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DEEDECK DESIGN
Chapter 11
Moira thought she might burst into flame and end up in a pile of ash on the floor. Wished for it, actually. Then she wouldn’t have to face the knowledge in his dark, dangerous eyes. She thought about explaining what had happened, so he’d stop thinking that she’d knowingly done unethical things with his clone. But then she’d have to explain why his body had had that reaction, to explain that she’d been having lustful thoughts while staring at his reflection. Nope. Not going there.
Bad enough that her skin still prickled with gooseflesh from his touch, from the assertive, masculine glide of his fingers and the predatory heat in his dark eyes. Standing that close to him, she’d felt the power and potential radiating out of his big form like heat waves, pressing against her in a looming threat—or a promise, depending on her level of courage. Apparently, she had none.
Moira passed a hand over her forehead to hide her expression and changed the subject with grim determination. “So now that I’m out of your clone, I need to be on my way to the zone. Their situation is growing more desperate and, quite frankly, this place is bad for my health.”
He made a guttural sound in his throat that could have been disgusted agreement or derision and rose to his feet. She watched him in her peripheral vision, still too disconcerted to look at him directly. He was moving slow, but with a smooth, masculine grace that she admired, obviously much more comfortable in that big body than she’d been. She was startled by a flash of heat through her center and fixed her attention on her feet with a frown.
“Somebody’s got a grudge on you, that’s sure. Getting you out of here is priority one, Doc. Kreel will keep digging here, and the boys and I’ll come with you, cover that bulls-eye you’ve got on your pretty skin. See what we can find at the sick site to explain some of this.”
Her stomach did a little dip at his pretty skin comment, but she ignored it, lifting her head as her frown deepened. “The DDEC won’t agree to you accompanying me into the zone. They didn’t even want you knowing basic information about my work.”
He gave her a hard look from those dark eyes as he began to pace in a slow circle to work the transfer weakness from his muscles. Not that he looked weak in the least—she had to consciously keep her eyes from traveling over his prowling form with feminine appreciation. “They’ll have to get over it, Moira. There’ve been two attempts on your life and no reason to think whoever it is won’t follow you and try again.”
He spun abruptly and stalked to the door control, opening it to admit Besh, Connie, and Kreel. “Marching orders, boys,” he said as he moved back into the room.
“Yes, sir,” the three said almost in synch.
Bemused, Moira watched the three watch their boss with a kind of alert focus she’d only seen in the military, or on the faces of devoted canines waiting to fetch the ball. Coltier had that kind of commanding presence, filling the room with the force of his will and assertive confidence. Alpha male to the nth degree.
“Kreel, you’ve got the station,” he said as he paced in front of them. “Take the doc’s TSU apart, find out what was done and who could’ve done it. Same goes for the bot—you don’t have physicals, but the maintenance system should have program traces.”
“Yes, sir. If it was done by the same person, I should be able to narrow down the list of suspects.”
“Good. I’d like to interview the personnel myself, but I’ll be going with the doc. I’ll get somebody in here to help you with that.”
“Thank you. Tech is more my thing, not interrogation.”
Coltier nodded in clear dismissal. “Keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir,” Kreel responded, turning on his heel and lurching out the door with his long-legged stride.
Coltier turned to his other employees. “Besh, check out the doc’s transportation. DeeDeck has had a space pod waiting on her in public docking. Scan it for tampering and give the pilots a go over.”
Besh nodded and left the room.
“Connie, find me some damn food. And good coffee, for the Void’s sake. Then patrol the route to the DeeDeck pod. Report anything unusual.”
“Yes, sir,” Connie said with a quick glance at Moira, before he spun and stalked out the door.
Coltier turned, giving her the same look of command that he’d used on his people. “Time to call home and let ‘em know you’re getting company, Doc.”
She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes on him. “Are you always this aggressive?”
“Yup,” he responded without shame, aiming a finger at the com with a pointed look as he headed for the changing alcove. “Be there in a sec. I’ve gotta burn off the lining of my mouth.”
She bit the inside of her lip to keep from smirking and muttered, “Sorry about the coffee.”
He sent her a ghost of a smile over his shoulder, the knowing slant of his dark eyes kicking her heart into a higher gear and reminding her of the moment when she’d stood in front of the mirror inside his half-dressed body. She looked down to hide the heat she felt coloring her cheekbones and moved toward the com. He didn’t bother to close the alcove, and Moira kept her eyes trained on the com to avoid intimate glimpses of his grooming. They had quite enough intimacy between them as it was.
She put in the contact request for her supervisor and waited. Delone Cranz answered quickly, his sharp face filled with angles of wariness.
“Moira, are you all right?”
“So far,” she said dryly, feeling a disturbing amount of cynicism as she looked at him. He’d been informed of the latest attempt on her life and her successful transfer, but hadn’t bothered to contact her directly to ask after her health. Now he asks, she thought with an inner snort of disgust. “But Mr. Coltier feels that more attacks will be forthcoming, and has requested to accompany me to the zone along with two bodyguards.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Delone said with a stubborn shake of his head. “We monitor all traffic in and out of the zone very carefully, and once you reach your destination, you will be safe enough. I can’t authorize bodyguards to come in—”
“Dr. Bannen misspoke,” Coltier said over her shoulder, and Moira jumped, shooting him a startled glance. How had he come up behind her without her knowing it? “I didn’t request anything. We’re coming with her. Her life may not be a priority for you, but I haven’t let one of my clients die yet.”
“Mr. Coltier,” Delone began in that severe tone that said he wasn’t budging, “I appreciate all you’ve done for—”
“Cut the crap. You’ve been stonewalling me from the beginning, and I’m starting to get pissed off about it,” Coltier said in a genial voice underlined by menace. Moira edged away enough to keep a wary eye on him. And to get out of his overwhelming personal space. “So far I’ve kept this investigation low key, but that can change. Unless you want the authorities and the media breathing down your neck, I suggest you start cooperating.”
Delone’s blade of a face looked pinched and grim in a way that Moira had never seen. “I can’t make that decision on my own.”
“So talk to your boss. Get back to me when you’ve got authorization.” Coltier reached out and terminated the connection.
Moira folded her arms and studied the dark screen thoughtfully. “I wonder if you just got me fired.”
“Better fired than dead.”
She tipped her head in acknowledgement and glanced at him. He had his hands in his pants pockets and was watching her with an unreadable expression. She noticed that his jaw was smooth again, the stubble gone, and tightened her hands into fists to dispel the sudden itch-to-touch in her fingertips.
“Now what?” she asked in a low voice, admitting to herself that the question had several different levels where this man was concerned.
“Now we eat. Connie’ll bring enough food for you, too. Let’s go find a place to park it and scarf.”
She raised an eyebrow at him as he stepped past her. “I don’t scarf.”
He flashed that disconcerting grin at her, even more potent close up and in person. Her breath stuttered uncomfortably in her chest.
“No offense. I’m sure you’re a dainty eater.” He made that sound like an insult, and she frowned at his back as she followed him out the door.
“Do you usually have a public relations person talk to your clients?”
He made a low sound she identified as a quiet chuckle. “Don’t like my bedside manner, Doc?”
“It could use some work,” she said wryly, and was rewarded with another chuckle, the sound bringing to mind the rumble of a big cat. The kind that was too dangerous to pet. What worried her most was that she wanted to pet him anyway.
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