Jordan Summers - [Dead World 01] (15 page)

"No problem.

They continued on for a few minutes in silence. The
air had grown cooler now that they were farther away from the town's center.
Gina rubbed her hands along her arms and looked his way. "I could still
use your help."

Morgan cocked his head. "With what? I thought we
already established there was nothing happening in Nuria."

"You may have, but I
haven't. I need to talk to the
townspeople,
particularly the ones living outside of
the
city limits. I would like to find out if anyone has
seen or heard
anything unusual."

"They haven't." Morgan reached out and
stopped her. "But you don't need my help for that. Just ask them."

"You and I both know no one
is going to talk to me,
I'm
a stranger. An outsider. And if that wasn't bad
enough,
I'm a tactical team member. Hell, look what just happened with Raphael
Vega." Her lips quirked. "I am like poison. I'm surprised people
didn't run screaming from the food dispensing station at my mere
presence."

Morgan laughed. "It would take more than your
presence here to scare those folks away."

"It didn't seem to take much for Raphael to recoil."

He glanced at her. "I can honestly say Raphael
Vega is
not
like most people in town." They continued on.

"Okay, so Raphael Vega is
an exception," she said,
bypassing a
crack in the sidewalk.

"He's something all right."

"The people know and trust you. They may say
things to you that they'd never tell me. I'm asking as one fellow
law-enforcement member to another. Will you help me?"

"Professional courtesy?" He stopped again
and turned to look at her, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his
voice. "Is that all this is?"

She tilted her chin, confusion marring her features.
"Isn't that what you told Kane?"

"Yeah, but—" He shook his head in
frustration. What did he want from her? Morgan wasn't sure. He knew that before
she left Nuria they'd share a rest pad, but he couldn't exactly say that. He
also knew that there was something more, something deeper at work here. He just
wasn't ready to identify it yet. "Fine. Have it your way. If the
townspeople tell you that nothing's happening will you believe them? Will you
let this go?"

"Yes, I will." Gina nodded. "If there's
nothing here to see, I'll be on my way. I just have to know for sure. I don't
want anyone else getting hurt because I failed to do my job."

"I don't either." He strolled on. This time
his pace
was brisk. "You may not
believe it, but I take my job
just as seriously as you take yours."

"I know you do." Gina trotted beside him to
keep up. "I have good instincts when it comes to reading people."

"Obviously." Morgan
balked. "Seeing as though you
almost
knifed Kane."

Gina grimaced. "With this job it's easy to think
the worst of people. Anyway, he surprised me."

"Remind me never to surprise you." Morgan
glanced at her and smiled. "I suppose you're right
about the job. You definitely don't think the best about
people after a few years of cleaning up society's
crap."
He paused at the street
corner. "Well here we are." The
share space stood across the street. The faint yellow
porch light glowed in the darkness, but did little
to illuminate the area. "Would you like me to walk you to
the door?" Morgan lifted his foot to step
off the curb,
but Gina stopped him.

"There's no need. I've got
it from here." She flipped
her shirt
up an inch, revealing her concealed pistol.

"You came armed to dinner?"

She quirked a brow. "Didn't you?"

"Touché." He snorted. "I still wouldn't
want anything to happen to you in my town."

Gina smiled. "Sheriff Hunter, I assure you that I
can take care of myself."

"If we're going to be around each other for a few
days, you might want to start calling me Morgan," he
said, returning her smile. He could drown in
those light
hazel eyes so easily.
"As to your abilities, I have no
doubt
that you are a one-woman fighting machine, Ms.
Sant—Gina, but humor
me."

"Will that get me your assistance?"

His eyes flashed in the darkness. "Among other
things."

chapter
eight

Took you long enough," Roark Montgomery said,
glancing up from the documents in his hands as his
assistant scurried like a mangy rodent into his office.

Oily black hair molded Mike
Travers' scalp, giving sharp relief to his cadaverous face. Obsidian eyes that
absorbed the light peered out from beneath lashless
lids. His navy suit clung precariously to his bones
much like his pale skin. The fact that his lips
were un-
usually red always struck Roark as strangely out of place on an
otherwise blank canvas.

Mike stiffened under his perusal.

"Take a seat." Roark cleared his throat.
"Any word on where the Others are at?"

Mike sat. "No, sir. We've narrowed their location
down to three republics." He worried the cuffs of his suit with his
fingertips. Roark rolled his stiff shoulders, ignoring the bile rising in his
throat at his as
sistant's
effeminate
actions. If he didn't need the man's unscrupulous talents, he'd fire him on the
spot.
Despite Roark's distaste at being subjected to Travers' presence,
he'd keep him around until after the election. "Are you going to tell me
which three republics or do I have to guess?"

Mike pressed a button on his mini compunit. "Republic
of New Texas, Republic of the Floridian Islands, and Republic of
Arizona."

Roark sat back, his fingers going to his chin to form
a steeple as he pretended to ponder the options. "I think we can safely
rule out the RFI. The Others aren't hiding on the islands. There would be no
way to escape in the event of an attack, unless they've suddenly become
amphibious."

"No, sir. I believe we're
still
dealing with
land
mammals."

"Then they're smart enough to avoid being sur
rounded." Roark nodded at his own
assessment. "Re
move RFI."

"Yes, sir," Mike said, deleting the Republic
of the Floridian Islands from his list.

Roark rocked back in his chair, his gaze locking on
the squirrelly man. It was so hard to find worthy people to employ these days.
The last war did away with all the quality human stock. All that remained were
the scavengers like Travers.

He was amazed he'd managed to put up with the man for
all these years. Fortunately, people like Travers were expendable. That
knowledge was the only thing that kept him in the same room with the man.

Once he gained office and united the republics, he'd
introduce a law to protect the pure-blooded humans from the
less-than-acceptable stock. Travers, although pure-blooded, fell into the
latter category, along with the Others.

Roark reached over and punched a button on his
compunit. He stared at the maps a few moments, running his fingers over
invisible lines, before returning his attention to Travers. "The other two
locations are much more viable. They're on the boundary, which gives the Others
quick access to no-man's-land."

"I suppose that sounds reasonable."

"Of course it's reasonable.
How many times have I
told you that you
have to learn to think like the enemy?"

Mike opened and closed his mouth a couple of times
before squeaking out one word. "Several."

Roark stopped rocking and sat
forward. "Must I do everything for you? Next you'll have me wiping your
ass.

"Yes, sir. I mean—no, sir. That won't be necessary."

"I want you to have both
locations scouted. I warn anything out of the ordinary reported to me. You can
start with—" Roark flicked a glance at the map.
"— the Republic of Arizona." He hid a smile as he realized
everything was falling into place.

"Don't you think we should start with the Repub
lic of New Texas? It's twice the size as ROA and
will
take more time to cover."

Roark rose like an angry grizzly from behind his desk.
"Are you questioning my orders, Travers? I won't tolerate insubordination."

Travers cowered in his chair.
"Understood, sir.
I'll get right on
it." He paled and scrambled to his feet, stepping back until he was out of
arm's reach.

"You're dismissed." Disgust filled Roark's
voice.

Mike nodded, walking backward until he reached
the door to the office. He pressed a button and a
panel
slid away, revealing a hall. He stepped outside a second before
the door hissed closed.

Roark waited for the light on the panel to register
red to verify it was sealed, then moved to his telecom. Normally Travers
handled office communication, but this was too important for a lackey to be
trusted with.

Roark told himself he shouldn't risk a call, but insubordination
and uneasiness in an assassin worried him—even though the killer came in the
guise of a meek assistant. Right now Roark needed reassurance from the only
person who could give it to him.

He jabbed five numbers into the unit and took a deep
breath. The link crackled and popped, giving a final gasping beep before
connecting.

"Hello?"

"Is everything going as planned?" Roark
asked, impatience scratching like glass in his throat.

Silence met his question.

"Are you there?" Panic filled Roark's voice.

"I told you never to contact me, unless it was an
emergency. Your pitiful insecurities don't count."

Roark covered the mic and growled in frustration.
"I don't need your permission. I'm the one running this operation,
remember?"

There was another long pause on the line.

"Did you hear me?" Roark asked, kicking
himself for making the man angry. He needed him. At least for a while longer,
then it wouldn't matter.

"Yes, I heard . .. every word." His jaw
snapped shut, causing his teeth to clatter.

Roark's pulse jumped in his throat. He stacked
synth-papers on his desk to fool the man into
thinking
that he didn't scare him. When he was done, he asked casually,
"Why haven't any bodies been discovered?"

"At least one has, but the authorities don't
realize what they're dealing with."

Roark frowned. "How do you know?"

He laughed. "Let's just say I have an inside
scoop."

"I haven't heard a thing through my
connections."

"Perhaps you need better connections."

"Or maybe instead of worrying about me calling,
you could use your sources to make the authorities understand."

A growl rumbled through Roark's comlink and he
instinctively jerked back. "That's the only warning you're going to
get."

"Don't threaten me. We have a deal," Roark
spat. "Or are you reneging?"

"No, I'm still in, but we may have another problem."

Roark mangled the documents he'd been holding.
"What kind of problem?" he asked, tossing the pa
pers aside. The last thing they needed were
problems.
Not this close to the election. Everything had to be perfect.

Voices murmured in the
background, slowly grow
ing in volume.
Roark listened as they reached a crescendo, then gradually faded. His chest
stretched with tension.

"We have a tactical team member nosing around
town."

Roark swore under his breath. "What in the hell
is he looking for?"

"He is
a she."

"There aren't many women on the tactical team.
I'll give headquarters another impromptu visit and
see what I can find out. She may have orders to do re
connaissance."

"Doubtful."

"You can't be sure," Roark said. "It
wouldn't hurt to look into it."

"Poking around could raise a red flag. You can't
afford to be involved any more than you already are, so I'll take care of
it." The man's heated whisper scorched Roark's ear.

"We don't need tactical team interference this
close to obtaining our goals. Do I have to remind you what that would do to our
cause?"

"I said I'd take care of it," the voice
snapped with a whip of impatience. "She won't be a problem."

"How do you know?"

"Because she has a few secrets of her own."
Roark couldn't see the man grin, but he could hear it in his voice. What wasn't
he telling him?

"I need more reassurance than just your
word."