"Then you don't talk about my mind," she snapped back, lifting her chin.
"Honey, my God and your mind aren't even on the same plane."
"To you."
"Yeah. You trying to say your mind is as good as God?" He held up his hand, one finger pointed at her. "Watch how you answer that, you pampered little bitch."
Her eyes narrowed and she took a long, deep breath. "If you don't want to hear the answer, don't ask an Ingénue the question."
"Point made."
"About time."
He hated how she had to have the last word. He hated it more that she thought her silicone brain was anywhere near as goodas his God. If he thought about it, he also hated to admit his God wasn't hers. He hated it the most that this time she might be right.
"So, you want to tell me what you do believe in?" he asked, trying to find a place to compromise.
"No."
"I'm trying, Princess."
She chuckled ironically. "Yes, Legate. You're trying to show me how inferior I am to a true human. I get it."
"So you don't consider yourself a true human?" he asked, shocked.
"Youdon't consider me one," she corrected. "Not really sure anyone does."
"Ingénue, that's not true."
Her striking eyes jumped to his face. "Name one person who thinks I'm as good as a regular person," she dared him.
"I think you could be," he said. "Try to be a bit more friendly and a bit less pompous, and I'd say you were. God forgives us for mistakes we've made, including enhancements."
"And you'd know." She flicked two fingers on her hand, dismissing his remarks. "You might try listening to your own advice, Legate."
"Yeah. Let's just get your client the data."
He gave up. No matter how hard he tried, she refused to make any attempt to be friendly. And if she was going to be like this, he couldn't trust her to take the Praetor's question seriously. Maybe Benedict wanted an answer, but if God intended for him to have it, He wouldn't keep throwing up roadblocks every time Sin even thought about asking.
And that was exactly what this woman was. One big roadblock after another, all covered in layers of OutLink-blue cloth. The only bright spot in this assignment was that she didwhat he asked of her to protect herself. She didn't do much more, but his only job was to keep her safe.
But that was the first day he heard her scream.
Asked to not bring his weapons into the room once again, he waited with his back resting against the wall. She'd been sheltered in the transfer room for well over half an hour, but that wasn't uncommon—and then he heard her voice. It was a sound like the one men made before they died, short, but ripped from her lungs.
Fuck the guns. Fuck their magnetically sensitive equipment. He wrenched open the door, and saw her directly before him, lying crumpled on the ground. A man knelt over her.
"What the fuck?" he snapped.
The man pulled the cable from her spine and stepped away, looking at Sinclair as if he was a moron. "She fainted, I think. It was a large file."
Sin's feet never slowed until he knelt at her side. Her exposed body lay sprawled across a cushion, the blue robe open at the back but still covering her face. Metal circles covered her, one near her overly visible ribs and at least three along her spine. Those were her ports. He caught sight of another at the base of her neck, just beneath the blue cloth.
Carefully, he pulled at the sides of her robe, buttoning it closed. "Ingénue?" he asked.
With a moan, she came awake, pulling at the hood to make sure her face was covered. "I need a moment," she said softly. "It was a large file."
Sin looked up at the executive, who smiled at having been proven right.
