Tainted Hearts Page 4

  She shoved against his chest, but he wouldn’t budge. “You’d make yourself a whore?”

  “Without hesitation.” His gaze burned into hers and his hands moved to her shoulders, his thumbs stroking the sides of her neck. “She’s all I have left in the world. I’d do anything for her. Do you understand me? Anything.” He softened the sudden intensity of his expression with a playful smile. “Besides, making love to you wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice. I can be at your beck and call until Elise is approved for a SP-64. I’ll fulfill sexual fantasies you haven’t dared to dream—yet.”

  She’s all I have left in the world…anything for her…anything. His passionate words echoed in disjointed fragments. Tuesday heaved an exasperated sigh. This entire situation was irrational. No child should be punished for the wrongdoing of their parent, but Elise’s crisis didn’t justify Marc’s behavior.

  Or did it?

  “I’m not sure I can help you.” He shifted his right hand, his fingertips skimming her collarbone. Tingles sped off to places she refused to think about while his gaze searched her face. “Even if I wanted to.”

  “Do you think it’s right that her life is in danger because of who I…what I’ve done?”

  She stiffened, suspicion coiling through her abdomen. How had he echoed her thoughts so accurately? She’d heard rumors of psychic abilities being associated with Methuselah. Was it possible he— It didn’t matter! This wasn’t about him.

  “No, I don’t think what they’re doing is right,” she admitted. “Even if you invented Methuselah and intentionally sold it under false pretenses, your daughter shouldn’t be penalized because of you.”

  He exhaled so loudly Tuesday feared he’d pass out. Who was this guy?

  Methuselah, a refined version of the original neuron-stimulant, had been developed by a team of scientists and supervised by one of the Sinclair sons. The oldest, Edward, if memory served.

  Despite the myriad lawsuits brought against Sinclair-Dietrich, they had been exonerated of all liability. So, why was this man still torturing himself with guilt, and why was his daughter—

  He trailed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, then gently cupped her chin. “Do you realize how long I’ve waited to hear someone—anyone—say that?” His deep voice washed over her, earnest and somehow familiar, sweeping away her speculation and focusing her senses on him. “It’s a start. A very important start.”

  Tall and gorgeous, he stood before her, making her restless…needy.

  I can be at your beck and call… His verbal temptation echoed through her mind. She turned her face, retreating as far as his hold would allow.

  Her experiences with sex had been almost as clinical as the rest of her life. She’d taken a lover at twenty because she felt odd not having experienced “carnal pleasure”. The incident had been uncomfortable and awkward. She’d been relieved when he transferred to another department some months later.

  “I lost you again,” Marc said, beckoning her gaze back to his. “Where’d you go, just then?”

  “I was trying to think of a way to sneak your daughter through.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t challenge her lie.

  Twisting away from his light hold, she rushed back inside the lodge. Memories assailed her, growing more uncomfortable with each hurried step. Her second lover had impacted her life far more than her first. Leonard Prescott controlled the grant contributions for a major philanthropic foundation. Tuesday had been chosen to contact him after Vonne learned that Leo had a penchant for redheads.

  He’d had a penchant, all right. He’d offered an extremely generous grant for the SP-64 Project and immediately begun his “courtship” of Tuesday.

  “So, tell me what you’re thinking. Maybe I can help.”

  Marc’s casual suggestion mercifully interrupted the downward spiral of her thoughts. “I need to talk to Vonne. Any chance you’d let me?”

  “Vonne? Oh, you mean Ms. Lucero.” He pondered the request, his bright eyes intent upon her face.

  I can fulfill sexual fantasies you haven’t dared to dream—yet.

  Tuesday shivered, her gaze darting about the main room of the lodge, looking anywhere but at him. Removing the visual temptation didn’t silence her mind. What would it be like to have his long-fingered hands moving across her body, to feel that mouth caressing her? Was his entire body enhanced?

  Marc watched the crimson blush crawl up along her neck and bloom across her cheeks. Desire radiated off her in slow pulsing waves. She wasn’t thinking about Elise; she was thinking about sex! Fulfilling her fantasies had been the only offer she’d found interesting. He had to push this advantage.

  Her teasing excuse for a dress left the graceful indentation of her spine bare to the middle of her back. She’d drawn her hair over her shoulder and was nervously working it into a thick braid. No way he’d let that continue. He wanted to rake his fingers through the curly strands and bury his face in its softness.

  Stepping up behind her, he ran his index finger down her spine and watched her shiver. “Is all your skin this sensitive?” He wrapped his arm around her waist, dislodging her hands and freeing her hair. “I’m going to give you a taste of what the next few days could be like.”

  She started to protest, but he turned her and dipped her over his arm. Pride wouldn’t let her agree to his offer, but she wanted it—needed it. He could sense a hunger in her just as demanding as his.

  He settled his mouth over hers, exploring the shape and texture of her lips. He put his whole being into the kiss, desperate to draw out her longing, to make her achingly aware of her need. This was for his daughter; seducing this woman was Elise’s only hope.

  Gently, he cupped her face, teasing the sensitive underside of her jaw with his thumb. For a long time she seemed frozen within his embrace, neither responding nor struggling. He traced the delectable fullness of her bottom lip and she shifted restlessly. He gently sucked it into his mouth and she groaned.

  “I never go where I’m not welcome, Tuesday,” he whispered. “Part your lips. Invite me in.” Slowly, her mouth opened and Marc smiled against her damp lips. “Thank you.”

  He eased his tongue into her mouth, stroking her, tracing the even line of her teeth. The slick heat beckoned him deeper and he was happy to answer the call.

  Her hands pushed into his hair. She arched, pressing her breasts against his chest. Slowly. He had to move slowly. If he frightened her now, she’d never let him touch her again.

  But he burned for her. She fit so perfectly, molded herself so eagerly into the hard contours of his body. Desperately, he formed the image of Elise in his mind and held on for dear life. He needed Tuesday to lose control, but he couldn’t afford to get caught up in his own trap. Focusing entirely on his purpose, he gradually distanced himself from the demanding passion this woman unleashed within him.

  He kept each touch featherlight, stroking her arms and back, all the while kissing her deeply, leisurely. Easing her zipper down to the small of her back, he slipped his hand inside and caressed every silken inch of skin available to his seeking fingers.

  His warm fingers brushed ever closer to the curve of her butt and Tuesday mustered the feeble remnants of her sanity. She shoved him back, quickly stepping out of reach. “I’ve never been desperate enough to pay for sex.”

  Her breasts heaved, her nipples hard aching peaks, rasping against her bra’s thin lacy cups. His gaze, hot with male appreciation, lingered on her body, mocking her inability to control herself. Stubbornness alone kept her arms at her sides when everything within her screamed to cover her shame. Oh, how she wanted his hands on her breasts, his fingers firmly plucking, his mouth…oh God, his mouth!

  “How long has it been?”

  The teasing purr in his voice slapped her even harder than his smoldering gaze. “None of your damn business! Leave me alone.”

  Clinging to what little remained of her dignity, she hurried into the kitchen. But her captor was a step behind.r />
  “It was just a kiss, Tuesday. Why are you so upset?”

  She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see the knowing gleam in his eyes. After fighting with her zipper for a second or two, she left it halfway up. She braced her hands on the countertop and closed her eyes. Vivid, painful memories assailed her, forcing out a tear from beneath her long eyelashes.

  Gently, he finished zipping her dress, his warm hands lingering on her shoulders. “You’re crying.”

  He sounded astonished and she whipped around. “I am not! He isn’t worth my tears. Never was.”

  “Who is ‘he’? Why did kissing me make you think of another man?”

  She leaned against the countertop and crossed her arms over her breasts. “You’re not my friend and you’ll never be my lover, so cut the crap. My personal life is none of your business.”

  “Everything about you is my business as long as my daughter’s life hangs in the balance. I won’t let up. I don’t have the luxury of being nice.”

  “And I can’t give you what you want, so you might as well shoot me!”

  He laughed. The arrogant jerk just laughed and rushed out of the kitchen.

  * * * * *

  Marc was still chuckling when he triggered the electromagnetic lock, securing himself inside the control booth in the attic of the lodge.

  Slipping in behind the control console, he activated the screen directly in front of him. The entire wall flashed for a moment before segmenting into nine smaller screens.

  Various angles of the lower level occupied the bottom row. Tuesday was still in the kitchen, nosing through his cupboards. What was she hoping to find? Arsenic? He grinned. She already knew where the knives were kept.

  He hadn’t expected to find her so entertaining.

  So challenging.

  Or so damn adorable.

  Back on task, Sinclair! You’ve got work to do.

  Placing a person-to-person audio page to Phil Carey, Marc waited for his head of security to respond. Phil had retired from the military six years ago after a long, distinguished career. He was considered the best security consultant in the world, and Marc insisted on the best.

  Every day Methuselah seemed to spawn a new complication. Marc had gotten used to the death threats, had even managed to stay alive. Significant advancements were being made in treatment of the syndrome, but Marc wasn’t satisfied. He’d heard reports, scattered, yet consistent accounts of unusual happenings.

  “Cobra here,” Phil’s deep voice drew Marc’s attention to the present. “You’re early, Mr. S.”

  Marc smiled at the semi-coded transmission. Phil had introduced Marc to the fascinating world of high-tech surveillance, micro gadgets and weaponry. Their signal was scrambled, but Phil’s insistence on safety protocols had literally saved Marc’s life. He wasn’t about to argue now.

  “I’ve arrived at the designated location, just checking in to say all is well.”

  “Very good. All is quiet here. No disturbances reported at any post.”

  Phil was the only person who knew Marc’s true location or that his appearance had been changed. They needed more time before Marc officially debuted his new face. Rumors were circulating that the third attempt on Marc’s life had succeeded and it worked to their advantage to perpetuate the misconception.

  Tuesday’s unexpected reaction brought to mind another issue. “Has our contact in the Tower of Babel reported any progress?”

  “Nothing new. Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know how to pose the question without breaking protocol.”

  Marc heard Phil’s muffled chuckle, despite the other man’s attempt to conceal the sound. “Do your best, son.”

  “I need to know if our prime suspect has developed an interest in an individual.”

  “Female?” Phil asked.

  “Affirmative.”

  Phil made no effort to disguise his amusement this time. “Is this the same female in which you’ve recently developed an interest?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Very popular young lady.” Phil cleared his throat and his tone returned to normal. “I’ll find out if there’s a connection, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Cobra out.”

  If anything was going on between Tuesday and Job, Phil would know every detail by morning. The man amazed Marc with his resourcefulness. In a very short time Phil had earned Marc’s respect, a feat few could manage.

  After the first attempt on Marc’s life, he’d hired Phil to ensure his safety and figure out who wanted him dead. Phil’s preliminary investigation pointed toward PURE and everything he’d learned in the ensuing months only reinforced the initial findings. Not only had Job ordered the hit, he’d used psychic assassins to carry out the mission.

  The hypocrisy was almost amusing. Marc asked Phil to dig deeper. If Job was determined to separate himself and his followers from those corrupted by the effects of Methuselah, why had he resorted to assassins so dependent on the chemical? One missed dose sent them into violent withdrawal.

  Turning his attention back to the bank of monitors, Marc moved on to the next task. Had Momma Bear missed her spunky little cub yet? That was what he needed to determine. With a few careful commands, he called up the audio/video feed of Vonne Lucero’s office.

  “Can you or can you not account for Ms. Fitzpatrick’s whereabouts?”

  The image was still fuzzy, but there was no mistaking General Bettencourt’s rumbling voice. What was he doing at the mediplex?

  “Just a moment,” Vonne responded, her voice thin and anxious.

  Finally, the image focused and Marc studied her face. Her brow was smooth, her dark eyes calm. All things considered, she was doing a fair job of concealing her emotions. With the women’s harebrained scheme for Tuesday’s disappearance, there was no reason for Vonne to fear anything ill had befallen her friend.

  So, what had inspired General Lapdog’s repeat appearance?

  Clearing her throat, Vonne turned off her computer and looked at the general impatiently fidgeting across from her. Marc could sense the tension and he wasn’t even in the room.

  “As of this moment,” she said with a breezy smile, “I’m unable to verify Ms. Fitzpatrick’s whereabouts. You gave us a rather dire ultimatum only this morning. I’m sure Ms. Fitzpatrick is doing her best to fulfill your expectations of her.”

  “Turn off your in-office surveillance, Ms. Lucero.”

  “I’d rather not, General Bettencourt.” She folded her hands on her desktop.

  “Then I’ll have you arrested and we can have this conversation in my office.”

  Oh, Vonne, don’t develop a backbone now. Marc tapped his thumb against the control console, suddenly very interested in what the general had to say. Just in case it was half as informative as he hoped, he began recording the feed.

  Narrowing her gaze on the general’s impassive face, she grated out, “I’m not in the military, General Bettencourt.”

  “There is no need for this stubbornness.” His tone was nearly as stiff as hers. “Just turn off your surveillance, so we can speak freely.”

  The general stood and watched carefully as she deactivated the primary monitors. Marc had studied the mediplex’s schematics, so he knew proximity safeguards would reactivate the recording device if her unwanted guest made a sudden movement toward her, or if any projectile was launched in her direction.

  Despite her elaborate security, Vonne had no idea there’d been a fly on several of her walls for the past two months. Oh, how he loved his toys!

  “Speak,” she prompted.

  “President Rawsen has no interest in CPT or the SP-64 Project,” the general began. “My purpose this morning was to initiate a process by which Ms. Fitzpatrick would be motivated to help us with an unrelated matter.”

  “I don’t understand.” The dark gleam in Vonne’s eyes assured Marc she understood all too well.

  He glanced at his control panel to verify that the feed was
still being recorded. The president and his resident lapdog needed Tuesday to do something for the government, and they were going to use threats against the SP-64 Project to ensure her cooperation. Ordinary people called this extortion.

  And he was capturing it all in full color and sound.

  He felt his leg bounce slightly and consciously stopped the anxious movement. How would Tuesday react when she saw this? Was it in his best interest to show her?

  “It’s not imperative that you comprehend every detail.” The general dismissed Vonne’s resentment with a wave of one hand. “You’re an intelligent woman; I’m sure you understand what I’m saying.”

  “What do you want Ms. Fitzpatrick to do?”

  He just stared at her for a long time. “She’s been contacted by a person named Job.”

  “The leader of PURE. Yes, she told me but how do you know?”

  Curling his fingers into fists, Marc was shocked by their icy chill.

  Without bothering to respond to the question, the general continued. “President Rawsen has been trying to infiltrate PURE nearly from its inception, but certain recent events have made the need more urgent.”

  “What events and why has the President of Unified North America been unable to infiltrate an organization like PURE?”

  Amen! Phil Carey had a man on the inside. Why had the UNA’s military failed? PURE was a fanatical cult. They were hatemongers and…

  “Job is worshiped by his followers, treated more like a deity than a leader. At first, PURE posed no real threat because their resources were so limited, but Job has amassed untold wealth and fanatical support in an ever-increasing segment of the population. They have introduced legislation and seen it voted into law before we were able to trace the source or comprehend the true ramifications.”

  “Like the Mandatory Ratings Act?”

  He nodded. “Exactly. Having each person tested for Methuselah Syndrome and entering the rate of their genetic abnormality into a person’s medical record seemed reasonable and mutually beneficial to the entire population. But PURE took those ‘Purity Ratings’ and created a caste system, sponsored segregated communities and businesses.”