Karina Cooper - [Dark Mission 05] Read online

  So many failed.

  Her footsteps slowed as she rounded the final corner. Maybe she should have stopped for coffee. And lunch, for that matter. Hospital food, premier or not, left a lot to be desired.

  Before she could decide one way or another, motion drew her attention to a figure standing just outside Lab Seventeen’s secure door. The fluorescent lights, unkind even without the hovering threat of visual impairment, painted the man’s back in matte black; a broad, large frame.

  She frowned. Her very own security agent, huh?

  At this distance, she picked out athletic shoulders. Thick arms encased in a black synth-leather jacket, which surprised her. His denim, worn in the seat—and stretched comfortably enough across a backside as strongly defined as the rest of him—seemed wildly out of place up here in business-dress civilization.

  His hair seemed black in the same light, but as he turned, glints of rich, dark auburn flickered through the strands. She blinked as she realized the open jacket did nothing to conceal a muscular chest that tapered down to lean hips, clad in a plain dark blue shirt that also surprised her. She’d expected something in black, to suit the whole dangerous-missionary vibe he had going on.

  Her gaze trailed over him, narrowing. His jaw was not only chiseled in every way she’d ever thought of the word, but darkened by a five o’clock shadow she found wholly unnecessary at one in the afternoon.

  His hair—longer than she expected from any kind of security force—curled faintly at the ends, which brushed his collar and fell across his forehead.

  It looked soft.

  She didn’t need to be thinking about how soft it looked, either.

  And when his eyes, the same dark shade as his hair, met hers across the hall, she couldn’t help but think that he knew what she’d been thinking.

  A surge of annoyance, as unwelcome as the sudden jolt of awareness, flickered through her.

  This man didn’t exactly scream danger, no more so than any other athletic man in street-ready clothing, but something about the way he looked at her took the fine hair on the back of her neck and raised it on end.

  This was a man she’d think twice before tangling with. In any way except one.

  Kayleigh liked men she shouldn’t like. Enjoyed looking at the agents whose paths she sometimes crossed. Liked, specifically, the rough-and-ready ones, the men who looked as if they could get into a back-alley fight with a posse of angry witches and come out on top.

  Like this one.

  It was one of the many reasons she didn’t date. Her father had long since made his requirements as to her social life clear.

  No scandal. No one who couldn’t live up to dinnertime conversation.

  No nonscientists, really.

  This man was not a scientist. If she started talking DNA sequencing and genetic therapy, his eyes would probably glaze.

  She could think of a half dozen more interesting ways to make his eyes glaze.

  Damn it, Kayleigh.

  Mouth tightening, she fished her comm out of her bag, snapped it open, and stabbed her father’s code.

  Laurence answered quickly. “What is it?”

  “Are you sure I need a keeper?” she asked, her eyes pinned on the man’s own. His expression revealed nothing. Not even an eyebrow rose at her obvious rudeness.

  “Yes,” came her father’s sigh, crackling faintly on the line. “A security detail is necessary. As are any of the other personnel I send to you.”

  “What if I need to do classified work?” Specifically, on the Salem Project, which still hadn’t hit mainstream channels. Yet.

  “You’re a smart girl, Kayleigh,” came her father’s firm response. “You’ll figure it out.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “I can’t talk you out of it?”

  There. A flicker of something at the corner of the man’s mouth—she might have called his lips feminine on anyone else, but surrounded by all that raw masculinity, she didn’t dare. His hands slid into the front pockets of his jeans, thumbs out, as if he could wait all day long.

  “No,” Laurence told her. “And that’s the last time I’ll say it. Be courteous when the agent arrives.”

  Augh. She wanted to stamp her foot. “Fine,” she replied, barely managing not to snap. “Good luck with the conference.” She clicked the comm closed, ending the connection.

  Tucking the device back into her bag gave her the opportunity to run her options through her head.

  Easy. Leave, or get to work.

  She was a fully capable adult. Whatever signals her body sent her, she was the one in control.

  Besides, she was already here. If she turned around and left now, he’d know he discomfited her. Add that to another restless night and she’d kick herself in the morning.

  She raised her head as she approached the door. And its guard. “So you must be my babysitter,” she said dryly, as if he hadn’t just witnessed that entire exchange. At least her part of it.

  “Guilty as charged.” His voice, not completely lacking in humor, was slow and deep. Cool, but at least he didn’t try to pull the usual overly charming tactics Kayleigh had gotten used to from men like him.

  The color of her hair had nothing to do with her level of social acuity.

  He stepped aside as she approached, his arms folded over his chest. “I take it you aren’t happy with this.” It wasn’t a question.

  She pressed a finger to the security lock. “What’s your name?”

  “Lowe, ma’am. Shawn Lowe.”

  “I’m Dr. Kayleigh Lauderdale.” The computer ticked softly. “What are the odds, Shawn Lowe, that you’ll be one of those babysitters that finds a corner and occupies yourself while the geneticist does her job?” She didn’t look at him, bending to fit her eye to the small retinal scanner just over the thumb lock.

  If he smiled, if he frowned, she had no idea. All he said was, “Good odds.”

  “Great.” The door hissed open, revealing a swath of protective plastic.

  This time, when she straightened and glanced at him, a faint haze of light clung to his skin. His hair. Turned his swarthy skin to something sheened with gold.

  She scowled, digging a thumb into one eye. She’d only just gotten out of the freaking hospital; could her body give her one day without complications? Just one.

  He didn’t notice, studying the open door. “Do I need to wear anything in particular?”

  Less might be nice.

  She cleared her throat. “No. Just don’t touch anything, and try not to distract anyone.”

  When his mouth slanted upward, she repressed a hissed breath. She did not just call him distracting. “Okay. How many?”

  “What?”

  He raised a strong-looking hand, idly scratched the side of his whiskered jaw. “You said ‘distract anyone.’ How many people am I dealing with?”

  No one, if she had her way. She wanted him in a corner, away from everything inside. Away from her. Instead, she shrugged. “Two techs at any given time, at least until ten o’clock.”

  “Closing time?”

  Not for her. “Something like that.” She pushed in ahead of him, one hand curling into a fist against her stomach. It sizzled.

  Maybe skipping lunch was a good idea after all.

  Chapter Three

  Too easy. That worried him like hell.

  Shawn followed Dr. Lauderdale into the laboratory, ducking beneath a folded flap of plastic that only just grazed the top of her blond head. She didn’t give it any notice, which told him that she was used to the lab and its security measures.

  He wasn’t. He’d have to pay close attention before he gave anyone the impression that he didn’t belong here.

  “Dr. Lauderdale!”

  He hung back as a portly man with a black goatee approached, brown eyes bright.

  The doctor smiled, but from Shawn’s diagonal vantage point, it seemed strained. “I’m fine, Gerry, before you ask.”

  “You sure? Can I get you anything?”

&
nbsp; “No—” She shook her head briefly, cutting herself off. “Yes, you can start with anything important I need to know. Have the results from the latest projections been calculated?”

  “Calculated and run through the system,” he replied immediately. “No immediate improvement. Two out of seven projections suffer catastrophic breakdown before fifteen.”

  A muscle jumped in her left temple, so subtle Shawn wondered if he’d imagined it.

  The man slanted Shawn a suspicious, skeptical glare.

  “Ignore him,” she said, distracted more than rude. He bit back a grin. “He’ll find space in a corner somewhere.”

  Only until he coaxed her out of this thinly concealed prison.

  “Sure,” Gerry said, not as convinced as she seemed to be.

  “Welcome back, Doctor!”

  He watched as Dr. Lauderdale greeted another lab-coated professional. Petite, silver-haired, with glasses perched on the end of her nose and a beaded chain affixing them to her white lapel.

  The lab was big, spacious enough to accommodate more than three people, but most of the equipment was shrouded beneath protective plastic and white cloth. A few machines hummed, as alien as anything Shawn had ever seen, and a handful of monitors gave evidence to the work going on in the lab.

  He’d need a translator to know what that was. Something genetic, no doubt. Maybe even something to do with the witch factory.

  It didn’t matter. That wasn’t his focus here.

  “Doctor?”

  Shawn transferred his study to the older woman, then flicked it to Dr. Lauderdale. She hadn’t moved, studying the lab with something he couldn’t read shaping her expression. Uncertainty? Pensiveness, definitely.

  He cleared his throat.

  She blinked, turned a questioning, distant glance past him. “Mm?”

  “Rachel and I organized your last three projects. The data is on your computer and copies are on your desk. It includes your next seven projections,” she added.

  Gerry nodded emphatically, chin wobbling.

  “Thank you, Paula.” So polite, Shawn thought. Weirdly so. “This is Shawn Lowe, he’s going to be our guest for—” Her gaze flicked to him briefly. “Hopefully not for that long. He’s only partially briefed, so keep classified material secure.”

  Paula flashed him a smile, brackets appearing around her pink-painted mouth. “Nice to meet you. Do you want us to wait for a while before we leave, Doctor?”

  “No,” Kayleigh said, shaking her head. “Go on, the others will be in soon. I’ll get to work on the backlog.”

  Aware he hadn’t made it far out of the foyer, Shawn stepped aside, clearing room for them to pass.

  Gerry hesitated. “Before I forget, the last analysis you sent out on the contents of that syringe came back.”

  The doctor’s shoulders tensed. Imperceptible, save that Shawn stood right behind her.

  “It’s with the rest of the project material,” Gerry continued, speaking as if it wasn’t strange at all to find random syringes around.

  “Results?”

  He shrugged. “Junk, junk, and more junk.”

  A syringe full of junk? What did that mean?

  “Did the analysis fail?” she asked.

  “Not that I can tell. We thought about running more tests on it here, but with no instructions on it and no labels . . .” A note of censure colored the man’s trailed-off explanation.

  She didn’t seem to notice. “No, that’s great,” she murmured. “Thanks, Gerry.”

  But then, it was a lab. Maybe syringes weren’t all that uncommon. God only knew what they got up to in here.

  Shawn wasn’t going to find out. He needed to pack up the doctor and get her out immediately.

  Before the real security detail came calling.

  Paula shrugged out of her white protective coat, folding it over one arm. “Do you need anything before we go?” When the doctor didn’t automatically respond, Paula cast Shawn an exasperated look he took to mean she was often like this. He shrugged.

  “Dr. Lauderdale?” Paula pressed. “Coffee? Food?”

  “Oh.” The doctor’s hand slipped between the flaps of her lab coat, pressed against her stomach. “No, thank you. See you tomorrow.”

  When the other woman’s gaze turned to him, penciled-in eyebrows rising, Shawn shook his head silently.

  With a shrug and a last suspicious stare, Gerry and Paula stepped out of the lab, through the plastic siding.

  The door hissed closed behind them, mechanical tumblers snicking quietly into place.

  For a long moment, Shawn watched the tense line of her shoulders. Was he expected to go in ahead of her or wait?

  What was she thinking?

  Shawn didn’t know. He didn’t care, really, except that it provided him with ample opportunity to study her. Watch her.

  Laurence Lauderdale’s daughter didn’t surprise him in any way. Her wealth of tousled blond hair, her professionally cool demeanor, even the designer brands she wore—all of it was everything he expected from a rich man’s kid. The top of her head only just reached his chin, which placed her at about five-foot-seven. Her eyebrows were fine, a few shades darker than her hair.

  She was pretty, in a polished sort of way. Only a blind man could miss it. Had he been some random guy—or Gerry the portly scientist—Shawn could have taken the time to appreciate the slender body beneath her shapeless lab coat. He might have taken some time to watch her mouth as it moved, soft lines and full upper lip.

  But she was Kayleigh Lauderdale. No matter how innocent she looked, she wasn’t. End of story.

  So he looked away from the profile of her high cheekbones and her downturned mouth.

  If she seemed a little forlorn standing alone in the now-empty lab, that wasn’t Shawn’s problem.

  “I’ll just—” His voice fractured the heavy silence. She jumped, startled, and sidestepped into him, hard enough to rattle the air in his lungs.

  “Oomph!” Her body rebounded against his, a distinct impression of feminine warmth slammed into kinetic reverse. One of his hands curled around the back of her neck by habit. Her elbow jammed into his side as he snaked his other arm around her waist, steadied her on her feet.

  She sucked in a breath.

  Every nerve in his fingertips lit. Warmth, subtle heat from her nape, slid into his skin, trailed into tingling awareness at the pads of his fingertips. Shimmered up his fingers, into his palm.

  He was seized with a sudden, aggravatingly sharp urge to tighten his grip. To press his palm flat at her nape, feel the delicate hairs there tickle his sensitized skin, smooth as silk.

  To hold her still while he—

  Let her go.

  He did. Fast.

  Shit. There would be no handling of Kayleigh fucking Lauderdale. Not unless it involved her neck in a completely different kind of grip.

  Color filled her cheeks as she backed away. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” Polite. Carefully conscientious. “I’m not used to having someone so . . .” She gestured vaguely. “Close.”

  Tense as hell, he noted, eyes on the fist at her side.

  That made two of them.

  He forced his expression into even, unreadable lines. Resisted the urge to run his still-humming hand through his hair to wipe the feel of her skin from it.

  It would take more than a mild collision to put him down. “Tell me where to sit and I’ll get out of your way,” he said, throwing courtesy to the wind. If it came out hard, she’d deal with it.

  She blew out a quiet, steady breath, gaze flicking to the lab again. “There.” She pointed.

  He almost laughed, except he didn’t find anything funny about Dr. Kayleigh Lauderdale. “An examination chair.”

  The color at her cheeks heightened. “Sorry. We don’t have anywhere else comfortable for long periods of sitting.” When he said nothing, she added, “It’s never been used. I don’t know why we have it, really, except one never knows.”

  Never kno
ws when a cadre of butchers would need a living specimen? Sure. He’d buy that.

  “I’ll try the stool,” he told her, ignoring the sudden, diamond glint in her eye. The way her mouth flattened.

  “Suit yourself.” She shook off whatever lethargy had grabbed her and strode around a covered batch of strange devices.

  Just like that, he was on his own.

  That worked for him.

  Shawn took a seat at one of the tech chairs, settling into the round, padded seat with a grimace.

  How the hell would he get her out of this place?

  The team had known going in what kind of chances they faced pulling this off. Shawn had gotten lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, which was a hell of a lot better than trying to break into the vaultlike security of her lab.

  “Computer,” she said, and his eyebrows rose. “Print out latest analysis of unknown viscous contents.” Blue-gray eyes flicked to him. “Print out reports of generational degeneration from current projects as of two weeks ago.”

  Interesting.

  “Powering up,” said a pleasant automated voice from somewhere near her. A bank of monitors beside her flickered on. “Printing.”

  Well, hell. He knew at least one computer geek who’d sell her right kidney for this setup. He’d have to send word to May about this. Eventually.

  If she ever forgave him.

  Kayleigh Lauderdale bent over the table, using a finger to scroll through the data on the monitor. Within less than thirty seconds, her posture shifted. She gathered her hair into a loose tail, wrapped an elastic band around it.

  The end result left her looking like somebody’s fresh-faced kid sister, all blond tendrils and bright eyes and playing at scientist.

  Except the Holy Order didn’t play.

  Her shoulders tensed as she pored over the data.

  Shawn got the impression he’d been forgotten.

  Workaholics. They were all the same.

  This one breathed a whispered, “Damn it.”

  “Problem?”

  She straightened, shooting him a look over her shoulder he couldn’t decide was frustration at him or whatever irked her. “You wouldn’t know.”

  Ouch. “Try me,” he coaxed, deliberately affable. Just a buddy eager to lend an ear.