Jordan Summers - [Dead World 01] (9 page)

As if on cue, a strong wind blew
dust over the road, covering a portion of the green tarp. Red hit a button
inside her car to clear the grit off her windshield.

She drove into the heart of Nuria, bypassing the
quaint side streets. She wasn't here to sightsee, no matter how tempting. The
main drag through town brightened considerably. Shops lining the road aimed
their
wares
at weary travelers and locals alike. Cheerful
hand-painted signs hung above each building, in
dicating what could be found inside. They were a
marked contrast to the sealed storefronts she'd driven past moments ago.

Specially treated one-way lead mirrors stood in
place of traditional windows, allowing shop
customers
inside
the ability to look out, but preventing anyone from
gazing in.

Supposedly the material served a
twofold purpose— it preserved privacy and kept the radioactivity from
passing through the windows. Red
decided the mirrors had
more to do
with privacy, since humans either were born
immune to the
higher doses of radiation or received
gene therapy in the womb to
counteract the poisoning.
Being
naturally curious, she found the visual impairment
an annoyance.

Red parked her vehicle and pulled the sunshades from
her eyes, peering at the townsfolk. Several people
passed by and smiled, nodding their heads in ac
knowledgment. She frowned and looked behind her. there
was no one there.

Confused, Red slowly turned back to face the
people. She had never encountered a small town
where
the residents were actually
friendly to strangers. Quite
the contrary. The last time she'd entered a
boundary
town a laser pistol firefight
resulted. She'd prepared
herself for
outright hostility, not an open welcome. As
much as she appreciated the change. Red wasn't quite
sure how to
handle the situation.

She glanced at her clothing. Her black T-shirt and
pants screamed tactical team and didn't exactly conceal her pistol. Yet the
people seemed unfazed, like they were used to the tactical team's presence,
which was impossible, considering it had been twenty years since the team's
last operation in this area. She'd had to look it up to be sure, since Red had
been an eight-year-old child at the time.

Another couple strolled by, their
faces just as open,
just as friendly.
Dressed in typical boundary town
clothing,
the couple's sand-colored fatigues blended
seamlessly into the surroundings. Red bobbed her head
in
acknowledgment. There was something strange about this place. Pleasant, but
strange.

Red slipped her shades back on and strode down
the sidewalk until she reached what she assumed
was
the town center. A small park with benches and faux trees formed a
perfect square. There were play areas set up for children and picnic tables for
family gatherings. No one was around. Most people avoided afternoon sunlight
due to its intensity.

She glanced at the swings, which squeaked lightly in
the hot desert breeze. Red could almost hear the ghosts of laughter echoing in
the emptiness. She was
about to return to
the car when the sensation that she
was being watched hit her.

The skin at the back of her neck
prickled as she felt
a heated gaze scroll
over her shoulders and down her
body. Red
straightened immediately, tension thrum
ming all the way to her toes.
Her hand automatically
reached for her
weapon, but she stopped short of
withdrawing it from its holster. She
wasn't in hostile territory surrounded by enemies—she was in Nuria's town
center. She would do well to remember that.

Yet someone was watching her,
following her move
ments as she strolled
around the square. She took a deep breath, but smelled nothing. Whoever it was
had taken care to remain downwind. It could he one of the people she'd passed,
who'd gotten curious and had come
back for a second look, but Red
didn't think so.

This
seemed
different, more intense.

It
felt. . . predatory.

Male.   

She paused in the middle of the sidewalk and rolled
her shoulders,
letting whoever was watching know that she was aware of his presence. Red
forced herself
to release her weapon. The stalker wasn't a threat—at
least in the physical sense.

She fought the instinct to turn
and confront the indi
vidual. Her body
trembled from the effort. The last thing
Red needed was a skirmish upon
arrival in town. She
knew better than to piss in someone
else's water reserve,
especially when that someone may have the information
she needed.

Breathe. Let
it go. You have no jurisdiction.
You're
here
to look
around, remember?

Red pressed on reluctantly, ignoring the urge to
glance
back. She refused to give whoever it was the satisfaction
of knowing that
she was rattled. Besides,
she had things to
do. Locating shelter was the first or
der of business. She had plenty of
credits saved, so finding refuge shouldn't be difficult.

Even small boundary towns housed a variety of share spaces.
Once Red secured a room, she'd track
down
the local sheriff, Morgan Hunter. If there were
murders or strange things happening in his town, he
would know about it. After a cursory glance at
his stats
back at headquarters, she wasn't looking forward to the
meeting.

Some people on the tactical team
considered repub
lic law-enforcement
officers inferior to their international counterparts, but not Red. She knew
better.
Some of the best tactical team
enforcers she'd met on the job were recruited from small towns within the
various
republics.

Morgan had been recruited by IPTT, but ultimately
turned the position down—something all but unheard of at tactical team
headquarters. Instead, he'd returned to Nuria and took the position of sheriff.
He'd been on the job ever since.

She pulled Rita out of her tote and slipped the
newly repaired navcom on her wrist. Once again
Red
opened the electronic file on Morgan Hunter. She needed to know
more. What he looked like would be a good place to start. His documentation
listed that he'd been on the job for the past fifteen years; a long time to
spend with no opportunity for advancement.

Red pressed the screen and an
image of the sheriff
popped up. She
blinked in disbelief, then hit the refresh button. The picture remained
unchanged. He wasn't exactly what she'd been expecting, after Ban-non called
him an
uncooperative territorial bastard.

He was younger—much younger—and handsome in a wholly
exotic, battered warrior kind of way.

Red stared at the image, taking in his rugged cleft
chin. savage mouth, dark wavy hair, and stern no nonsense expression. His nose
appeared to have been broken at some point and reset the old-fashioned way. He
hadn't bothered to use enhancers to hide the injury as most people with
imperfections routinely did.
This is a typical enforcer image,
Red told her-self,
ignoring her heart's sudden acceleration
and the sweat
forming on her palms.

She rubbed her hands along her pants, then
high-lighted
his
face so that
the image would zoom in. The mo
ve brought his golden eyes to the
forefront. Red had never seen a color so vibrant and rich. Like m
olten honey that had been kissed by the sun, they
pra
ctically glowed. There was no way they could be real,
but she knew
that they were ...

Captivating.

The word came to Red's mind before she could brush
it aside.
Strange, she'd never thought of a man as
captivating before. She gazed at the image, allowing
herself time to
study his features. What made Morgan
Hunter so different? Red tried to recall the last
time
she'd noticed a man. Her mind blanked like a
virus-ridden compunit screen.

If
she couldn't remember the last
time she'd noticed a
man,
Red
didn't even want to think about how long it had
been
since her last physical joining.
Twenty missions
ago? Forty? More?

She grimaced. It had been too long since she'd
experienced
anything other than a computerized body toy. Not that
they weren't good, with their advanced A.I. orgasm-inducement system, but
they'd never replace the real thing. There was just something about having a
man's sweaty body resting above her as he rolled his hips, impaling her with
his .. .

Red quivered at the thought, her
eyes unconsciously
drawn back to Morgan
Hunter.

After Bannon's smart-assed comment about her spreading
her legs, Morgan was the last person she needed to be thinking about in that
way. She'd just have to stick with the body toys awhile longer. She wasn't here
to get laid, so her dry streak wouldn't be ending anytime soon, captivating man
or not.

"Gina,
I'm
noting a change
in your autonomic system." Rita chimed. "Should I be concerned about
out
side stimuli? I can have the
team dispatched to Nuria
within three
hours and two minutes. You'll have to
manually
input your coordinates. I am unable to pin
point your exact
location."

"No! That won't be necessary." Red grimaced
at being caught ogling what would probably turn out to be an old image.
Boundary town law enforcers were notorious for not updating their pictures.
Some were nearly thirty years old. "But I can't find you," Rita said.
"There do not seem to be markers or streets. You are in Nuria,
correct?"

"Yes,
I'm
in Nuria. It's
okay, Rita. The town hasn't
been mapped."

"How will I assist you in locating markers, if
the town has not been properly recorded?"

Red laughed. "You won't. I'll
have to do it the old-
fashioned way and
use my eyes."

'This is highly irregular," Rita said, sounding
more than a little perturbed.
"I
recommend reporting this situation to
headquarters immediately. You could be in danger."

Red shook her head. She wasn't in danger. At least
not yet. There was no way she would report this
non-
incident to headquarters. Her grandfather was looking for an excuse
to send in the troops and bring her back. "Power down to standby. I
promise I will call you if I need you."

"Very well." The A.I. unit made a chirping
sound as it powered down. Red shut the viewer screen, ignoring the flare of
disappointment she felt as Morgan's image faded. She chided herself for having
such
foolish
thoughts in the first place. She was here to
find
out who—or
what—killed Lisa Solomon. Nothing more, nothing less. And she'd do just that,
right after she located shelter for the night.

During the day, boundary towns were generally
unfriendly. At night, they could be downright hostile.

Red began to explore the town. If
Nuria had amenities,
she wasn't seeing them, but she had
managed to pass
the same fake bush four times. She should have come
belter prepared. Eventually, she ferreted out a few
necessities—an
extra water canteen, a small food dispensing
machine, and a crude area map, which
highlighted
the local emergency care center. It didn't look far,
so she decided to take a detour. She wasn't ex
pecting
trouble, but you couldn't predict those sorts of
things.

She still hadn't managed to find a suitable share
space
yet,
but she would. The first two she'd encountered
had no cleansing units, and
offered little beyond a communal sleep area. Red was used to staying out
in the field on occasion with the tactical team,
but not
with a room full of strangers. What if someone accidentally
woke her suddenly and she shot him? What if it was a child? Worse—what if she
had another
missing time episode? She still
didn't know what had
happened. She hadn't had one since, but that didn't
mean they were gone for good.

She just couldn't take the chance.

Red glanced up and realized she was standing in front
of the emergency care center. The entrance was plain with small gray letters
indicating the building's purpose. She watched as people filed out, dressed in
their medical uniforms. A few glanced her way.
Most
moved directly to the parking lot, more concerned
with going home than with worrying about a
stranger
in town.