Page 42 of Agent Zero
“And you’re a reasonable guy, right?”
He was ready to agree, but something in her tone warned him.Still with her eyes closed, slumped there, her pulse hiking a little and a slight undertone of nervous smoke to that glorious scent of hers, making the yellow-metal tang that much more prominent.
Keyed up with panic and adrenaline, ready to let it all out on someone.He was the closest target.
Theonlytarget.If it made her feel better, fine.If she wanted to scream and punch, he didn’t mind.
So he just shrugged.“No, Holly.I’m not reasonable.Never would have gotten into the program otherwise.I’ll tell you what I am, though.”
“Scary?”
You could say that.“Yeah.And determined, and resourceful, and capable of just about anything when it comes to you.”
“Not to mention crazy,” she muttered.
“Got any more adjectives to throw on the pile?”If she was going to blow up at him, now would be a good time, when he had her under wraps and still vulnerable.
“Tons.”She let out a shaky sigh, her hands lying limp and discarded in her lap.“Reese?”
“What?”His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.Careful.Don’t wreck the car.
“Thank you.I haven’t had a panic attack since…” The pause was small, but definite.“Since the divorce.”
Now that was pure Holly.Thankinghim, as if he hadn’t destroyed her life.“Must have been stressful.I’m sorry.”
“You can’t smell cancer, Reese.”
“Mmh.”An easy, noncommittal answer.Was that what she thought she had?Why?It brought up other interesting questions, ones he had no answer for.
Couldhe smell cancer?And just what was that yellowish component to her scent, the only shade that wasn’t flat-out appetizing, completely delicious?If she’d been sick when he met her...
Don’t borrow trouble.Just keep moving.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“They were just comingto pick you up.”The aspirin Bronson had taken just before entering this glare-lit, linoleum-floored room wasn’t kicking in nearly soon enough.His head was pounding, and being in a room with one of the damn subjects was always nerve-racking.Eight was zipped to the metal chair, the chair was bolted to the floor, and the new head of the medical staff swore the massive dose of tranquilizer was still working its way through the subject’s system.
The blond guy, reeking of smoke and covered with soot, dirt, and probably dried blood from the capture team, stared at Bronson, nostrils flaring a little.He said nothing.
“You escalated, Eight.This is bad.I can’t help you if you don’t tell me something.Anything.”Make him think you’re on his side.His own shirt was none too fresh; he couldn’t even send Three to get him a new one.Christ alone knew what would happen if they losther.
Besides, he didn’t want that computer brain poking around inside his apartment.
Eight sighed.It was a deep, heavy sound, and Bronson braced himself.
“What.Do you.Want.”Each word as flat and uninflected as if Three was speaking instead.
Three was in the safe room, watching through the video feed.She hadn’t corrected Bronson in a whole twelve hours or so, which had to be some kind of record.Which reminded him, he should probably send her to residence soon.She was looking a little wilted.
Not that it mattered.She’d never win any goddamn prizes.
His head would simply not quit throbbing.That bottle of Chivas in the filing cabinet was sounding better and better the longer this went on.Plus, the lights in here hurt his eyes.The cinder-block walls weren’t comforting at all, either.“Another agent’s gone off the reservation.”It was Bronson’s turn to sigh, not dramatically but certainly with feeling.“I’ve talked to the higher-ups.Told them you could track him, especially since it’s domestic.I think I’ve got them ready to give you another chance.”He kept his hands loose and dangling-empty, wishing he could fiddle with a file.A pencil, a paper clip, anything.
The autopsy had confirmed the civilian girl Eight had been banging didn’t have any hint of the original virusorGemini.Eight’s bloodwork from two days ago was solid, but the eggheads were muttering something about core load and stress factors.Control had checked in—some of the other agents had been brought back in fat, dumb and happy, and those were slated for the induction process even though there was a near-zero survival rating for that.
If they did make it through, they’d be like Three.No trouble at all.
Eight’s head tilted slightly, his eyes bright blue and direct as ever.He was in rags of civilian dress—jeans, a sweatshirt, filthy socks since they would have taken his boots as a matter of course—but he didn’t look nearly as battered as a man who had just been through house fire, gunfight, and rendition should.
