“What, a quest for which no one will fight me?” Armando asked sardonically.
His mask of bored attentiveness was back in place. Helen hid her smirk. That earlier outburst, though, had already betrayed him. Armando was more eager than he let on. His explanation about the pain disappearing made her question her own reaction to “crashing” into the remote viewer. She’d like to ask him later if he’d felt the odd sensation when it’d happened. Another question occurred. How were Armando’s bouts with pain connected to her own unique reaction? Using the chemical imbalance theory, she’d been sexually deprived the last few years, and her body overcompensated, so what was Armando’s “chemical” problem?
When no one answered him, Armando continued, in a faux accent, “No send the Asian to no exotic places? No illusion with simulation? No rescuing the maiden in a locked box? I get...a prison ward?”
“It’s not just any prison ward. A section of Stratter’s Pointe is for political prisoners, which your background would suit nicely. If they check, they’ll see that you’re connected to the Triads. The other section of Stratter’s is actually something you’ll find interesting.” Jed pushed a file toward his direction. “I was once there, a long time ago, and I met a few people who helped give me some direction. Read up on this place and we’ll talk about your next assignment.”
Smooth. So smooth. Helen knew exactly what he was doing. It was NOPAIN at its best, manipulation without force. She recalled Jed saying something about him convalescing at that place, but the old photograph on the wall showed him so young. What could he have been recovering from at that age? Stratter’s Pointe didn’t look like a hospital, although it felt like a medical place in that new wing. Another reason to get to talk to Armando privately. She wanted to look at that file sitting in front of him.
“Political prisoners—like someone who was a captured operative?” Helen asked. She wanted to draw T’s attention to it. There was so much about this man she didn’t know and she didn’t think he was going to volunteer more information than necessary. She wanted more from him. “What did you do when you were there?”
There was one of those pauses before he answered. She could feel him withdrawing into himself. He was a hard man to read, with thatimpassive expression honed, no doubt, from years of sidestepping and evading direct questions.
“Stratter’s Pointe was actually my first U.S. home,” Jed finally said. “I was at a military hospital healing from some wounds before that and was brought to Stratter’s for the rest of my therapy. It was a state medical facility for those injured during active duty who needed a place to disappear to after emergency hospitalization. It still is, but I suppose it has expanded its use. Since Armando has been using the SYMBIOS 2 serum, he’s somewhat familiar with the drug. I’m suspecting they’re experimenting with similar serums with their remote viewers, and putting our own man inside can find out more.” He turned, the intensity in those silver eyes pinning. “You and Armando have bouts of pain. This man too. I think it’s all connected. Once we figure out why, we can understand more about these ‘psychic crashes’, as Armando called them.”
It was disconcerting how he echoed her own thoughts. Every time she tried to corner him, get him defensive, he’d surprise her by giving in to her. She really hated that.
“Then why not send me in there?” Helen asked, knowing the answer, but she was spoiling for a fight. “What will I be doing?”
The way he kept looking at her made her feel like one of those caught butterflies about to be put in a relaxing jar. Couldn’t fly away. Going to be pinned. Her heart was thudding even though she knew nothing was showing on her face. At least, she hoped not.
“You’re coming with me to the summit, of course, supersoldier-spy. But only if you take the mandatory rest after an RV session. That means no strenuous activity, Hell, for the next two days while prep work’s being done. Go home.”
Those were fighting words. If she weren’t feeling ridiculously pleased with having one-upped him by attending the debriefing, she’d have blown a gasket. But he’d given her some answers, even handed her the reins for a little while, and dammit, she was actually beginning to get why he was acting this way.
It was Jed McNeil’s way of saying he was sorry for what he did last night.
“Okay. But I think I should be the one to retrieve the Stealth parts, boys. Pakistan and Kurds? I bet they’re into female commandos.”
Quiet chuckles rumbled around the table. She’d surprised all the men with her apparent meekness. After all, they all had big assignments, and she was given nothing. She batted her eyes innocently. She doubted they were buying her act.
“Prepare for the Summit in Skopje with Number Eight. Something’s going down there, and of course, I’d want a well-rested supersoldier-spy there with me as my companion.”
Did every woman react to him like she did? Because that sounded very sexy to her ears. And she wasn’t goingoffthe damn serum yet, so why was she suddenly turned on at the thought of being with him as a stupid companion?
Chapter Seventeen
Lake Matka, Macedonia
Jed hadn’t kept in touch, wanting to give Elena space, while he looked over the last-minute details of the trip to Macedonia. He’d told Dr. Kirkland to hold the brainwave experiments for the next few days.
He already knew she’d reported another migraine two days ago, after she went home. Dr. Kirkland had talked to her via videophone. She didn’t want any painkillers. He didn’t blame her; he wouldn’t want any more drugs in his system either. Even while he made several phone calls, his mind had been on her, wondering whether she was truly resting, or not. He knew Flyboy had asked her out to dinner. Jed had had to fly ahead to Europe and didn’t know whether she’d accepted the date.
Why would it bother him if she did? From watching their interactions—with their in-jokes and flirtations—Jed had an idea how well the two of them got along. It was only logical; Flyboy was closer to Helen’s age than he was, and no doubt, more fun to be around.
He impatiently waved at nothing in particular. He couldn’t let his mind wander away every time something reminded him of her. She would be here soon enough. By his side. Where she belonged.
That last sentence slithered into Jed’s consciousness and sat there a half-second, like a deadly snake watching its prey before it struck.Where she belonged.It was a clichéd statement, one that came naturally with the claim before it. It was something he didn’t think he’d ever uttered, even to himself. The shock of it made him pause in the middle of tying the shoelaces on his hiking boots.
He had practically grown up alone. Having someone by his side had never been an option, not even when he’d found his daughter and brought her into his life. He protected those he loved and cared for with the knowledge that distance—physical and emotional—was the best policy.
What he was, what he did for a living, wasn’t exactly conducive to open relationships. His daughter was the only person who had the innate ability to understand this, who had given him what he asked for and no more. He hadn’t hidden what he was ever since she was old enough to ask questions. Grace was different, anyhow. Running around with her mother for a couple years had robbed her of any sweet innocence. By the time they’d met, his little girl had already developed an instinct honed from having spent too much time around danger and dangerous people. He’d recognized it immediately because he still remembered what it was like growing up in Dublin.
He finished tying the laces and straightened up. Through the years, emotional distance had cost him relationships, some of which he regretted ending. But one couldn’t take a life one night and talk about normal things the next. Unlike his daughter, much as his companions knew this as part of his job, in the end, they were unable to live with it. He’d accepted it. He wasn’t in a position to change, not without causing major havoc. A part of him also acknowledged that as an excuse.
And here he was, wanting a woman by his side, during a mission that was usually a one-man operation. Where was the total focus, the absolute separation from all things emotional? Intimate words like “where she belonged” didn’t exist at a time like this.
“Elena Ekaterina Rostova,” he rolled her name—the one he preferred—off his tongue softly, “you’ve invaded my waking life too, it seems.”
