so strong it was uncontrollable.
Maybe that was why she had reacted so very strongly to Nine. To Edward Domino, alias Lucius Ward. He’d come into her life after a long period of repression. She’d immersed herself in her studies, cut herself off from most human relations—certainly from anyone who could evoke an emotional or sexual reaction—and thought she’d rid herself of her dragon.
But the dragon had come swooping back in on black-and-gold wings, breathing fire.
Her gift hadn’t become weaker through suppression, it had become stronger.
The clearest reading she had ever had in her life from another human being had been from Patient Number Nine. Lucius Ward. Crystal-clear, so specific it was as if she’d been handed written instructions for use.
All her other readings had been mostly vague and cloudy. She could pick up on the major emotions—fear, hatred, hidden love, shame, ambition—like picking up on the loud bits of a symphony. Other emotions underneath had been harder to catch or to interpret.
This was something far from the reassuring pilasters of science holding up her world. This was—something else. The fact that she was here—had been propelled here by forces beyond her control—was a function of pure instinct.
Instinct told her to eat and drink and she did.
The instant she drained the last of that amazing juice, feeling a billion vitamins coursing through her system, the door whooshed open again and she turned to watch the big man in black enter the room.
He walked over to the other chair and sat down.
For the first time, Catherine noticed how he moved. He was huge, but moved with enormous grace, like an athlete. He obviously was an athlete, among other things. He had the body of an outsized linebacker, bulging muscles evident even under the clothes. He’d shed the tough impenetrable outerwear like an exoskeleton and was now dressed in a black sweatshirt, black jeans, black combat boots. He’d pulled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, showing strong, muscled forearms with highly raised veins. His body had increased the veins to pump more oxygen into the muscles. An automatic bodily response that couldn’t be faked and that spoke of hours and hours of working out.
Or fighting. Because he was a warrior, not an athlete. The weapons at his hips showed her that.
He sat down in front of her and looked at her, dark eyes unblinking.
There was a slight abatement of the heavy waves of suspicion that had enveloped him like smoke. Though he was far from welcoming or even trusting, there wasn’t overt hostility.
“Thank you for the food,” she said politely.
He dipped his head. “You’re welcome.” The deep, low voice reverberated in the room.
“I was hungrier than I thought.”
Maybe she could trick him, and he’d answer I noticed. She was absolutely positive there was a camera in the room, though it was invisible. Nowadays vidcams were in patches slapped on walls and doorknobs and windowsills. They’d have watched her every move; certainly she was being watched right now.
But she underestimated him. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash.
Okay. Try another tack. “I’m surprised you fed me.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to starve you to death. All I want is for you to be gone.”
“I understand that.” Catherine leaned forward on her forearms. “I also understand that I’m eventually going to end up several hundred miles from here with a headache and no memory whatsoever of the past twenty-four hours or maybe even forty-eight hours, depending on the dose of Lethe. My company invented it. In-house we call it MIB. For Men in Black. Only it’s not a light that shines in your eyes, it’s drops in a glass. So I’d like to thank you for not MIB’ing the carrot and apple juice because I have some more things to say before you do.”
Aha! Anyone less adept than she was at reading body language would have missed it because he didn’t move a muscle except for an
Maybe that was why she had reacted so very strongly to Nine. To Edward Domino, alias Lucius Ward. He’d come into her life after a long period of repression. She’d immersed herself in her studies, cut herself off from most human relations—certainly from anyone who could evoke an emotional or sexual reaction—and thought she’d rid herself of her dragon.
But the dragon had come swooping back in on black-and-gold wings, breathing fire.
Her gift hadn’t become weaker through suppression, it had become stronger.
The clearest reading she had ever had in her life from another human being had been from Patient Number Nine. Lucius Ward. Crystal-clear, so specific it was as if she’d been handed written instructions for use.
All her other readings had been mostly vague and cloudy. She could pick up on the major emotions—fear, hatred, hidden love, shame, ambition—like picking up on the loud bits of a symphony. Other emotions underneath had been harder to catch or to interpret.
This was something far from the reassuring pilasters of science holding up her world. This was—something else. The fact that she was here—had been propelled here by forces beyond her control—was a function of pure instinct.
Instinct told her to eat and drink and she did.
The instant she drained the last of that amazing juice, feeling a billion vitamins coursing through her system, the door whooshed open again and she turned to watch the big man in black enter the room.
He walked over to the other chair and sat down.
For the first time, Catherine noticed how he moved. He was huge, but moved with enormous grace, like an athlete. He obviously was an athlete, among other things. He had the body of an outsized linebacker, bulging muscles evident even under the clothes. He’d shed the tough impenetrable outerwear like an exoskeleton and was now dressed in a black sweatshirt, black jeans, black combat boots. He’d pulled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, showing strong, muscled forearms with highly raised veins. His body had increased the veins to pump more oxygen into the muscles. An automatic bodily response that couldn’t be faked and that spoke of hours and hours of working out.
Or fighting. Because he was a warrior, not an athlete. The weapons at his hips showed her that.
He sat down in front of her and looked at her, dark eyes unblinking.
There was a slight abatement of the heavy waves of suspicion that had enveloped him like smoke. Though he was far from welcoming or even trusting, there wasn’t overt hostility.
“Thank you for the food,” she said politely.
He dipped his head. “You’re welcome.” The deep, low voice reverberated in the room.
“I was hungrier than I thought.”
Maybe she could trick him, and he’d answer I noticed. She was absolutely positive there was a camera in the room, though it was invisible. Nowadays vidcams were in patches slapped on walls and doorknobs and windowsills. They’d have watched her every move; certainly she was being watched right now.
But she underestimated him. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash.
Okay. Try another tack. “I’m surprised you fed me.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to starve you to death. All I want is for you to be gone.”
“I understand that.” Catherine leaned forward on her forearms. “I also understand that I’m eventually going to end up several hundred miles from here with a headache and no memory whatsoever of the past twenty-four hours or maybe even forty-eight hours, depending on the dose of Lethe. My company invented it. In-house we call it MIB. For Men in Black. Only it’s not a light that shines in your eyes, it’s drops in a glass. So I’d like to thank you for not MIB’ing the carrot and apple juice because I have some more things to say before you do.”
Aha! Anyone less adept than she was at reading body language would have missed it because he didn’t move a muscle except for an
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