Page 32 of Agent Zero
What would make Six behave in this fashion?He had grown adept, it seemed, at hiding his emotional noise.Eight had not, but the civilian entanglement there...
The next file was Eight’s.She opened it carefully, scanned the first page.Paperclipped to the second was a black-and-white photo—the same nose, same tousled blond hair, the same smile, same flat disdain hiding behind his easy expression.
Trinity found herself tracing the line of that jaw, the glossy paper slick under her fingertip.Something about Eight...bothered her.
Bronson and Caldwell were still talking.Pointless jabber, all of it.
What is happening to me?Trinity found her throat dry, again.Her physical senses were sharp as ever, her body functioning at peak, every system running smoothly.It was her head that was the problem.Am I degrading?
If she was, sooner or later Bronson would notice.There was an eighty percent chance she would be slated for liquidation in that eventuality.If the agents kept behaving like this, the program would be closed down, loose ends tidied, and there was a fifty percent chance Trinity herself would be seen as surplus to requirements even if she wasn’t degrading.The longer this went on, the more that particular percentage would tick upward.
How strange.Trinity turned the page.I do not want to die.
Well, then.It was time to plan.And it was high time to start considering everyone else a hostile element.
Especially Bronson.
TWENTY-TWO
Reese pushedthe door open with his foot, the plastic bag heavy in his left hand.Protein, fruit, whole-wheat bagels for carbs.Light stuff, Gatorade to balance her electrolytes, some Emetrol in case she was still nauseous and?—
Holly whirled, strings of damp hair flying, clutching a pale pink T-shirt to her chest.He’d picked the clothes tucked uppermost in dresser drawers, figuring they were likely to be the most comfortable; she was wearing a cream-colored underwire that had obviously seen better days.
All the blood rushed out of his head, and he hoped he was wearing a neutral expression.Just looking at those pale bare shoulders, thinking about the bra straps digging in a little, imagining loosening them up or unhooking the back, sliding his hands down her arms, maybe daring to feel along her ribs, cup the soft heaviness of?—
“I thought you’d gone.”Breathless, and her eyes were huge.Baking bread, ripe apples, and vulnerability, that’s what she smelled like now.The room was thick with it.Under the fragrance was a strange burnt-metal lingering, but it could have been the benzo or even just an incipient cold.
He swept the door closed.“Just, ah, getting something to eat.And some, you know, bottled water.”I sound like an idiot.It was hard to talk, looking at those bare shoulders.A slice of hip disappearing into her jeans, perfect as a seashell.The contrast between rough denim and her skin made his fingers itch to touch.
She nodded.The transparent relief and fresh apprehension mixing on her face filled his head with the rushing sough of high winds.The fragility threaded through her scent reached all the way down and yanked on something blind, instinctive.
Protective.
Reese almost dropped the bag, but she’d already turned away, presenting him with her bare back, the bra strap a straight bar across the channel of her spine.The shirt went over her head in a trice, and he had to take a deep breath.Which didn’t help because it filled his lungs with that smell, and everything below his belt was either numb or aching-stiff.
He shifted, trying to relieve some of the pressure, and found out he was still carrying the bag.Jesus.Am I going to lose my mind every time she shows a little skin?
There were worse things.Still, he needed his head clear.There was a flimsy plywood table in front of the curtains.He set the groceries down and twitched the fabric aside a little, checking the parking lot.
Nice and clear.
If he was still smelling her, it was confirmation the little invaders were still working.Physically he felt fine, except for the embarrassing fact that his body seemed to be stuck at teenage boy around her.Having a semipermanent hard-on was not conducive to deep, critical, or fast thinking.
If she let him get close enough, he was either going to go off like the Fourth of July or embarrass himself with wilting.Again.Not to mention if he tried to explain Tangiers to her, and how afterward the only time he could even come close to getting it up was when he caught a whiff of her—he’d sound like a pervert.
He wanted very much to sound like a real human being instead, to her.Even if he wasn’t.His nape itched, tingling.“How soon can you be ready to go?”
“I thought you said we had twelve hours.”She bent over her backpack, the tremor in her hands either hypoglycemia or fear.
Or both.
“We probably do,” Reese allowed.“That’s not a reason to stay here, though.”
“Where are we even going?”
“South.”And you’re taking this a little too well.
Her chin dropped.She stared down at the backpack.“Oh.”
