Page 10 of Duty Compromised
“Fine, fine.” She slid off the counter, smoothing her skirt with the efficiency of someone who had practiced in front of a mirror. “But this conversation isn’t over. Three years I’ve known you, and this is the first time I’ve seen you react like this. It’s like watching a nature documentary: ‘Observe the elusive scientist encountering a male of the species. Note the immediate loss of basic motor function.’”
I followed her out of the bathroom, trying to ignore the uncomfortable truth in her words. Darcy headed back toward the lab, leaving me alone in the hallway with my churning thoughts. I stood there for a moment, taking deep breaths, trying to center myself the way I did before important presentations.
I headed down the hall to Alex’s office, each step helping me shift from embarrassment to irritation. My mind was already working through the problem with the clarity that came when I could focus on facts instead of feelings.
Why was Ty here? We didn’t need a bodyguard. The Cascade Protocol was with the FBI, locked away in whatever classified facility they used for dangerous technology. The threat was over, had been over for six months. Agent Morrison had assured us repeatedly, in that condescending way of his, that everything was under control. This whole thing was unnecessary.
And worse, disruptive. We were doing important research in here. The new stabilization algorithm I’d been working on for three months was finally showing promise. Having some security specialist wandering around, disturbing our work, asking questions about classified research he wouldn’t understand, touching equipment with those large hands… His very presence would throw off our carefully controlled environment.
I was going to put a stop to this right now. Alex would understand. He knew how important our work was.
I pushed open his door with more force than necessary, the wood banging against the wall stop with a crack that probably left a mark. Alex looked up from his computer, his expression patient in that particular way that meant he’d been expecting me to storm in. He’d probably heard my footsteps from halfway down the hall—grace had never been one of my attributes.
Without preamble, I walked straight up to his desk, my hands clenched at my sides to keep them from gesticulating wildly the way they did when I was upset.
“Alex, why is Ty Hughes here? We do not need a bodyguard, especially one like him.”
Alex’s fingers stilled on his keyboard, and he leaned back in his expensive ergonomic chair. “Charlotte?—”
“He’s going to be a complete disruption,” I continued, the words pouring out like water through a broken dam. “You know how sensitive our current trials are. The field generators require precise calibration. We can’t have some…some bull in a china shop stomping around the lab, getting in everyone’s way, probably touching things he shouldn’t touch, asking questions out of pure curiosity.”
“Charlotte. Wait.” Alex held out a hand.
I didn’t want to wait. If I waited, I would cave. “He’s going to be more trouble than he is help. I can already tell. Someone like him?—”
“Charlotte, you don’t have all the data.” Alex grimaced. “The FBI feels additional security is warranted.”
“That’s ridiculous.” My hands moved almost of their own accord, cutting through the air with sharp gestures, almost dropping my tablet in the process. “Agent Morrison told us six months ago that everything was handled. His exact words were threat neutralized. The Cascade Protocol is their problem now, not ours. We did our part. We identified the vulnerability, we turned over all our research, we cooperated fully.”
Recognizing my hands were out of control, I crossed my arms over my chest and tucked my hands in my armpits. Another awkward moment with my tablet in my hand. “I don’t want a bodyguard around, Alex. I’m being completely unreasonable about this and I know it, but I don’t care. We don’t need someone like him here.”
The thought of Ty Hughes being here for weeks, watching everything with those observant brown eyes, being so present, so impossibly distracting… It was too much.
How was I supposed to focus on field equations when somewhere in the building was a man who could scramble my entire operating system?
“I understand your concerns,” Alex said carefully, his fingers steepled in that way he did when delivering news he knew I wouldn’t like. “But there’s been a development. Agent Mercer from the FBI will be calling in a few minutes with more details. Perhaps you should hear what he has to say before making any decisions.”
“I don’t need to hear anything. This is unnecessary and?—”
“Actually, Doc, I think you might want to hear this one.”
The voice came from behind me, deep and amused, with a slight drawl I hadn’t noticed before. Every muscle in my body went rigid. I spun around so fast I nearly lost my balance, my lab coat flaring out dramatically like I was in some low-budget action movie.
Ty Hughes was rising from a chair in the far corner of the room, the corner hidden by the door when it opened. The leather creaked softly as he stood, unfolding his frame with that same easy grace I’d noticed in the reception area.
He’d been there the whole time. Sitting in that chair, probably with his ankle crossed over his knee in that casually confident way men like him always sat, listening to every single word I’d said. Including the part about him being a bull in a china shop. Including the part about him stomping around. Including the part about me being unreasonable.
My face burned with embarrassment. Again. At this rate, I was going to need to develop some kind of cooling system for my cheeks, maybe something involving liquid nitrogen and a small pump system.
He walked toward us in that controlled manner that seemed to be his default setting, hands sliding into his pockets in a gesture that was probably meant to be nonthreatening but somehow just emphasized how his shoulders moved when he walked. His boots made soft sounds against Alex’s expensive rug.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, stopping a few feet away, close enough that I caught his scent—something clean and woodsy, like cedar and soap and maybe a hint of gun oil. “I promise not to stomp too much. These are new boots. Wouldn’t want to scuff them up in your china shop.”
The way he said it, turning my insult into something almost charming, with just enough self-deprecation to take the sting out of my embarrassment, made everything worse.
Because despite my irritation and mortification and the fact that I’d just insulted him to his face—or, technically, to his vicinity—some traitorous part of me noticed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Little lines that suggested he smiled often, genuinely, not the practiced expression of someone who used charm as a weapon but someone who found actual joy in the absurdity of the moment.
And that was somehow worse than if he’d been offended.
