"Because if a damned priest won't care, then who the fuck will?" She quoted his words back to him, but her tongue stumbled over the profanity.
Sin laughed and nodded. "Yeah, Princess. Let's make a deal, just between you and me, ok? You drop this prim and proper thing for a bit, let me know what I need to do my job, and I'll do my damnedest to take care of you."
She nodded, daring to smile at him. The crinkles around her eyes were now something he enjoyed seeing. "When I'm connected to the network, I can access the web. That's how I knew about your assignment. We're trained to be observant, but they refuse to give us any knowledge about the outside world. If we show too much initiative, they reprogram us."
"Like a computer?" he gasped.
"Exactly. We're an investment, Sin."
He smiled. She'd finally given up on formality. "Does this mean you'll tell me your name?"
"It's just the serial number."
For a split second, he froze, staring at her in shock. This girl didn't have a name? There was no way she could bepamperedif she didn't even have the basic human right of a name! How had he missed this?
All he could do now was try to make up for it. Placing his hand on the back of her head, he ran it gently down the cloth, not even flinching from the feel of the ports along her back. Those soulful eyes of hers didn't even look sad about it, but he still wanted to make it better.
"Ingénue R1554-9370S-02K16? Well, first time I saw that, I thought it said Ingénue Rissa Petos. You know, in the way people often replace letters with numbers? Like that. So how about I use that for your name?"
"Rissa?"
He shrugged. "I mean, it's a little easier than saying Ingénue all the time. And it doesn't sound as snide as 'Princess.'"
Her hand lifted to her mouth, perfectly manicured fingernails peeking from the overly long sleeves. She nodded. "I've never had a name."
"Well, now you do. You're Rissa, and for the next bit, you're my angel."
"Your angel?"
Sin chuckled. "That's what we call the people we're assigned to, Rissa. We're the guardians; they're the angels. You're my only assignment for the next month, at least." He rubbed her back gently. "And my friends just call me Sin."
She laughed at that, her delicate voice like chimes in his ears. "Does this mean I'm your friend?"
"I'd like to think so." He turned his head at the sound of the train slowing. "This stop is ours. We'll get off, catch the next eastbound train, then return you to your prison."
"Sin?"
"Yeah, hun?"
Rissa stood, knowing the train was almost at the station. "I know how to make a better Stabiltrol. That's why Pharmacon is after us. Someone's using simple questions to cover the illegal transport of data in our heads, and it looks a lot like Stabiltrol. They're trying to get the chemical patented, but they have no intention of producing it. There's no profit in curing cybernetic rejection."
He whistled softly and moved to her side, his eyes straight ahead as the train moved into the station. "Yep. I knew this assignment was going to be fun. Walking brains."
Chapter Thirteen
Why had she decided to trust him? She asked herself that question for the millionth time. Instead of researching, as she'd intended, she kept thinking about her new handler. From the masculine sound of his voice—so different from the light and cultured tones used by employees of OutLink—to the size of his shoulders, everything about the priest distracted her. Especially his face.
Rissa slowed her heart again before it rose above acceptable levels. His face was so different from the men she'd seen before. Most of them were round and doughy, with thick lids and thin lips. Sin was made of hard angles and rough edges, except his mouth. That was thick and full, the corners designed to turn up instead of down. He looked like one of those people featured on the billboards, the ones used to advertise anything from perfumes to clothing.
She wondered if his hands were callused. She'd read about such things, but had never seen it before. The skin thickened from physical use to protect itself, making a form of armor, often encouraged through repetition. He wore gloves when he was with her, but did he always? Did the gloves prevent his guns from causing calluses?
She closed her eyes again and tried to relax, the monitors beeping softly in the background. She was supposed to be sleeping, but her thoughts refused to stop. If she didn't control her body, her heart rate climbed, her stomach clenched, and her face wanted to smile. She couldn't allow that to happen, buther body was trying to override her mental commands. When she researched the symptoms, she got answers ranging from allergies to cancer, but nothing explained the strange feeling she was experiencing. It was irrational, illogical, and dangerous.
Just like her decision to trust him.
Maybe she'd given up all hope? Perhaps she secretly wanted to be wiped again, to have nothing to worry about and even less to desire? She didn't know anything anymore—except that she was excited for her next assignment because it meant another chance to see him. With her mental fingers in the web, she began looking for more information on her priest.
It wasn't hard to find. At least three different places were set up to list his accomplishments, most of them frequented by women discussing his looks. Evidently, Rissa wasn't the only woman to like his appearance. She scanned the comments and had to slow her heart again. They spoke of ripping off his armor—something the Ingénue thought he wouldn't appreciate, not with its functionality to protect him—and placing their mouths across his body. They also lamented his vow of celibacy, some wondering if it made him even more appealing.
