Dangerous (4 page)

“Let me know if that's too cold. We can put a towel between the pack and your skin,” Nash said as he closed the kit.

Flores had risen to her feet, but Nash remained kneeling beside her.

“So tell me something,” Nash asked thoughtfully. “Who is currently doing security for you? You have to have someone manning those cameras.” He paused. “You do have someone, don't you?”

“Of course. I have two private guards for the interim. Once you bring your people in here, all security becomes your domain. My only exceptions are the obvious. No cameras in my bedroom, private sitting room, or office. No personnel inside any of those places, even on rounds, when I'm not present at the manor. I deal with a lot of sensitive documentation and it's out of the question when it comes to confidentiality. You can do whatever you like surveillance-wise along the boundaries of those rooms, but nothing that views the interiors through the windows or doors.

“You'll also have to maintain surveillance on my offices at Candler International. That's here, London, Japan, and Kuala Lumpur. I have permanent residences in all those cities except Kuala Lumpur, where I stay at a hotel, but I will give warning of travel at least two weeks in advance if I can at all manage it, and you can have parts of my schedule up to several months in advance if you consult with Carter—”

“Okay, as to that,” Nash interrupted her with a staying hand, “I don't want you planning your schedule beyond two weeks. Also, Spencer has your entire schedule on an unsecured smart phone. Anyone can take it and get your schedule in advance without even breaking a sweat.”

Devon's eyes went wide with surprise at that bit of information. She was shocked that Nash had already made such a pertinent discovery for her benefit when he hadn't even accepted the job yet. It impressed and pleased her, confirming she'd made an excellent choice in him, for many reasons.

“That shouldn't be,” she said with a frown. “Carter knows how finicky I am about securing all electronic devices. Specifically for this reason.” She began to tap her long nails against her thigh, realizing she was projecting her irritation, but not really caring. A feeling of chilled trepidation crept through her and she began to nibble on her bottom lip. She looked up into eyes of amber and found comfort in the fact that she could read his thoughts, and that they were following the same unthinkable path as hers. “Carter has been in my employ for a very long time,” she argued softly, knowing that it was an emotional excuse and not a logical one.

“And yet, all of a sudden your enemies have incredibly detailed access to you that they shouldn't have,” he reminded her gently, his hand resting over the top of her thigh in a dreadfully effective indication of her recent wound.

“Morphates don't work with humans, though. They detest them,” she said, reminding him of the powerful prejudices between species. Yet, she knew it wasn't universally true, just as she knew why her enemies could never send a Morphate in to spy on her undercover . . . or even to covertly assassinate her.

Because she was Morphate, Devon would have sensed one of her own kind instantly.

But that wasn't information she was about to impart to one of the few men in the world who knew how to kill a Morphate.

 

The next day, Liam turned in his office chair to look down on the traffic moving through the compound drive. As usual, someone was always coming or going. The compound was a hub of activity from dawn to dusk, and beyond, if they were training in night tactics. At the moment, his team was swarming around the equipment shed, gearing up for the initial installation at the Candler manor house. Liam could see the warehouse from his window and the activity moving smoothly along.

After the main Candler residence was secure, he would send a team on to her primary offices and others to her secondary residences. There was a helicopter and associated pads on the tops of her business buildings, and a private jet, also for convenience. And secrecy, he noted. He was beginning to see why it was so easy for her to conceal herself when she barely set foot onto unfamiliar or uncontrolled grounds.

Securing the secondary and tertiary offices and residences would be organized according to Devon's future plans to visit them. There was also a fleet of cars to take into consideration.

While she had been extremely open to all of Liam's suggestions so far, Devon was finicky about her privacy in certain understandable ways. He'd had no arguments with her so far, but he was certain to step on her toes eventually. He invariably clashed with clients on the issue of where security ends and where privacy begins. It was inevitable.

And she most definitely was now his client.

It had been the photograph of her blood spilled across that bed that had committed him. The idea of her fighting off an assassin
while she'd been shot
had won him over in a heartbeat. There was nothing more impressive to him than a tough woman who knew how to handle herself in a moment of supreme danger. Especially when she came in such unexpectedly elegant packaging. Incredibly sexy packaging. Much too gorgeous to risk losing on a ‘next time' possibility where she might not make it out with her life.

Liam groaned when he realized how unprofessional and sexist that sounded, even if it was only in his own brain. He threw down his digital pen and watched it roll across the top of his desk. The neglected schedule he was supposed to be working on flashed on his tablet in irritable reminder of his slacking. He ran both hands over his head, raking his fingers through his short-cropped hair.

The trouble was, he couldn't get their first meeting out of his head. That wicked dress she'd worn, so casually showing off a perfect body, her obvious wit, and the strange exotic beauty of her features. The feel of her hands on his thighs. Warm palms he'd felt burning through the material of his blacks even though the cloth wasn't exactly thin. Then that teasing stroke of her fingers . . .

Liam cursed aloud as his entire body tightened with the memory, mimicking his initial reactions perfectly. He brushed his hand across his fly, adjusting himself away from his sudden discomfort.

“Clients are off limits,” he reminded himself aloud, as if it would change the aroused state of his body, not to mention the memories of her that were haunting his mind like teasing wraiths.

He turned back toward his office window, leaning forward to watch Inez and Kellen spar in a little hand-to-hand on the lawn. The pair often had philosophical arguments about different maneuvers in their differing forms of martial arts and it invariably ended up in a sparring match to prove the winning point. He ought to reprimand them for goofing off when they had other duties to perform, but he had a hard time doing that when they were goofing off over training techniques.

Liam believed that Inez and Kellen were his best team for a reason, and that reason could very well be the way they constantly challenged themselves and each other. Inez was determined to prove that a single mother with a child could flourish in this career choice without neglecting her kid, and Kellen was determined to prove he was more than just a pretty face. Inez had been denied SWAT, and though they'd never say it right to her face, it was obvious that being a single mother had been the reason. She'd quit the force because of it. Kellen had made it all the way through FEDOPS training and three years of active missions before resigning for what he simply called ‘personal reasons.' Then he'd been surprised to find that the civilian world had a hard time taking him seriously on account of his looks and laid back personality. Employers mistook all that natural charm and easygoing attitude for weakness. It made the pair of them a couple of very serious overachievers, forging the perfect team, and also the perfect friendship. Liam had never had a doubt about either one of them.

His eyes then sought out Colin. Colin was doing equipment checks before final load, testing lights, cameras, sensors, and the like. He was the only doubt Liam had ever had in all of his hires, and he would probably continue to doubt himself until the day he died . . . or the day his baby brother did. Considering the considerable danger on this pending assignment, Liam thought he was probably more sensitive to his doubts than he might normally be. It wasn't that he questioned his brother's skills in the least. Colin was a fine soldier, and an excellent subordinate. He'd been born to take and follow orders with a sense of duty and precision that would make any commander proud and fully trusting of him.

It was more a matter of Liam feeling the weight of the responsibility he had taken on every time he gave Colin an order or duty that could cost him his life. However, he'd made a measure of peace with himself about it, especially after a night not too long ago when he and Colin had kicked back with a couple of beers and had a heart to heart about it. Colin had reminded him that there was more danger under someone else's command than there would ever be under Liam's experienced hand. Since Colin was determined to be in the business, it was actually safer for him to be under Liam's watch.

Liam's phone buzzed, tugging him out of his contemplations.

“Nash,” he greeted.

“Devon
friggin'
Candler! You sonofabitch, I didn't think you had it in you!”

“What's up, Micah?” he asked, smiling at his partner's usual enthusiasm. He had known that Micah was going to orgasm when he heard about NHK landing the Candler job. Micah loved to make money, and Devon would be paying out a great deal of it over the next few months.

“When this gig came up, I thought for sure you were going to blow it. I thought,
‘Sure! Ripest plum to ever plop in our laps and I'm stuck in Milan, leaving the man with the personality of the Antichrist to seal the deal!'
But Glory just told me you handed in signed contracts good for six months of 24/7 coverage,
with
an option to pick up. Now, we both know it wasn't your winning charm, because you don't have any when it comes to handling business, so how'd you get the contract?”

“Oh, we have an expertise no one else can claim,” Liam told him, taking no offense whatsoever to Micah's colorful description of the facts.

“And that is?”

“Something I won't discuss long distance, Micah,” he said directly.

“Ah. No problem, I'll catch up when I get back.”

“When is that, by the way?” he asked, grinning into the phone and knowing what the gist of Micah's answer was going to be already.

“Is Roni still mad at me?”

“Let me put it this way,” Liam said with a laugh, “when you come home and you can't find your car in long-term parking at the airport, don't call the cops.”

“Oh, hell! She didn't!”

“Would I lie?”

“Crap!” Micah added a growl of frustration. “I'm going to kill her.”

“Then it's a fight to the finish. Are you going to tell me what you did to piss off our usually mild-mannered partner?” Liam fished hopefully.

“Are you going to tell me where my Jag is?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

Micah hung up with a loud click.

Liam hung up his end with a low chuckle. The phone buzzed before he could take his hand away and he rolled his eyes, already knowing who it was.

“Yeah, Roni?” he greeted.

“Was that the no-good twerp you call your partner?” she demanded.

“You call him your partner too,” he reminded her gently.

“Ha! He'll be lucky if I call him anything with more than four letters in it ever again!”

“Veronica Klein, are you ever going to tell me what this is about? I don't exactly feel comfortable with dissention in the ranks.” Actually, he knew his partners well enough to know it would blow over, but it wouldn't blow over until Roni got the problem off her chest. Since he was going to be deeply involved in the Candler assignment soon, her venting resources would be limited. Micah could end up banished to Milan until Leo or Kadian came off assignment.

“I was thinking of inventing a chemical that will melt his current paint job, imbedding itself into the steel of the body so it would then perpetually do the same to every subsequent paint job he attempts to get afterward. Clever, huh?”

“Extremely clever. However, it's not appropriate to do it with company funds or equipment, babe.”

“Well! Since when are
you
the numbers geek around here?” she demanded huffily. “The geek is off hiding from me, so who cares who does what with company funds? It would serve him right if we go bankrupt while he's hiding like the chicken-shit wiener that he is!”

“Now, Roni . . .”

“Don't you ‘now Roni' me like I'm some hysterical twit PMSing and in need of a pat on the head and some Ben and Jerry's to get her through the crisis! It's just like you men to stick together!”

She hung up with an angry growl into the phone.

Liam sighed. The world was in a sorry state, he thought, the day it depended on him to be the diplomatic voice of reason.

Devon was tapping her nails against the desk in a slow, rhythmic pattern. She watched the camera monitors as the small fleet of trucks and Hummers wound their way up her driveway. She wasn't at all upset by the intrusion this installation promised to be. Nor was she nervous about having humans around the house constantly. After all, she had been fully human once upon a time. And, unlike some of her brethren, she found humans to be useful, wonderful people. Like Liam Nash, for instance. He was an extraordinary individual. He was clearly a hardnosed soldier from teeth to toes. Yet she was already aware, after such a brief amount of time in his company, that he was so much more than that. While she wasn't going to claim to be an expert on him after so limited an exposure, she had noted one very important thing. He had a gentle side. It had been in the delicacy of his touch, the abundance of his concern, as he had put aside his righteously earned indignation at her uninvited touch in order to tend to her well-being. The contrast between those two facets had kept her thinking about him frequently over the past couple of days.

Even though the images on the screens were distorted by the camera angles, Devon knew him the moment she saw him jump out of the back of a truck. There were men and women running around all over the place now, all dressed in what she assumed was identical black, but still she recognized him. How could anyone mistake a build like his? His height alone was astounding, even to a woman of her 5'9” stature. Add to it pounds of muscle in beautifully strategic places, a rugged but surprisingly handsome face, and strange amber colored eyes with gold and umber flecks in them. Devon was unaware that she lightly licked her lips as she admired the broad field of his chest and the sinew roping down his arms. His black T-shirt clung to both like a second skin. She licked her lips again, wondering if he had any body art. Human body art was fascinating to her. Because of the way Morphates healed, their bodies refused to hold the ink of any tattoo not acquired before their transformation into Morphates. The art would fade, like any other foreign injury, within a few days. She really rather wished she'd been the type to get tattoos before she'd had her run-in with Dr. Eric Paulson. On the other hand, living with artwork forever seemed like a very long time, and right now it didn't look like Morphates were ever going to age.

Devon let her eyes move over Nash as he hauled things off the truck, his huge body twisting and bending with fluid ease. His strong, muscular legs glided and bent as needed, showing no hint of error in movement despite the awful leg wounds he had suffered during the previously mentioned encounter with a Morphate while in the Secret Service.

Devon wondered if his crew knew he was the first human, the first
person
, to ever figure out how to permanently destroy a Morphate. His report had claimed it to be a stroke of luck, and so it might have been, but it wasn't as though the weapon were a mainstream material or, as he had mentioned, anything a human being would willingly want to touch for fear of its toxicity.

Irradiated mercury.

Devon had gleaned from her conversation with Nash that his team could be appropriately armed with mercury-filled bullets. She had to assume that meant they were trained in the handling of them as well as their purpose. The toxic ammunition, while instantly fatal to Morphates, was potentially just as poisonous to anyone who handled it. Mercury broke down body tissue on contact no matter what the species. Radioactive mercury . . . well, that was a no-brainer.

Mercury ammunition was ineffective without a way for the liquid metal to break out of the bullet. Often, when a bullet impacted the internal bone structure of the body, it would deform on impact, which would release any substance contained within the bullet. However, just as often it would remain intact. The shooter couldn't depend on those odds when in a fight for his or her life. At present, those who knew about the effects of mercury on Morphates used bullets tipped with a wax-like substance. It held the mercury in during storage, as well as for the duration of the trip down the gun barrel and to the target, but dissolved quickly at body temperature. The result was effective and deadly, culminating in a gaseous cloud of Morphate remains.

However, accidents were frequent and misfires dangerous or deadly. The ammunition couldn't be used in the summer safely when high temperatures threatened the special wax plugs. Carelessness could end in mercury leaking everywhere, poisoning the weapon's carrier. The delivery system, as Nash had pointed out, was flawed and unstable and had needed dire improvement.

Devon had seen to it that the military would court Candler International for the solution, and she was in the process of providing one. The first prototypes were resting carefully in the armory behind the surveillance room she now sat in. She would introduce Nash to them shortly. She smiled when she thought of how his face would awaken with excitement, just as it had when she'd told him she'd come up with the solution in the first place.

Just like it had when she'd touched him.

Mmm, an unsafe thought
, she scolded herself as she watched him move and speak with his team. He was a beautiful specimen of masculinity, there was no denying that, and part of her itched to get a peek at the underlying sexuality she sensed within him, but unfortunately they were going to have a working relationship and she always felt that it was best if work and play remained separate. Besides, it was one thing for her to work with, make friends with, and come to rely on humans, and quite another to sleep with them.

Oh, it wasn't unheard of. There were humans out there who could tolerate the savageness of Morphate lovemaking. In fact, some sought it out specifically for its roughness and, of course, the blood drinking aspects. But it was something of an unspoken understanding among lawful Morphates that humans ought to be avoided whenever possible, especially in this respect.

However, there were also unlawful Morphates. Morphates who looked on humans as lesser individuals, with no more or even less value than a domesticated animal. That led to a frightening devaluation. Those Morphates thought it all right to use humans and discard them cruelly. So far such activity had not been discovered by mainstream humans, but rumors were beginning to circulate . . . even more so now that Dark Phoenix had broken free of the Alpha Council and its laws. And if humans knew just how savage and psychotic these unlawful Morphates could be, relations between the races would devolve into chaos.

But in the present climate of Morphate rebellion and feuding, discovery was only a matter of time. That was why it was so crucial that Morphates and humans alike discover ways to protect themselves against the superhuman strength and savagery of the unlawful Morphates. Perhaps just knowing protection existed would help curb the unlawful Morphates.

As for herself, Devon wasn't fond of lying and passing herself off as just another human. Nor would she ever use a human in such base and evil ways. She found humans to be spirited and beautiful. She, unlike some, remembered that she had once been a human, and she remembered what human cruelty had felt like when she had been stripped of all her rights and been experimented on by Dr. Paulson until she had become what she was now.

If she ever did indulge in relations with a human, it would have to be with the truth between them. Otherwise, she would be no better than the beastly worst of her arrogant brethren.

And
they
disgusted her.

Morphates had the potential to be a wonderful species. Devon believed that with all of her heart and her soul. But things had gotten out of control, the decades of focus spent on trying to rebuild Dark Cities that had devolved into chaos and filth had been unbelievably hard on both the original Morphates and their new generations.

Devon remembered those days all too well.

But that had been a very long time ago. Many things had changed, and now she felt it was time for a little equalization between Morphates and humans. Before it was too late. Before humans found themselves overrun and overpowered and all their best ideals stolen from them.

And yes, she had a private agenda. Devon was playing a dangerous game, and now she was dragging more innocents into the fray by protecting herself with the humans from NHK. But she couldn't use a Morphate protection force, not considering the details of her research and its purpose. For although Nash thought he was protecting her, what he was actually protecting was her research and the prototypes. But NHK at least would have a far better chance than anyone else. Why not with Liam at the helm? After all, he was the only human she was aware of who had experience killing a Morphate. Besides, if she had surrounded herself with loyal Morphates, it would have made for just another clan in a war full of bickering clans. No. When she had her victory, it would be with humans by her side. They deserved to fight for their liberties as they traditionally always had. Except this time, they wouldn't quite understand what they were fighting for, or even necessarily that they were part of an intense war.

The playing fields were about to be drastically altered.

Devon had been working in secret for decades, hiding from her enemies as she had strived to make her plans come together. She needed to fulfill her obligation to the mortal military, bringing her people down a peg by placing in human hands the means to level the field. It was a slippery slope. What would then keep the humans from mounting an all-out war against Morphates and using their new weapons to eradicate the interlopers entirely? But she could ask the same of Morphates who had guns. Good or bad, she had committed to her course and she would stick to the outcome. She refused to allow herself to consider what would happen should she fail. Things were already rising to a head between the feuding clans, as well as the racist Morphate and human factions. She knew she was racing against time.

The idea of losing the race woke her up at night screaming in terror and soaking in sweat.

She laughed nervously under her breath at herself, shaking her head and shoulders as if shedding water; only she was trying to shed her sensations of gloom and doom. It did no one any good to get fatalistic. She simply needed to concentrate on one stage at a time. It was the best she could do. Right now that meant concentrating on helping Nash and his people settle in, discussing routines, and sharing other details she thought pertinent. Devon didn't doubt that Nash would be inundating her with recommendations as well. She found herself looking forward to spending time with him. Perhaps over the next six months she would get to know him a little better.

In fact, she wanted to get to know everyone a little better. Including Mr. Carter Spencer. She had trusted him all of this time. Could he be a traitor? Had he actually allowed that murderer into her bedroom at the hotel, telling her enemy how, when, and where to find her? The mercury-filled bullet had gone completely through her leg, minimizing the damage, but leaving enough traces of the deadly metal behind to make healing excruciatingly slow even for one of her rapidly healing species. Her people could even heal themselves after decapitation if the body and head were reunited, no matter how long afterward. They did not decompose, their flesh immune to earthly bacteria and unappealing to flora and fauna that usually tried to break remains down. So long as the parts were joined and blood flow reestablished, there was nothing short of radical bombs that could do what one little dose of irradiated mercury could do.

She had been damn lucky that night. When she had disarmed her opponent and held his neck beneath her foot, he had gloated that she was as good as dead anyway because there was a ten-million-dollar price on her head. She had shot him repeatedly with his own weapon until her foot passed through nothing but vapor. And here it was a week later and she still hurt when she sat and limped when she walked if she wasn't paying close attention.

Infuriating.

When she got hold of whoever was behind the attacks . . . their days would be numbered. Alpha Council was going to pull them in quite sharply. And Liam Nash was going to help her do that.

There was a scuffing sound to her right and she looked up to see the devil himself looming in the doorway. He had struck a casual arm up against the doorframe, making all the muscles and lean lines up and down his left side flex in orchestrated male beauty. It took her breath away. Maybe that was why she had to inhale so slow and deep. It shouldn't have anything to do with her trying to get her fill of his incredible scent. Soap, sweat, and the bold aroma of the outdoors, all combined with that unique factor that was only Liam; that unique factor that made him so irrepressibly male. It swirled in her senses and set her nerves tingling at their ends. She couldn't help but smile.

Liam watched as she turned from her study of the monitors and speared him with those lichen green eyes, their polished surface gleaming with quick, intense thought as she recognized his presence. There was something almost predatory in her expression for the smallest second, but just as his chest tightened with an excited anxiety, she let a smile grow slowly over her pale pink lips. She straightened from her observations and turned to face him fully. Liam couldn't resist running his eyes down the length of her. Not just because she was so fantastically designed, but also because it was an ingrained habit to observe everything he could about everyone, making life for him and those for whom he was responsible safer.

Devon Candler had a way of wearing clothes as though she were born in them. Last time it had been loose, transparent white gauze, this time it was elegant, calf-length black silk with no sleeves and a modest dip of her neckline to just about an inch below the start of her stunning cleavage. The silk was so soft it clung to every single curve from neck to calf, and it was spun with a shine so it gleamed and glittered over every deep swell, drawing attention to every movement. She was wearing stilettos and no stockings. The heels tightened her calves, raised the thrust of her backside and forced her shoulders back so her breasts were gorgeously prominent.