Part 8 (2/2)

Only Edgar Rothman and perhaps his friend Thomas Casey or Lucas Camp knew everything.

Noah considered briefly that the whole scam could be a ploy to get at Edgar. Now there was a man who'd made more than his share of enemies. He'd gone head-to-head with numerous bureaucrats and agency heads over the years. But who would be privy to a failed experiment of this caliber? Who would have access to files so highly cla.s.sified that even the president wasn't aware of all they entailed?

Noah's group basically did not exist and were so secretive that there was no organizational name. They were simply referred to as ”the Others.” General Bonner had discovered one of Rothman's experimental prototypes and had hoped to steal it for his own use. He had succeeded, the breach requiring desperate measures to rectify. The prototype, a chameleon-cloaking device, carried far too much potential for wartime use. As an espionage weapon it was priceless, its technology unparalleled.

Rothman had to get it back. But first he had to prove the general had taken it. Bonner, after all, had a prestigious reputation among his peers. Rothman's accusation was merely scoffed at.

There had been no other alternative. Someone had to get in, get the goods on the general and get the prototype back. A feat that, with the general's background in security and wartime strategies, would have been impossible unless the invader was, for all intents and purposes, invisible.

A second device was quickly made operational and then, for the first time, used on a human. A genetically enhanced, organic implant had been placed in just the right spot to override the brain's histological control over flesh and hair coloring. With a neurological base, the human guinea pig was able to invoke the process at will. The idea was that one could blend in with his environment. Of course, there were a couple of drawbacks. First, the subject had to be naked for it to work in any setting other than darkness. And, admittedly, the device did not work as well in most other environments. Second, since use in humans had not been tested prior to that, the side effects had been unknown.

Until five years ago.

Noah had been that guinea pig. He'd allowed the implant. He'd gotten the goods on Bonner and retrieved the prototype. And he was still paying the price.

There was only one side effect to the implant, which melded so fully with his own tissue that later removal was impossible-his body would no longer tolerate bright light. His flesh wouldn't spontaneously combust like the vampires in the old movies. He would simply suffer immeasurable pain. Every nerve ending would be charged with it to the point of overload. Prolonged exposure would result in a neurological blowout. Possibly a stroke, but ultimately leading to cardiac arrest.

Since there was no way to remove the implant without doing irreversible brain damage and there was no way to know how long it would remain operational, Noah had no choice but to live in darkness...in all likelihood for the rest of his life.

More than a year ago Rothman had approached him about a possible antidote of sorts-a neuron injection that would pinpoint the implant and shut down its function. The injection would work much like a heavy, intense chemotherapy treatment for a cancer patient. The only drawback was that Rothman couldn't completely rule out the possibility of shutting down other, vital areas of the brain. In other words, Noah could become a vegetable or simply paralyzed or any number of other things.

He'd refused the injection. At least he had control over all his faculties as well as his bodily functions. There was simply no compelling reason to take the risk involved with Rothman's antidote.

Noah had already made one costly mistake, he had no intention of making another.

Which brought him to yet another problem. Maggie Callahan. Blue. He closed his eyes and let go a heavy sigh. He should never have indulged his s.e.xual fantasies. Drawing her into his life on a personal level was wrong, a serious error in judgment. He didn't even like it that she was involved on a professional level. But something about her made him lose all self-control. Made him want things he shouldn't.

He told himself that he could have this relations.h.i.+p with her and be safe. She would leave soon or the general would catch him off guard or both. Either way she would be free to carry on with her life and he would, if only for a short time, have felt something again. In addition, if he kept her close at hand he could see that she was protected.

Her job was top priority for her, but he knew General Bonner too well. He would never allow a single bodyguard, male or female, to stand in his way when he came after Noah. Blue's only chance of survival was if he kept her distracted and out of the line of fire.

What Rothman didn't understand about Noah was that he was prepared to face the general. He wanted that over, one way or another. He didn't fear the man or his minions. Noah had one very important element on his side-this was his territory. He knew the island like the back of his hand. The general would not beat him here. Here, Noah's only enemy was the light, but he had taken steps to ensure his safety during the daylight hours. He had an escape tunnel. The general would never find him while the sun was up. Never. Then the battle would be fought on Noah's terms. In the dark...on his island.

”Your enemy has struck again.”

Noah looked up at the sound of Blue's voice. She plopped a plastic sandwich bag containing what looked like a bar of soap onto the desk in front of him. She'd showered and changed. Her attire consisted of her typical fas.h.i.+on statement of jeans and a b.u.t.ton-down blouse over a sleeveless T-s.h.i.+rt. His gaze automatically skimmed the slender curves of her frame, then her face. Tension vibrated from her. Her jaw was tight...her lips in a firm line. Something was wrong.

More curious than concerned, he picked up the bag and studied the barely used white bar. ”It looks like bath soap,” he said distractedly still trying to determine why she'd bothered to bag it like evidence and present it to him as if it held some mystery she was yet to solve.

”It is. It was in my shower. I used it.” The last trembled from her lips.

His gaze shot upward to hers, the rhythm of his heart picked up its pace. ”What's wrong with it?”

She blinked rapidly to cover what looked like fear or maybe pain. She held out her right hand, palm up. ”The soap contained a little more than cleansing and moisturizing agents.”

Her palm was scored with tiny lines that looked like paper cuts. His gaze moved from her hand to the bagged soap then back to her. A blast of outrage pushed him to his feet, sending his chair banging against the credenza.

He was around the desk and towering over her in one second flat. ”There's more?” His voice was ragged with fury. He knew the answer without asking. How much of her body had she innocently rubbed the soap over before she realized...?

She nodded, her eyes wide with trepidation.

His jaw clenched so tightly a muscle flexed in protest there, he reached for the b.u.t.tons of her blouse. She held perfectly still as he released one, then another and another until it parted, falling to her sides. But her choppy breathing gave away her internal response. His own body reacted in kind. His anger overriding all else, he focused on the task at hand. Above the scooped neck of her sleeveless T-s.h.i.+rt were more of the marring lines. He touched her skin, traced one thin line until it disappeared beneath the cotton of her top. She s.h.i.+vered, her flesh pebbling in goose b.u.mps.

His throat went completely dry when he tugged down the neckline to find more of the scratches on the soft mounds of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and in the delicate valley between them. His gaze lowered to where the hem of her T-s.h.i.+rt was tucked into her jeans. She gasped when he tugged it free. Lifting the soft fabric out of the way he surveyed her taut abdomen. More lines. She flinched when he touched the one that intersected her bellyb.u.t.ton.

Anger boiled up inside him so hot and so quickly that he could scarcely contain it. He s.n.a.t.c.hed up the bag from his desk and removed the bar of soap.

”Careful,” she warned, her voice still sounding breathless and shaky. ”Slivers of what I think is gla.s.s are imbedded just beneath the surface.”

Before the words were completely out of her mouth a cutting edge p.r.i.c.ked him. He swore, then sucked the blood from his thumb. ”I don't see how this could be.” The other words he wanted to utter were too savagely vulgar to say in her presence. He carefully placed the bar back into the bag.

”We have antiseptic cream.” His gaze moved back to hers. Dammit to h.e.l.l, he hated that she'd been hurt yet again. Why not him? And how the h.e.l.l had someone gotten into this house to do such a thing? It simply wasn't possible.

”I'm okay,” she insisted as she straightened her blouse.

He shook his head. ”We can't risk an infection.” He strode to the door and shouted Lowell's name, then realized the time. Two in the morning. The man would be in bed. He rarely stayed up after Noah rose. Time had taught him that his company was not appreciated.

”We should check the rest of the supplies. If someone tampered with the soap, there could be more.” He made a mental list of the items they needed to check. What he really needed was Lowell. He ordered all the supplies, knew the exact dates each order was filled and delivered. It would be difficult to get to the bottom of this without him. He wouldn't appreciate the intrusion, but Noah saw no way around waking him.

”It can wait.”

Blue stood right next to him in the doorway, obviously reading his intent. ”We need to know how this happened,” he argued.

She sighed tiredly. ”It can wait until morning. I'll personally go through all the deliveries made to the house in the past few weeks. Lowell will help me.”

When the sun rose, Noah retreated to his rooms. It was safer there. The door was equipped with special locks. He didn't want to wait until morning. He wanted answers now. But she was right. Lowell's partic.i.p.ation would be required. There was no point in disrupting his sleep. The damage was done.

”All right, that part can wait, but I insist on the antiseptic cream. That won't wait.”

She hesitated, but then nodded. ”Where is it?”

”Under the kitchen sink, where else?” he teased. Didn't everyone keep the first-aid kit there?

”Where else,” she agreed, finally smiling herself.

Noah followed her into the kitchen and collected the first-aid kit from beneath the sink. He opened it on the table and prowled through the contents until he found what he was looking for.

She reached for the tube. ”Thanks.”

He held it out of her reach and moved his head from side to side. ”I'm afraid I'll need to personally inspect and attend to the damage.”

She folded her arms over her chest. ”Look, Drake, I'm in no mood for games,” she cautioned, her tone firmer now. ”So don't give me any grief here.”

”Take off your blouse,” he ordered, ignoring her edict.

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