Trapped with the Cyborg Page 7

  “Yes, tomorrow you will send them back.”

  “Tomorrow, they go back.”

  This is was about as good as it would it get. Under the influence of the serum, he accepted suggestions, but would the planted ideas hold? One session couldn’t undo a lifetime of brainwashing and enculturation. She would have liked to have seeded a notion he should rebel against his father, but the likeliness of the idea taking hold was nil—and the suggestion could trigger red flags. He was too unpredictable.

  His head lolled, and he let out a snore.

  She’d gotten what they’d come for. And—she grabbed the PerComm—maybe more. Future targets, officers’ names, location of outposts. Who knew what invaluable information the device contained?

  Thank goodness he hadn’t logged out before setting the device aside. She scrolled through the menu. All the files were written in Odgidian, and some were encrypted. Her microprocessor, which contained translations for every spoken language, allowed her to read the former, but breaking the encryption required time, and possibly more skill than she had. She was an ordinary cyborg. Opening several of the unsecured files, she found shuttleport departures and arrivals, the unabridged Lamis-Odg Bible in written in Old Odgidian, a schematic of some off-site building, and computer programming codes for several machines. Nothing super important like Lamani’s real name or the specific coordinates to his location on Malodonia. The secure files probably contained that data. Quickly she copied and uploaded everything to her microprocessor. Cy-Ops could decode and comb through it later.

  She positioned the device exactly as she’d found it on the table.

  Amanda scrutinized Kilead. She’d done all she could, but there was a large margin of error. The long term effectiveness of Loquitol on an alien was unknown. He’d given up the information readily enough, but when the drug wore off, how much would he remember? If he’d been human—nothing. But, come morning, he might still intend to do away with Tetric and Sumara.

  She hailed Carter again in case the last failure had been a fluke. Lamani is hiding on Malodonia. Copy?

  Kilead snorted. His ridge pulsed. The Odgidian version of REM sleep? Did he dream of bombing some unsuspecting planet? Or was he reliving their imaginary sexual encounter? She shuddered. In sleep, he was as repulsive as he was awake.

  Ping!

  It could be a couple of days before she could send a message from off-planet. And, if Kilead didn’t let them go—wait a minute…

  Ordinary citizens might be blocked from transmitting messages, but surely the son and heir to the empire wasn’t. The rules couldn’t possibly apply to him. Wanted for crimes against the galaxy, Lamani had gone into hiding. In his absence, Kilead governed the planet. He’d have to be able to communicate with him. Probably, with a click, he could grant travel vouchers, schedule a shuttle, or—send a message off-planet.

  He’d been glued to his PerComm when she’d arrived. He obviously used it a lot. She could use his PerComm to notify HQ!

  If he accessed his device in the morning, he would see a message had been sent and would read it. He’d figure out they were cyberoperatives and would likely torture her and Sonny for information. Neither of them would crack, but they’d be executed. And, through her transmission, Lamis-Odg would have a pathway into the Cyber Operations network. Disastrous.

  She didn’t trust the Loquitol would wipe his memory as it should. With lust on his mind, he had still been able to avoid answering some of her questions. Then he’d caved too easily as she’d planted suggestions. He’d zonked out faster than she’d expected. If she didn’t use the PerComm and he remembered everything—including her little brainwashing attempt—the shit would really hit the fan. He would execute them on the spot. The intel would die with her.

  As in all dilemmas, she didn’t have any good choices.

  Use the PerComm or don’t use the PerComm—that was the question.

  Chapter Nine

  His partner bounded in. “Lamani is on Malodonia!”

  Anger, jealousy, and an irrational betrayal twisted into a tight knot. He’d regained motor function hours ago, and, he’d had plenty of time to think. To worry. To stew. Anger burned hot while he stood rigid, clenching his teeth. Lewd mental images fought mano-a-mano with the wholesomeness of the flesh and blood woman with excited eyes. That she could appear so unsullied by the nasty business caused his stomach to heave. He wasn’t such a selfish bastard he would wish her to suffer post-traumatic stress, but after fucking an alien terrorist, how could she waltz in like nothing had happened? Shouldn’t there be some outward sign of what she’d done?

  What she’d put him through?

  Maybe there was no trauma. Maybe she liked it. Maybe she used Kilead to scratch an itch.

  Damn her. Damn Cy-Ops, Carter, and his own body lusting for her still. He wanted to throw up. He shifted his gaze to a far point over her shoulder. Looking at her hurt. Aroused him. Pissed him off.

  She frowned. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “I heard you.” His chest felt so tight, every beat of his heart had to be painfully forced. Don’t think about her. Focus on something else. Anything else. The mission. The end of the mission. On getting out of here because, the sooner they did, the sooner he could put Amanda out of his mind for good. First order of business: get past the guards. What did they think of her visits to his quarters? Were they suspicious?

  “I expected you to be more excited. This is the big break Cyber Operations has been working for. This could change everything.”

  It already had. “I guess I’m more concerned with what you had to do to get the information,” he deadpanned.

  “Well, a funny thing about—” She snickered.

  While he’d been incapacitated, damn near electrocuted, and paralyzed, his guts twisting with worry, she’d been out doing a terrorist—and she found it funny?

  “How the fuck could you do it?” he yelled, punching the air with his fist.

  Her jaw dropped.

  “If you want to screw someone, why not me? Huh? Why not me?” He grabbed her arms, hauled her against him, and crushed her lips under his, forcing his tongue inside her mouth, releasing fury and hurt in a brutal kiss. He grabbed a handful of her hair in his fist, as he punished and ached, his stomach knotting tighter. How could he still desire her when he hurt so much?

  She balled her hands against his chest then uncurled them and dug her fingers into his shirt. She lashed at his tongue, bit at his lips, fighting back, but he didn’t care. He took.

  He hated what she’d done. Hated himself more for his loss of control. Hated the need clawing at his belly, eating at his insides, turning him into somebody he didn’t recognize.

  Hated how she looked and smelled and felt no different.

  Would you prefer she reeked of him?

  He shoved her away so hard, she tripped and fell. Wide brown eyes stared up at him, the color of her irises chemically altered like her brunette hair. He remembered the way she’d looked in the Nebula Lounge. A blonde with eyes the color of a cornflower sky. Eyes. Hair. Body. There was nothing she wouldn’t sacrifice for the good of the mission.

  No excuse for his behavior.

  Remorse and self-loathing roiled, adding to the emotional stew. He didn’t manhandle women. Ever. This is what the situation had come to. He lifted his hands then flung them back to his sides. “You’d better leave.”

  She made no move to get up, but stared at him with those big eyes. Confused. So innocent.

  Yeah, right.

  As innocent as he was righteous.

  He was a hypocrite. Sexist, like she’d accused right before her tête-à-tête.

  He was many things, but self-deluded wasn’t one of them. Had Kilead been female, he would have slept with her to get the intel. Any male cyberoperative would have.

  The terrorists had already annihilated what they perceived as infidel civilizations on several undefended planets. While the AOP focused on diplomacy and talk, Lamis-Odg had established outpo
sts throughout the galaxy. Had recruited to their side malcontents with no definitive ideology but plenty of gripe and had forged strategic alliances with sympathizers. The growing threat, if not stopped, would result in massive death and destruction. Millions, possibly billions, could die. For survivors, if Lamis-Odg won, life would become unbelievably harsh.

  What did one field agent’s sensibilities matter in comparison?

  The Association of Planets had wised up, but bureaucracy and politics often rendered the organization ineffectual. The AOP hesitated to make the hard choices. Cy-Ops did not. Every single operative and admin desk jockey would sacrifice himself for the greater good. An agent signed the contract with his or her life. She had done the right thing. His head knew it. But, his heart, his guts, his cock disagreed.

  He wiped his mouth, and blood stained the back of his hand. Hers? His?

  She touched her swollen mouth. A spot of crimson marked her fingers.

  “I’m sorry.” The apology was ripped from him. He turned away. “You did what needed to be done.” He swallowed, tasting blood and bile. “You—good job. You did well.” He clenched and opened his fists. “I’m—I’m having a hard time.” The admission killed him, but it wasn’t like she couldn’t tell. “You’d better…you’d better go back to your quarters. Get some sleep.” He’d need a tranq strong enough to knock out an army and doubted even that would work. “We’ll regroup in the morning.” He’d have his head on straight then.

  Maybe.

  “I didn’t have sex with Kilead.”

  Her words shot through him like a photon blast, paralyzing muscle fiber and nanos and flooding his body with heat. Emotions he couldn’t identify exploded in his chest.

  “I’m sorry I led you to believe I intended to.”

  He sucked in air through his mouth. His legs went weak.

  She’d gotten to her feet, stood close enough to touch. His fists opened and closed spasmodically. She hadn’t had sex with Kilead. “How did you get the information?”

  Amanda shrugged like it was no big deal. “A bit of Cerinian brandy mixed with a little flattery.” Her mouth twitched. “And a double dose of Loquitol.”

  Son of a bitch. She hadn’t slept with him! He reeled. He felt light, almost giddy. He shook his head, trying to focus. “What else did you find out?”

  “Well, I attempted to get Lamani’s given name and exact location, but Kilead resisted, and before I could pressure him for the information, he passed out. The man can’t hold his alcohol worth shit.”

  “Knowing he’s on Malodonia will be invaluable,” he said. She ought to be proud of herself. Cy-Ops had tried for years to get this information.

  “If he doesn’t switch locations. I don’t know if he’s there temporarily or if Malodonia serves as a base of operation. I tried to shoot the intel to Carter, but the transmission won’t go through.”

  “So, if we’re separated, we won’t be able to communicate.”

  She shook her head. “You had said you’d hailed me earlier, and I didn’t respond. I never got the messages. It appears we can only communicate if we’re in close proximity.

  “After he conked out, I planted a somnial suggestion he should send Tetric and Sumara back to their space station. I don’t know if it will take hold or if he’ll change his mind if it does stick.”

  “Smart move,” he said. She’d thought of everything. “But we should get out while the getting is good.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry I acted like an ass.”

  “You can’t help it. You’re a man,” she said, but not meanly, and closed the gap between them. She slid her palms up his chest. His heart thudded, and her grin widened. Even a human without enhanced senses would notice the pounding in his chest.

  He noted how her touch seared through his uniform to his skin. “What are you doing?”

  “Resuming our earlier discussion about screwing.” She inched her hands upward.

  He grabbed her wrists before she could wind her arms around his neck. “Not a good idea.”

  She canted her head. “Why?”

  “We work together.”

  “Dale Homme and Illumina work together,” she said.

  “They’re married. And they became a couple before she joined Cy-Ops.” He set her away and moved out of range. Stay strong. He couldn’t perform this job with his guts and heart twisted in knots. Action had to be based on strategy and potential for success, not fear.

  “So what was that all about, then?” She twirled her hand. “The if you want to screw somebody, why not me business?”

  “Forget I said anything.”

  “Should I forget the kiss, too?”

  Especially that. He wouldn’t, but she should. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Kilead could have killed me. He still might.”

  “Don’t you think I know.” He glowered. Didn’t she understand the source of his anxiety? His concern for her safety? Her rejection of his protection didn’t lessen the need for it. She was so damn obstinate. How could he keep her safe if she insisted on doing things her way? If he cared too much…

  “I want to live while I’m alive! That’s why I picked you up in the bar.”

  “And it went so well,” he muttered.

  “Because I got scared and left?”

  “Because my performance didn’t cut it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “According to Manny, the sex was not bad and merely scratched an itch.”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth. “That’s what you thought? No! That wasn’t what I meant! I avoided talking about it because I was embarrassed.”

  He didn’t buy it.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she repeated, but averted her gaze. “What am I supposed to think? When there’s only two people interacting, and one stomps off, you kind of have to figure the first one triggered it.”

  “I didn’t measure up, okay?” she snapped.

  “Are you kidding? Fuck, it was amazing. You were amazing. That’s what threw me. You fried my circuits, and then you froze me out.” He moved closer to her, turned her to face him.

  “It was old messages playing in my head.” She sighed. “From my father. No matter what I accomplished, I never met his expectations.” She twisted her mouth. “When I made rank in the Terran Armed Forces, he said I hadn’t risen fast enough. When I got injured and received a medical discharge, he referred to it ‘washing out.’ Now, I’m a cyberoperative but can’t tell him because it’s covert, so he assumes I’m sitting on a disability pension doing nothing—although I’m sure he’d find fault. He’d expect me to be Cy-Ops director by now.”

  “Your father sounds like an ass.”

  She smiled. “Many people think so.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “She passed when I was a baby. She was a forensic anthropologist working in the Orion sector. She encountered a pathogen in bodily remains.” Amanda shook her head. “She died within weeks.”

  Sonny winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “I never got to know her.”

  “How does all this relate to us?”

  “You want to know everything, don’t you?”

  She was smart, determined, courageous, bold. And confident in most matters. But, yeah, he needed to understand why a cyborg, a woman with the balls to volunteer for a possible suicide mission would turn tail and run after a one-night stand. “Yes.”

  “I suppose I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “It’s nothing you did.”

  Twice, she’d said that, so of course, it was something he’d done. Sonny held his silence.

  “You—we were teasing…” She looked away and snorted. “This is stupid. I faced-off Kilead, and this I’m having trouble with?” Amanda squared her shoulders and expelled her breath. “After we had sex, you’d asked if I was married or partnered. I repeated what you had said, that you should have asked sooner. Then you said—and y
ou were joking—see, I know that, in here”—she tapped her head—“and you said, ‘You can do better.’ It’s what my father used to say to me. Still does when I hear from him.”

  And every time he’d told her what a woman should or shouldn’t be doing had probably fed those insecurities. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I realize that.” She lifted a shoulder. “By morning, I felt like a complete idiot. Embarrassed.”

  “Come here.” He tugged her against his chest. Folded his arms around her.

  She stiffened. “You feel sorry for me.”

  “No, I regret the time we wasted.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, placed it against his chest, and stared into her eyes. “Didn’t you say something about screwing?”

  “You said something about screwing.” She locked her arms around his neck. “You were a little jealous.”

  “Not a little. A lot. It’s still not safe for you—”

  She covered his mouth with her hand. “Don’t ruin the moment. If you expect to get laid, you’re going to have to let that go.”

  His already-hard cock twitched. “Am I going to get laid?”

  “We’re going to fuck our brains out.”

  His brains were already scrambled by her nearness; he didn’t see he had much to lose under the circumstances. He grinned and kissed her. He began with a lazy exploration, but slow didn’t last. Desire unleashed. Lips and tongues met in a surge of need. He grabbed her ass and hauled her against his erection.

  She worked loose the fastenings of his uniform shirt. “You have on too many clothes.”

  “Me?” His hands tangled in the robe covering her from neck to toe. But the thick fabric could not disguise the rounded, soft mounds underneath. He cupped a breast, rubbing his thumb over the nipple, turning it hard before tugging at the dress. “Take this off.”

  He stripped out of his clothing in record time while she fought her way out of the robe. “It’s like I’m wearing a damn tent,” she groused but sent the garment sailing away, and she stood there in underwear matching his: shorts and a tee, only her shirt had built-in support. And she looked way sexier, filling out the regulation skivvies with non-regulation cleavage.