“I agree. And since the first one was yours, this one is all yours, as well,” she said. “Wrap it up quick.”
I’ll do my best. He always did. “No anonymous tip to help us out this time?”
“Not yet.”
“And we have no idea why the girls are being taken and locked away?” Made no sense, really. Why take them if you weren’t going to use them in some way? Why starve them?
He’d studied pictures. Each girl was pretty, very pretty, and his first thought had been sex slaves. He’d busted a few whorehouses throughout the years. Otherworlder females were promised lodgings on Earth, a job, whatever. So they came here expecting to start a new life.
They started a new life, all right. In some rich guy’s bed. And that’s if they were lucky. The unlucky ones were placed in those whorehouses, forced to service countless men and women each and every day.
But again, why take these girls and not put them to work right away?
“We don’t,” Mia said. “We hadn’t gotten any other answers out of them. Not any we understood, anyway.”
Very well. “After I finish at the hospital, I’ll go over transcripts of what was said. Maybe I’ll pick up on something.”
“Sounds good.”
“And, uh, Mia.” Self-preservation rose. “I don’t want to go back to camp.”
“Why?”
“For personal reasons. And I swear to you, they’re good reasons. Important. Life-threatening even.”
A weary sigh. “I’ll give you some time off, no prob. You rarely ask. And okay, sure, miss your second week at camp. I’ll deal with Dallas’s whining, as always. Because yes, he will complain about the injustice of someone taking a break without him.”
Actually, Hector thought Dallas would be happy to have Noelle to himself, but whatever. He didn’t care. He—
Smelled melting plastic and realized his hand had heated to the point of deep-frying in mere seconds. Despite his sexual release. What the hell? He was so jealous, so possessive, he immediately reacted to the thought of anyone else with Noelle?
He’d never had a woman, all to himself, and he—
Didn’t need to be thinking that way. Breathing in and out, Hector forced a surge of calm. “Thanks,” he said to hurry the conversation along. “I owe—”
“But you’re going back to camp for the final month,” she cut in, heartless as only she could be. “I value your opinion, and I need to know how the remaining trainees have progressed.”
He didn’t point out that Dallas could tell her. Or Jaxon. Or Ghost. Phoenix was the youngest and newest member of the team, so no one would care what she thought. “Okay. I’ll go back.” Maybe.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t be thinking about Noelle every spare minute of every day. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be thinking about her at all. But even if he was, he now had a method for dealing, he reminded himself.
“Good,” Mia said. “Now get to work, Dean. Oh, and say hello to Noelle Tremain for me when you finally return to camp. I hear you guys are tight.” Her laughter echoed over the line.
“Fucking Dallas,” he muttered.
“Uh, no. Don’t blame him for your infamy. There’s a video of your KO, and it’s all over the web. At least thirty people have emailed me a link. Congratulations, you’re a star.” Click.
Wonderful. Worldwide humiliation. Exactly what he’d needed.
Hector tossed his phone on his nightstand and padded to his bathroom, where he hopped in the shower. The dry enzyme misting from the overhead and side spouts caused the plastic he’d melted to dissolve quickly.
Six weeks, he thought. Then he and Noelle would once again cross paths.
He had a feeling only one of them would survive. He wondered just who that would be.
Ten
AIR Training Camp
Week Eight
HE WAS BACK.
Noelle hadn’t seen Hector since she’d laid him flat, oh, around six weeks ago.
Maybe she should have gone easier on him. Two little taps, though. Love taps, really, and he’d dropped as if he were the slowest gazelle in the pack and she the hungry lion who’d won rights to first bite. Then he’d collected himself, stood, and walked away without uttering a word.
In her defense, he’d kind of deserved it. Not just for the way he’d eyed her with such disgust the day they’d met—and had since admitted he’d been wrong about, she reminded herself—but because he’d knocked Johnny Deschanel on his ass and looked at Noelle, all this is what’s going to happen to you if you stay here.
Well, she had stayed—but he hadn’t.
She sat at the window cubby in the bunkhouse. Night had long since fallen, but the lamps surrounding the instructors’ quarters provided the perfect spotlight. Hector had just driven up in a sleek black Porsche, emerged without looking around, and carried a bag up the steps, finally disappearing from view.
She had not watched the way his pants pulled tight against his perfect, muscled ass with every step. And she had not thought of him while he’d been gone. Not more than a few hundred times.
And she really hadn’t thought about the way he’d removed his T-shirt that day, revealing cord after cord of hard-won strength, tanned skin glistening with sweat, and a smattering of dark hair. Or how she’d gasped when she had first spied him, awed and aroused and aching to put her hands on him.
Something else she hadn’t thought about: how his right arm had sported fewer tattoos and how, just before he’d tugged on his gloves, those tattoos had shimmered, softly glowing like they had that night in the alley.
She hadn’t thought about why he glowed—optical illusion on her part? exposure to a toxic chemical on his? allergic reaction to alien cuisine? weird fluke of nature?—or how hot-off-the-streets sexy he was.
Yeah, uh, she really had to stop (not) thinking about him.
This attraction … she didn’t understand it, didn’t understand why his intensity fascinated her. Or why she’d missed him so damn badly. Or how he’d pepped her up while he was here. How he’d pushed and pushed and pushed, yet hadn’t sent her into a frenzy of self-destruction.
Maybe because he didn’t do it to malign her character. He did it to make her a better agent, someone who saved lives and protected those who couldn’t protect themselves. He’d actually distracted her from her loneliness, making her forget all about that ever-gnawing void inside her. He’d given her purpose.