Deadly Sight

“The neighbors will be watching,” she murmured.

“In that case …” Grayson bent down and swept his arms around her. He lifted her in his arms and strode toward the front door. But, oh, the price of it. Using techniques a trauma therapist had taught him, he blanked his mind completely. And then bit by bit, he let in the details of this one moment. The cool air. The autumn smell of burned leaves. The weight and softness of the woman in his arms. A hint of roses as she shifted slightly. The way his breathing deepened in response to her.

Laughing, she reached down to open the door for him. He added the sultry delight in her laughter to his inventory of sensations.

Carefully, carefully he reached past this moment to the next safest thing: his job. This was a cover. They had to establish themselves as a couple. Being absolutely certain to let no emotion creep into him, he paused in the doorway and leaned his head down to kiss her.

About the Author

CINDY DEES started flying airplanes while sitting in her dad’s lap at the age of three and got a pilot’s license before she got a driver’s license. At age fifteen, she dropped out of high school and left the horse farm in Michigan, where she grew up, to attend the University of Michigan. After earning a degree in Russian and East European studies, she joined the US Air Force and became the youngest female pilot in its history. She flew supersonic jets, VIP airlift and the C-5 Galaxy, the world’s largest airplane. During her military career, she traveled to forty countries on five continents, was detained by the KGB and East German secret police, got shot at, flew in the first Gulf War and amassed a lifetime’s worth of war stories.

Her hobbies include medieval reenacting, professional Middle Eastern dancing and Japanese gardening.

This RITA® Award-winning author’s first book was published in 2002 and since then she has published more than twenty-five bestselling and award-winning novels. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at www.cindydees.com.

Deadly Sight

Cindy Dees

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter 1

Grayson Pierce looked at his watch impatiently. The plane was late. Either that or his Rolex had suddenly lost its orderly Swiss mind. How he was supposed to help with this very, very off-book investigation, he had no idea. But his old fraternity brother from Stanford, Jeff Winston, had asked for help, and that was enough for him.

The way he heard it, Jeff had been doing the U.S. government massive favors left, right and center, and Uncle Sam owed Jeff one back. Gray frowned. What kind of debt merited pulling a senior field agent like him out of deep cover on no notice and sending him to West Virginia, of all places? What crisis of national security significance could be afoot in this bucolic setting?

Finally. The whine of a jet became audible in the distance. Gray picked out the white speck, which rapidly grew larger, descending on final approach into the Elkins-Randolph County Regional Airport. Jeff was sending some guy named Sam Jessup here to help with whatever was brewing around a local cult leader named Proctor.

The thrust reversers of a sleek Learjet bearing the Winston Enterprises logo screamed as the plane came to a stop at the far end of the runway, did a one-eighty, and taxied toward him. He was parked in a vintage 1972 Ford Bronco outside the gold, two-story box of a terminal, such as it was. Chicago O’Hare, this airport was not. He pulled up beside the low jet and hopped out as the hatch popped open. A pilot wearing a crisp uniform trotted down the steps.

A pair of high-heeled, black leather boots with chrome ankle chains and stiletto heels that looked like lethal weapons appeared on the top steps. Slim calves came into view. The shapely legs turned out to be a mile long and sheathed in leather that looked painted on. A black leather jacket with slashes of red leather under the arms emerged from the shadows. Good Lord, the jacket was unzipped down to … well, that was an impressive flash of cleavage. What did the woman have on under the jacket to cause that gravity-defying display? An urge to tug the zipper down and find out made his fingers itch.

A swirl of flaming red hair swished over her shoulder. It was the color of strawberries and oranges if they got together and made a baby. A slender, porcelain-pale neck came into view, and then lush lips painted the most improbable shade of scarlet he’d seen in a long time.

The asymmetric triangles of her black sunglasses wrapped around her head like something straight out of a science-fiction movie. He’d lay odds she had body piercings in places he did not want to know about, too.

Who the hell was she? Surely Jessup didn’t bring his sex-kitten girlfriend on whatever mission this was. Maybe she was some sort of contact who would take him to Jessup. Gray frowned as no one else was forthcoming from the jet. The goth chick was looking at him expectantly, so he stepped forward and held out his hand. “Welcome to West Virginia. I’m Grayson Pierce.”

She took his hand in the firm grip most American women used, and which still startled him. “Sammie Jo Jessup. Nice to meet you.”

“Sammie Jo—” Oh, dear God. No. “As in Sam Jessup?”

The woman’s lips curved into a dazzling smile that almost, but not quite, redeemed her extreme attire. “Let me guess. Jeff didn’t tell you I’m a woman. He thinks that’s hilarious to spring on people.”

“Right. Hilarious,” he replied dryly.

“So let’s blow this popsicle stand,” she declared, “and you can brief me in. Call me Sam if you like.”

He didn’t like. The name made her sound like a man. And despite her … avant-garde … fashion choices, she was anything but masculine under all that leather and chrome.

He slung her black duffel bag in the back of the Bronco, and with a word of thanks to the pilot, she climbed in next to him. Oddly, she smelled like roses. The old-fashioned kind with undertones of Earl Grey tea and cinnamon. A dim memory of his grandmother’s formal rose garden flashed to mind. Acres of manicured green lawns and white-linen tablecloths covered with Royal Albert china rolled through his mind’s eye unbidden. Bemused, he guided the Bronco out of the airport and onto an asphalt road that wound up into the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Although they weren’t blue at all. Fall was just starting to paint the rolling hillsides in splashes of gold and crimson, oranges and maroons that were rapidly overtaking the carpet of green.

“Wow. Pretty,” Sammie Jo commented at random.

He glanced over at her and was startled that she appeared to be studying him and not the scenery. It was hard to tell behind those dark sunglasses of hers. Had she just called him pretty? He chose to pretend she’d been referring to the scenery. “I’m told it’s spectacular when the colors peak around here.”

“Mmm. So why am I here?”

Direct, this woman. “I have no idea. Jeff Winston called me and said he needed my help figuring out what some local nut job is up to. Guy named Proctor. I assumed you would know what’s going on since you work for Jeff.”

“Nope. He didn’t tell me anything more than that. But Jeff never does anything randomly. He clearly wants you and me to have a look around the local area. Turn over a few rocks and see what we find.”

“That seems damned random of him.”

“Agreed.” She nodded. “There’s clearly something going on. He must want us to take an unbiased look at it.”

Frustration rattled through him. “Look. I have other responsibilities to get back to, and I don’t have time for chasing shadows and vague rumors.”

An eyebrow climbed above the upper rim of one tilting triangle of her sunglasses. “Like I do have time for games?” she demanded.

“Hey. He’s your boss. Take it up with Winston.”

They fell into silence and drove for some miles before he felt the least bit inclined to be civil again. Dammit, Jeff was his fraternity brother and had been a loyal friend through some rough times. He owed the guy at least a shot at making this investigation, or whatever it was, work.

Gray sighed and said, “Jeff rented us a motel room in a burg called Mapletop. It’s smack-dab in the middle of the National Radio Quiet Zone. Are you familiar with that?”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s an area encompassing 13,000 square miles and straddling the Virginia-West Virginia border. It was set aside in the 1950s to surround the world’s largest radio telescope, which is an incredibly sensitive instrument. Inside the Zone, only very limited radio emissions are allowed. There are no cell phones, no Wi-Fi and only a handful of low-power radio stations. All electronic emissions generated in this area have to be approved so they don’t interfere with the telescopes.”

She nodded as if she already knew all that.

“We’ll enter the NRQZ in a few miles, and your wireless devices will lose signal shortly thereafter. If you have any last-minute phone calls to make, email to check, or texts to send, now’s the time to do it.”

“No one to call,” she said grimly.

His finely honed intuition sensed a story, but he didn’t pry. She wasn’t here to overshare her personal life with him, and he didn’t want to know, anyway. He had a job to do—assuming he could figure out what the damned job was.

What had Jeff been thinking to send this woman, who was as clueless as him, out here? It wasn’t like she was going to blend in with the locals in the least. This region was about country music, log cabins and outdoor sports. Sammie Jo Jessup looked like a character from a science-fiction movie.

As they turned into the parking lot of the motel, his alien-wannabe companion broke the silence. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” she prodded. “Who are you?”

“I’m an old buddy of Jeff’s who owes the bastard a favor,” he retorted. “Why he chose to collect it like this is beyond me.”

He assumed she was looking at him. Her sunglasses were pointed at him, at least. “What kind of work do you do?” she asked.

Caution kicked in and he said carefully, “I work with computers.”

“Hmm. Why would Jeff bring you here, then, where you’re useless?”

He knew all too well the feeling of being useless. It had ripped out his soul, burned every last bit of the humanity out of him and left him the hull of a man he was today. But to be told he was useless by this impertinent female didn’t sit well with him.

Irritation flared in his gut. An errant urge to tell her the truth rose in the back of his throat. But the pain rose, too, and he wasn’t prepared to face the fire today. He pushed down the grief, pushed down the memories, pushed down any feeling at all.

He guided the Bronco into a parking spot in front of the two-bedroom motel bungalow Jeff had arranged for them. Gray’s manners were too deeply ingrained to ignore no matter how irritating this woman might be, so he went around the SUV to open her door for her. But of course, she’d already barged out of the car and stood beside it looking around.

“What?” she demanded as he frowned at her.

“I would’ve opened your door for you.”

She snorted. “I can get my own doors.”

“I’m sure you can. But that doesn’t mean I still shouldn’t open them for you.”

“Are you some kind of throwback to the olden days?”

He allowed himself a little smile. Wait till she got a load of how people lived in this region. The whole place was one giant throwback. “Something like that.”

He fetched her bag and headed for Home Sweet Home. The mint-green cinder-block structure had the metal roof so common in this region. Either that, or someone had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to paint rust stains on the thing. Metal apparently helped shield the minor electrical emissions of small household appliances from the nearby telescopes.

He hurried his steps to reach the door first and opened it for her with a flourish. He couldn’t actually see if she rolled her eyes at him, but he sensed that she did. He smirked at her back in satisfaction as he followed her inside.

“Wow. This is … rustic,” she declared.

He snorted. “This is as modern as it gets this far inside the NRQZ.”

His gaze strayed to her delicious tush, cupped in that naughty black leather as she closed the vinyl-lined curtains over both living-room windows. She headed for the kitchenette’s tiny window, and he enjoyed the view as she bent over the rim of the sink to yank the curtains closed over the small, high window there. The cabin’s interior went dim. But oddly, she didn’t remove her sunglasses. Hangover from partying too hard the night before? Or maybe something more mundane like a migraine?

“Better,” she announced. She turned back toward him but stopped abruptly as she caught sight of the pictures spread out across the counter. He’d forgotten those were there. She stared at the surveillance photographs closely. “Who’s this guy?”

“His name is Luke Zimmer. Jeff sent me those and the kid’s dossier yesterday morning.”

“He’s cute. You stalking him?”

She was clearly trying to get a rise out of him, therefore he refused to take the bait. He answered blandly, “Jeff hired young Luke a few months back to come here and have a look around. Kid has a history of some rather extreme political views and has been known to act upon them from time to time.”

“What constitutes extreme in your world? Which side of the political spectrum do you fall on?”

It went contrary to every bit of his training and years of field experience to tell a complete stranger any details of his personal life. He was all about living the cover story. He never revealed the real man inside, for down that path lay self-destruction. “Not pertinent to the investigation at hand,” he replied stiffly.

“Are you always this uptight?” she asked curiously.

“Uptight? Why … I … Not at all,” he spluttered. Lord, this woman threw him off balance.

She strolled right up to him in a sexy catwalk, invading his personal space. Ahh. Come-ons by hot chicks—now those he had down pat. His world righted itself and, as he regained his equilibrium, his right eyebrow went up in sardonic amusement. She had another think coming if she thought she was going to intimidate him. One nicely shaped, albeit black, fingernail ran down the front of his shirt. Damned if his pecs didn’t tense at her touch, though, in spite of his best effort not to react.

“You don’t look like the jeans-and-flannel-shirt type, Sparky,” she purred. “And those hiking boots look brand-spanking-new. They’re a dead giveaway that you’re a city slicker.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” he retorted. “You’ll fit in around here about like an alien from outer space.”

She sat down on the couch and crossed one long leg over the other in a blatantly sexy display. “But I’m not trying to fit in. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Neither do I,” he snapped. “Jeff Winston asked for my help and, for some reason that completely escapes me, saw fit to send me you.”

He packed all the derision he could muster into that last word. Man, this woman got under his skin. Nobody ever got this big a rise out of him this fast. And that was bad. For him, feelings were dangerous things. Lethal even. If he felt too much he might lose control, and then he might let go of his will to live. He hadn’t fought to hang on this long only to let go now.

He commented more reasonably, “I have no idea whatsoever what I’m supposed to do with you.”

“I could make a few suggestions.” Her lips curved into a sinful smile. “You look like you could stand to learn a thing or two from me.”

An unwilling grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He was confident enough in his skills in that department that he definitely didn’t need to rise to that jab. But she was tempting.

“Tell me about you,” he said in as businesslike a tone as he could manage.

“I work for Winston Enterprises. I’m an operations controller and analyst in the Winston Operations Center. Are you familiar with it?”

He nodded. He’d visited the high-tech, information-gathering hub once and been stunned. Most governments didn’t have anything better. Winston Enterprises, which was a sprawling international conglomerate of dozens of companies, practically had its own private intelligence agency.

“I’ve worked with Jeff for five years,” she continued. “Two years ago, I volunteered for the HIVE Project. Are you familiar with that?”

“Nope. Never heard of it.”

“That explains a lot,” she replied cryptically.

“What is it?”

“Hang on a sec,” she muttered as she fished in her jacket pocket and emerged with a cell phone. “I’ve got to talk to Jeff.”

“Your phone won’t work. No cell phone towers inside the NRQZ. And if you turn it on, the radio emissions police may show up and bust you.”

She swore colorfully as she stuffed the device back in her pocket. “Have you got a string and some tin cans for me to make a call with?”

“Landline’s over there on the wall. They bury the phone cables so they don’t screw with the telescopes.”

She marched over to the ancient rotary phone and glared at it. “How … quaint.” She dialed number by slowly rotating number.

“Hi, it’s Sam. Is the boss around?” There was a brief pause. “Hey, Jeff. What am I authorized to tell your buddy Grayson about HIVE?” She listened for a moment, and if he wasn’t mistaken, surprise crossed her face. But he couldn’t be sure. He really wished she’d take those shades off. It was unsettling not being able to read her expressions at all. Was this HIVE thing the reason he’d been dragged into the middle of nowhere and thrust into the company of this annoying woman?

She hung up the receiver. “Apparently, Jeff trusts you a freaking lot because I’m green-lighted to tell you all.”

An intimate undertone slid into his voice. “Are you, now?”

She rolled her eyes. “About HIVE. Tell all about HIVE.” She was cute when she was discomfited. Speaking hastily to cover her obvious discomfort, she said, “So. Does the local antitechnology monitoring mean this shack isn’t under any kind of electronic surveillance?”

“As far as I can tell. The locals would pick up the transmission from a bug or a parabolic microphone in a heartbeat. A few years back, not far from here, a heating pad in a doghouse had a short circuit in it too small for the dog to feel, but it still caused interference with the telescope.”

“Cool.” She sank down on the sofa facing him and studied her fingernails as if she’d rather avoid the conversation to come.

“So, what’s HIVE?” he prompted.

“Human Improvement Via Engineering. The name’s actually a joke. The project’s head scientist hates the moniker. Real name’s Code X.”

“Very spooky,” he murmured. Human improvement? What on earth did that mean? A buzz of consternation vibrated in his gut at the possibilities. He asked much more blandly than he felt, “What kind of engineering?”

“Give the city slicker points for asking the right question.”

She stretched a languid arm across the back of the sofa and drummed a complicated rhythm with her fingers on it. More delaying body language. She really didn’t want to talk about this HIVE thing. He was intrigued at the aggressive overall body posture. It made her look like some sort of predatory animal at rest, although which kind, he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

She continued, “A team of scientists who work for Jeff have been experimenting with a combination of stem-cell therapies and genetic engineering to enhance certain characteristics in test subjects.”

“What kinds of characteristics?” he asked.

“When’s the last time you saw Jeff? Like in the flesh?”

He was thrown by the abrupt shift of topic. “About two years ago. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Let’s just say he has changed a bit since you last saw him.”

“What the hell does that mean?” he demanded, alarmed. “You’re using human test subjects? Has Jeff done this experimenting on himself?”

She grinned. “Let’s just say he’s put on a little, umm, muscle mass. The guy can pick up a Jeep and throw it if he wants to. Literally.”

Gray’s mind went blank. He couldn’t believe the implications of what she was saying. His old friend had used far-out, experimental science to make a … a … superhero of himself? “Has he become some sort of freak?”

The woman flinched at the word. “Yeah,” she said grimly. “A freak.”

He asked cautiously, “And are you also one of these test subjects?” She didn’t look like she could pick up a Jeep, let alone throw it.

“Yes,” she answered flatly. “I’m a freak, too.”

“You throw Jeeps?”

“No. My special abilities are somewhat different than Jeff’s.”

“Indeed? Do tell.”

That was definitely a wince tightening her facial features. What in the hell was going on with her?

Chapter 2

Sam warily eyed the dark-haired man lounging in the chair across from her. She had to admit, he was a hunk. Although that wasn’t exactly the right word for him. He looked … patrician. Not a word she used frequently, or that frankly ever came to mind. But it fit him. His features were classically handsome. Heck, flat-out well-bred.

“Do people actually call you Grayson?” she asked abruptly.

He looked irritated at the change of topic. Must be the intensely focused type. In her experience, such men made great lovers if they could get over their other hang-ups. But this guy seemed wired pretty tight. Probably would be as boring as they came in bed.

“My friends call me Gray. Why?”

She snorted. “The name suits you.”

A flash of heat flared in his gray-green gaze. Hmm. Maybe not so boring in bed, after all. Were he not Jeff’s friend, she might be tempted to find out for sure.

“What’s your super-ability, then?” he demanded.

She never just up and told people about herself like this. But Jeff had been clear. She was to brief in Grayson Pierce fully on Code X. And orders were orders. Taking a deep breath, she removed her sunglasses.

He stared like everyone did at her eyes. No human had eyes that color. At least no normal human did. She knew good and well that she looked like an alien with her eyes uncovered like this.

He mumbled, “Okay, so your eyes are a unique shade of … of gold. And it’s very striking, by the way. Surely that’s not why Jeff sent you here.”

Striking. What a polite word for weird. Her eyes were brilliant, freaking yellow. She responded drily, “I imagine he sent me here because I can read a newspaper from a hundred feet away.”

“That’s it! An eagle,” he exclaimed.

“Excuse me?” That was not the usual reaction she got from people when they saw her real eye color or first heard about her eyesight. Usually they called her a damned liar and demanded a demonstration.

“You reminded me of a predator earlier, but I couldn’t figure out which kind. It’s a bird of prey. A powerful one like an eagle.”

“My eyesight is better than an eagle’s,” she responded, more than a little flummoxed. “They rely on spotting movement, whereas my superior human brain can better process and analyze acuity-based input.” She broke off before she could descend into even greater geekdom. She wasn’t about to give this guy the slightest advantage over her if she could avoid it.