his face, she stroked her thumb over his cheek. “Ask me again when we’ve won Phase Nine.”

  In the Interest of Security

  Regan Black

  Prologue

  Chicago 2092, Office of National Health Chairman Dr Leo Kristoff

  “Senator, I appreciate these new penalties for smugglers. We cannot allow this contraband to continue to flow unchecked.” Dr Kristoff took a long sip of his coffee while the senator rambled on through the speaker phone. “Yes, sir. It is most certainly a direct assault on the public and our core values as a society. Publishing the results of our latest studies, combined with these updated caffeine-awareness campaigns, should stem the tide of illegal trafficking among casual users.”

  When the call ended, he waved Captain Derrick Simmons into his office, eager to get to more important matters. “Good morning. How’s your fiancée?”

  Simmons gazed through the wide window that overlooked the lab, and smiled fondly at Lorine. “The hot chocolate was a great idea.”

  “Of course, son. Little kindnesses impress women.” Kristoff checked his watch. He’d introduced the two of them, knowing Simmons was the ideal match for his niece. Their recent engagement meant he could move forward with the next stage of his plans. “You have the field report?”

  “Sir.” Simmons came to attention. “The supplement is improving stamina and reflexes, as well as faster run times over increasing distances. Generally, the ‘juice’ is delivering everything you promised: a more obedient and lethal soldier. The Army is pleased.”

  “Generally?”

  Captain Simmons placed a disc on the desk and activated the hologram. “Nine out of ten soldiers are showing the predicted results.”

  Kristoff watched the holographic soldiers rush forward with snappy salutes, eager for the next order. “Ten per cent failure rate isn’t acceptable.” Kristoff was already considering adjustments to the formula.

  “Not precisely a failure rate, sir.” The hologram shivered and a new image appeared. “This soldier has super reflexes, and he hasn’t lost a hand-to-hand or battle drill in over a year. He has an uncanny ability to anticipate his opponent’s moves.”

  “Interesting. See that he gets back into the field immediately and keep me informed.”

  “Yes, sir. Though he seems less inclined to blind obedience.”

  “Ninety per cent gives us enough simple cattle.” Kristoff glared at the tiny representation of the odd soldier. There was potential here, he could feel it. “Ten per cent are like this one?”

  “No, sir. It seems ten per cent are variables. Some of these x-factors you might find favorable.”

  Kristoff appreciated the young officer’s ability to see the big picture. It was part of the reason he’d brought him into his inner circle, providing him with boosters of “nutritional supplements” unavailable to the general military. In his years of genetic research and public service, guiding policy as the Health Chairman, he’d found an open mind the most important asset when it came to advancing the human race.

  Checking his watch once more, he walked over to the window overlooking the lab. Lorine was slumped at her station, her head pillowed on her hands. The sedative he’d told Simmons to put in her hot chocolate had done the trick.

  “Good work, son. Take her to the operating room.”

  One

  Chicago, December 2096

  Jim Corvin leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head as he scanned the bank of monitors. Each perfect camera angle showed him every corner of the secret warehouse compound he was charged with protecting.

  Everything looked fine, but his instincts were warning him about a looming threat, and he wanted to pin it down. Professional or personal? In his line of work it could be both. Usually his sixth sense about risk and danger gave him a more concise picture. He chalked up the lack of clarity to third-shift fog.

  He could turn on specialized equipment in any one of the private suites, but only when absolutely necessary. Without a specific lead, intuitive or solid, he wouldn’t breach privacy. The boss guaranteed everyone on staff the best security at all times, and complete privacy after the probationary
period.

  The boss, known as Slick Micky, was the most notorious smuggler in the region, and he kept the heart of his operation in Chicago. His success was directly tied to his radical philosophies about teamwork, his rare talent for inspiring loyalty, and his trade secret of only running coffee, sugar, and nicotine, while everyone believed he ran the hard stuff.

  Despite his twitchy sixth sense, Jim yawned at the complete lack of activity in the warehouse. Working third shift to cover for holiday leave used to be easy. These days, he was grateful for the unlimited availability of full-caff coffee. Pulling this detail with the government-approved half-caff would be impossible.

  The door from the boss’s office opened and Micky stepped inside the monitoring room. “Need a refill?”

  Jim nodded and held out his mug. “What are you doing up?” With all the years between them, he no longer bothered with how Micky got around the security cameras. The boss had plenty of secrets, and Jim knew some were better left undiscovered.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Micky said with a shrug. “Figured you wouldn’t mind the company.”

  “Sure.” Experience told Jim there was more to this visit, but the boss wouldn’t reveal it until he was ready. Jim watched the entrances to the warehouse cycle through on the monitors. All the guards on post were alert, though they were dressed like strung-out bums and addicts. These disguises helped conceal the state-of-the-art facility Micky had planted in the middle of a condemned urban neighborhood.

  No one in their right mind got off the el and wandered into this area. It made some aspects of security relatively boring, but working with Slick Micky offered lots of other opportunities for excitement.

  Jim would bet his generous pension one of those opportunities had brought the boss in here tonight.

  “I’ve got a problem,” Micky said.

  Jim sipped his coffee, waiting for the rest of the story, hoping this would mesh with his prickling sense of oncoming danger.

  “One of the girls wants to leave.”

  “Not the first time.”

  “True,” Micky agreed. “But this one is different.”

  More silence, which Jim filled with speculation. Smuggling by its covert nature and Micky’s unique system turned strangers into family, creating a stability most of them had never had. When one of them left Slick Micky’s team – mules, security, or even a supplier – everyone felt it.

  But the boss didn’t usually worry. Routes and customers were easy enough to cover, and there were always more girls eager for the safety and steady work Slick Micky’s operation provided.

  “I want you to go with her.”

  “What?” Jim mentally reorganized schedules and came up with gaping holes. “If she needs help moving, we’ve got guys who can handle that.”

  “She might actually need some heavy lifting.” Micky seemed to think that over. “But what she really needs is your protection.”

  “This place needs protection.” Everyone on his security detail was solid and battle-tested, but he wasn’t about to leave the heart of Chicago’s smuggling operation vulnerable. “We’re on a skeleton crew for the holidays already.”

  “You got a feeling you’re not telling me about?”

  Jim paused, his mug halfway to his mouth. “Nothing concrete.” Only the boss knew about his extra instincts. They rarely discussed the weird sixth sense Jim had honed to a fine point during his years with the Army. Jim’s new skill most likely resulted from the juice: the military’s nutritional supplement that was meant to enhance a soldier’s performance in combat.

  Several dangers of juicing were just coming to light, and while Jim had gained the ability to predict the future as it related to incoming risk and threat, most of the reported side effects weren’t as helpful. From post-traumatic stress disorder to actual mind control, thousands of warriors had been wronged by the unethical medical practices of the developer, Dr Leo Kristoff.

  The pieces clicked into place. Lorine must be ready to move. The woman had joined the team of mules running sugar and coffee for Slick Micky in order to provide for and protect her young son. Just a few months ago, they’d learned that she’d graduated Harvard medical school and had once enjoyed a reputation as a brilliant researcher in her own right. Until she’d turned on her uncle to expose the dangers of his nutritional-supplement juicing experiments.

  More recently, he’d heard through the grapevine that she had her eye on a rural place south of the city, so her son could grow up with fresh air and sunshine.

  “So what’s not concrete?”

  Jim shrugged. “My radar’s been humming, but I can’t nail down anything in particular. Threat or target.” But when he thought of Lorine, his danger sense jumped to full alert. She had one of the more complex smuggling routes, through a rough neighborhood, with high-level competition. “What are you hearing?”

  “Trina caught chatter about a hit.”

  “Another attempt on the route?”

  “No.” Micky sighed. “This is personal.”

  “They want Lorine?”

  “Not exactly. They want the boy alive.”

  Kristoff’s death had not killed off his organization. Assuming Kristoff’s associates were behind the hit order on Lorine, Jim couldn’t see a benefit to taking the boy alive. He gingerly set his coffee mug aside before he smashed it. “Can’t you just tell her it’s not safe to move?”

  “I could do that.”

  “You can’t mean to use her as bait?” The idea turned Jim’s blood cold.

  “Believe me, I’m not a fan of the tactic,” Micky grumbled. “Trina and I have talked the issue to death. Lorine has a plan for her life. For her son’s life.”

  “She’s a good mom.”

  “Agreed. But the boy doesn’t stand a chance if she finds herself constantly on the run.”

  “So she stays here. We can keep them both safe,” Jim insisted.

  “No. I don’t think we can.”

  Shocked speechless, Jim studied the monitors until each camera feed had cycled through once more. How could she not be safe here? He’d made this warehouse the safest place in the city, if not the country, through technology and anonymity. This wasn’t about his security skills or systems.

  “I’m not feeling a specific threat aimed right here at us.”

  “That’s my point. They don’t know – can’t know – to come here.” Micky reached over and hit the key that enlarged the day-care view. Lorine’s son slept soundly, a floppy rabbit cuddled under his chin.

  “She’s on third shift?”

  “She wanted the extra pay.”

  Jim shot Micky a dark look. “I should be so lucky. If someone’s gunning for her to get to the kid, why are you letting her work the route?” But he already knew the answer. Changing the routine only put the enemy on alert.

  Resigned, Jim returned the monitors to his preferred configuration. The emotional pressure of watching Lorine’s son, Zach, wasn’t going to make any difference. If Micky wanted him to handle this, he’d handle it.

  “Who’s keeping the wolves at bay now?” Lorine was one of his favorites because of her rare combination of book smarts and street savvy. She probably already knew someone was tailing her.

  “Trina’s on her.”

  Well, that was something. No one else could blend in like Trina. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Help them move, and handle whatever develops.”

  “Any backup?”

  “Intel, a few gadgets.”

  “Weapons?”

  Micky raised an eyebrow as he sipped his coffee. “Like you don’t already have an armory in your apartment.”

  True enough. “Vehicles?”

  “One of the vans is being modified now. She doesn’t have too much in the way of furniture. Mostly books.”

  “Books? The heavy, dead-tree kind?”

  “Both a hobby and a necessity, she told me.” Micky shook his head. “Scientists. You’d think they’d embrace technology in all things.
”

  Jim didn’t bother to comment. How did a bodyguard serve up protection while toting an armload of books? “Then what? I just invite myself to stay a few days after the heavy lifting’s done, and wait for the attack?”

  “I don’t think it will take that long.” Micky’s intent gaze told Jim more than the words. “If the rumors are true, someone has a line on the boy that will pop as soon as he’s out in the open.”

  “Good lord.” Genetic tracking devices were supposedly impossible, but Jim had seen too much in both the Army and civilian worlds. He no longer believed in impossible. He’d designed the security net here, adding layers of signal jammers along with the other protocols. The suggestion that the boy was invisible as long as he was within the security net of the warehouse made complete sense.

  “And Lorine doesn’t know about a potential genetic trace?”

  “Not yet.” Micky shook his head. “But she’ll never outrun this.” He clapped a hand to Jim’s shoulder and stood.

  “She’s due to leave day after tomorrow. I’ve changed the duty roster so you’re done after this shift. Check in with her when you’re both awake tomorrow afternoon.”

  Jim tried to sound happy about it. “Sure thing, boss.”

  Lorine Sheraton felt the tail on her. From the second el station, she’d known someone was close. Third shift played with her head sometimes, but blowing it off as too little sleep and overactive nerves didn’t make it better.

  Paranoia happened, but sometimes it happened for a reason. Still, she kept to her schedule, made her drops of contraband sugar and coffee, and dealt with her legitimate job at the dairy.

  It was her last night with all of the above. She’d be floating on air if the tail wasn’t hovering back there. Knowing her son was safe, and instructions were filed in case something did happen to her, kept her calm in the midst of what her experience as a mule suggested was serious danger.