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DEEDECK DESIGN
Chapter 22
The flame of his gaze and seduction of his rough velvet voice formed an image of him looming over her like a dark, naked god, sliding like fire inside her. Moira’s muscles liquefied, and she nearly slipped out of her seat. “Th-that’s not what I meant,” she whispered, trying hard not to fall into him like a comet hurtling into a dark sun. She wanted it, though, wanted the melting promise in his eyes, and couldn’t find the strength to pull away when he leaned closer.
She was already quivering with anticipation of his taste, breathing in his spicy scent in eager little gasps. She forgot why she shouldn’t want to do this, to devour him and burn with him until there was only ash. She forgot everything but the urgent need rushing through her and was reaching out for him, eyes trained on the delicious, firm line of his mouth, when he pulled back.
She made a sound of protest, nearly a whimper, then noticed Connie standing just outside the pilot chamber with his eyes trained on some fascinating spot over their heads. Moira slid further down in her seat and covered her eyes with the hand that she’d been about to wrap around Coltier’s neck. Humiliation burned in her face, making her skin feel tight and hot.
“Ma’am, Rufio has a list of hospitals requesting supplies. He needs to have a locale to give ‘em when he requests entry to the zone, if you could pick a place you’d like to go.”
“Right. Where’s the list?” she muttered, straightening without lifting her eyes from the floor.
Coltier rose and stalked to his employee, taking something from him. Connie immediately disappeared back into the pilot’s chamber, and Coltier approached Moira, holding a thin holo-pad into her line of vision. She took it with mumbled thanks and he moved away, prowling the passenger hold in silent, restless distraction. Her entire body was tuned to him, to his every powerful move and sound, making it impossible to focus on the task at hand.
“It’s not a good idea,” she said softly, staring without seeing at the jumble of words scrolling across the pad.
“I know,” he growled, still pacing like a feral cat around the hold.
When he said nothing else, she pressed her lips together in a grim line and forced herself to focus past a ridiculous surge of disappointment. It wasn’t a good idea to get involved, and his acknowledgement only proved her point. Physical attraction wasn’t enough, even an attraction this strong. And neither one of them wanted the complications that would accompany passion.
Studying the list, she scrolled through several locations, looking for a place with a viral diagnostic lab that would suit her purposes. Choosing one with a quick prayer that she wasn’t sending them into trouble, she rose to her feet and headed for the pilot’s chamber, annoyed to discover that her muscles still felt quivery from the effects of Coltier’s seduction. Seduction, hell. He’d hardly made an effort, and she’d practically fallen at his feet.
Leaning into the chamber, she handed Connie her choice with a renewed sense of embarrassment at his avoidance of her gaze.
“Thanks, Doc,” Rufio said cheerfully over his shoulder, blue eyes twinkling with eager energy. “Have you there in a flash.”
She made a wordless sound of acknowledgement and beat a hasty retreat, resuming her seat in the passenger hold with a sigh. Coltier was still pacing, and Moira closed her eyes, calculating dosages to keep her mind occupied. She’d never liked waiting, and waiting with a restless, dangerously attractive man that she couldn’t touch felt a bit like torture. The uncertainty of what they would encounter when they landed made the wait even more uncomfortable.
But when they landed, their entry into the hospital was shockingly quick and painless. Moira insisted that her companions put on EVA suits for protection then engaged her protective field before leading them into the hospital. It was a wasteland of death. She’d seen it before, expected it, but still felt a grim and helpless depression at the bodies lining the corridors on gurneys and the dull glaze of hopelessness in the eyes of the living. The medical staff barely acknowledged her when she announced that she was gathering data for the governor and needed access to their diagnostic lab.
Her depression gave way to a fierce anger as she marched along the deserted corridors toward the lab. Bante’s crisis should never have reached this level of desperation. Even without the DDEC’s direct involvement, these people’s containment measures should have been more effective. Horrifying negligence? Or sabotage?
Curtly, she sent her three companions through the decontamination chamber, instructing them to don the protective skin gloves and breathing filters on the other side. Then she entered the lab, aghast at its emptiness. It spoke volumes—these people had given up. When the men joined her, looking supremely uncomfortable in the gloves that covered every surface of their skin, she was doing a thorough assessment of the lab for contamination.
“This shit itches,” Rufio complained in a voice muffled by the filter, tugging at the thin material around his neck.
“Leave it alone,” she ordered, reinforcing her command with a stern look and slap at his hand when he didn’t quit. “These labs are free of virus right now, but until I know what we’re dealing with, you keep the glove on. Coltier, you’re a damned detective—I’m recruiting you. I’ve released that station over there. Get me everything you can on the etiology of this thing.”
“You mean history?”
“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently. “You two, we need to get this place set up. For our protection, none of us should leave these labs, so—”
“Base of ops. We’re on it,” Connie interrupted, pushing Rufio ahead of him.
Moira didn’t waste time wondering if he really understood what she needed. Sitting at a research station, she settled the optic interface on the bridge of her nose and began her search, murmuring verbal commands. In moments, she had what she’d been waiting to see, a three-dimensional visual of the virus and accompanying data.
“No, no,” she whispered as she studied it from every angle then stripped it apart with her heart pounding an anxious rhythm in her chest, breaking it down to its DNA and the resulting data from the research team’s work. “Creator have mercy.”
“What?” Coltier’s bark interrupted her horrified contemplation.
“Rickman was right. This virus was engineered.”
“By who?”
“How the hell should I know?” she snapped. “The asshole didn’t exactly sign his work. What have you found?”
“Where it started and how. The virus was carried in a protozoan, which is why they were thrown at first. But it mutated, started transmitting through direct contact. One of the techs suspected it’d go airborne next.”
“Protozoal vector,” she muttered with a grimace. Its creator hid the virus for a while, giving it time to spread. “Its mutation rate was precisely engineered. By this time, it is airborne. Patient zero?”
“Ah…some kid in the next city over.”
“Population?”
“Mid-range. Not a megaplex, but a big enough city to spread the thing.”
She sighed. “Controlled distribution. This outbreak was planned. But why?”
“Lots of speculation on that, including your name, Doc. You didn’t come up until after we left the transfer station, though.”
“Not coincidence—you know whoever’s after me started that rumor.”
“Bastard doesn’t want you to stop this virus.”
“Bastard can kiss my ass, because I am going to stop it,” she gritted between clenched teeth.
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “That’s my girl,” but she didn’t try to confirm it. She had more important things to do.
Hours passed, but Moira was barely aware of the time, focused on intervention protocols. She ignored her companions, waving away their attempts to get her to eat and drink with impatient snarls, only to sip and nibble what they left her without realizing it. Muttering about distribution statistics and morphology, she gnawed at the problem with single-minded ferocity.
“Moira, you need rest.”
“Go away, Coltier.”
He sighed. “Besh thinks he found Rutledge.”
“I don’t give a—wait a second.” She paused the program and flicked off the holo to frown at him with burning eyes. “Bante’s under com blackout. How’d you get through to Besh?”
“I’m just that good. If Besh is right, Rutledge is here.”
She blinked at him and rubbed her scratchy eyes. “What? Here on Bante?”
“Yeah. He’s got no proof, but he thinks Rutledge stole a transport and flew here. Transport was reported stolen and has a tracer that pinpoints it on Bante.”
“Why would he come to the middle of a deadly contagion?”
“We need to go find out.”
“Go, then. I’ve got work to do.”
“We’re not leaving you,” he growled with dark impatience. “We’ll wait until you’re ready. What’s your progress?”
“Finding a kill will take too long. I usually have a whole team helping me, and still it takes days to work up a control and eradication protocol. But the arrogant bastard who made this virus left a sleeper switch.”
He frowned at her. “A what?”
“A gene sequence that will make the virus go dormant and not replicate. I’m trying to figure out how to activate it. Activator program’s running, but no luck so far.”
“Will it run without you?” he asked, catching hold of her wrist when she began to turn back to the station.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “Yes, but it helps if I monitor and guide its progress.”
“You need a break, Moira.” His face was grim and implacable as he tugged on her wrist, drawing her to her feet.
She resisted his hold, glaring at him. “No, I don’t. Do you know how many people are dying right now?”
He boxed her in when she tried to slip back into her seat, hands gripping the counter on either side of her hips, big body an insurmountable barrier looming in front of her. “And if you make a mistake? How many people could you kill?”
She flinched, meeting his hard gaze with resentful reproach. “Low blow, Jax,” she whispered, and watched his expression soften.
“Sorry, honey. Only way I could get you to hear me.”
She blinked up at him, her thoughts scrambling. “Did you just call me honey?”
“Mm-hmm.” His dark eyes traveled over her face, mouth taking on a seductive curve as he eased closer, the heat of his body sinking into her and touching off a conflagration.
She inhaled sharply, stunned by her instant, inflamed response. She was going into meltdown, and he hadn’t even touched her. Before she could lose all mental function, she managed to whisper, “It’s still a bad idea.”
He didn’t pull back. If anything, the gleam in his eyes and sharp angles of his face took on an even wilder heat as he bent his head and purred, “I know,” against her lips.
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