Authors: Catherine Mann
No
crossing
herself
required.
And
suddenly
her
need
for
bravado
faded.
She
rested
a
hand
on
the
bench
and
let
herself
enjoy
the
view
as
well,
the
dappled
moonlight
giving
the
hard planes
of
Matt’s
face
a
mysterious
air.
She
could
have
sworn
she
saw
his
fists
clench
on
her
behalf
when
she spoke
of
her
scumsucking
ex.
Yeah,
she
was
liking
Matt
more
and
more
every
second.
“Actually
I
figured
a
better
saint
to
thank
for ridding
me
of
my
ex
would
be
Saint
Martin
de
Porres.”
“Ah,
and
your
vast
knowledge
continues
to
outstrip
my
humble
self.
This
saint
would
be
appropriate because?”
“He
would
be
invoked
for
protection
against
rats.”
Matt
applauded
lightly.
“Very
nice.”
“Thank
you.”
She
tipped
her
head
regally.
“Actually,
in
honor
of
the
good
Catholic
schoolgirl
I
once
was,
I should
probably
also
educate
you
with
some
of
our
kinder
images,
like
Saint
Albert
the
Great,
the
saint
for scientists
such
as
us.
He
is
said
to
have
tutored
Saint
Thomas
Aquinas.”
“You
have
a
wide
variety
of
knowledge
stored
under
all
that
hair.”
“You
like
my
hair?”
All
sound
stopped.
Or
maybe
that
was
just
because
she
couldn’t
think
of
anything
but
that
he
really
may have
noticed
her
and
apparently
the
notion
sent
him
equally
silent
for
a
second
before
he
gave
her
a
nod
in return.
“It
catches
the
eye.”
“And
your
attention?”
She
clenched
the
edges
of
the
stone
bench.
“Maybe.”
She
crossed
her
ankles
under
the
bench
with
glee,
so
silly
because
this
was
dangerous
considering
she wasn’t
even
certain
she
could
trust
him.
“I
think
definitely.” Finally,
he
straightened,
all
playfulness
gone
as
he
brought
them
closer.
“What
do
you
want
from
me?” Sex?
That
didn’t
sound
quite
right
and
she
did
have
her
job
to
think
about.
Her
hand
slithered
into
her
purse
to work
the
miniature
Rubik’s
Cube
absently
while
she
measured
her
words.
“I
just
wanted
to
talk
to
you.
You’re
an
intelligent
man,
near
my
age.
And
not
to
sound
arrogant,
but
there
aren’t
a
lot
of
people
out
here
I can
talk
to
who
can
keep
up.”
“What
color
lipstick
is
that?”
That
sure
stunned
her
silent.
Where
had
that
come
from?
He
looked
horrified
to
have
blurted
the
words,
so
if she
didn’t
do
something
fast,
they
would
never
have
another
conversation
like
this
again.
The
distance between
them
would
be
metaphysically
continents
wide
instead
of
the
mere
inch
right
now.
Time
to
act.
She
stared
straight
into
his
amazing
emerald
eyes
and
said,
“ChaCha
Red.
It
tastes
like
berries.” And
without
bothering
to
ask
for
permission
and
risk
rejection,
she
leaned
forward
and
kissed
him.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
HOLY
SHIT,this
woman
could
kiss.
Matt
palmed
her
back
to
keep
them
both
from
tipping
off
the
bench
into
the
flower
bed—which
actually didn’t
sound
too
bad
but
wasn’t
particularly
prudent.
Her
arms
twined
around
his
neck,
all
the
enthusiasm that
shimmered
from
her
body
like
a
splitting
atom
poured
into
Matthias
as
he
tasted
Felicia
right
there
in
the garden.
Out
in
the
open
where
anyone
could
stumble
on
them.
Unable
to
stop,
he
stood
with
her
clinging
tight
and
showing
no
signs
of
letting
go
anytime
soon.
He
backed her
toward
the
building,
toward
an
outside
door
that
led
into
his
lab
office.
They
stumbled
inside,
the perfume
of
the
garden
fading
until
he
could
only
smell
the
floral
scent
from
her
hair,
her
skin.Her.
Not
one
flower
in
particular,
but
more
like
a
mixed
bouquet
that
always
kept
him
guessing,
roses
one second,
then
lilies,
then
perhaps
a
carnation
or
lilac.
Not
that
he
was
a
flower
expert,
but
he
could
sure
see working
at
being
an
expert
on
what
made
this
lady
writhe.
He
kicked
the
door
closed
behind
them
and
reached
to
fumble
with
the
lock.
Click.
Alone.
Her
soft,
sweet
arms
looped
around
his
neck,
slowly
loosened
for
her
hands
to
slide,
glide,
entice.
Apparently
she
liked
her
kissing
intense
and
a
little
rough,
as
her
long
nails
dug
into
his
shoulders,
his
hair, his
ass.
Her
hands
and
his
were
everywhere
while
their
tongues
met
and
soothed,
explored.
He
backed
her
against
a
lab
table
for
balance
because,
yeah,
he
could
still
stand,
but
he
would
far
rather
put his
energy
into
leaning
against
her.
He
skimmed
his
hands
down
her
sides
to
dig
his
fingers
into
her
hips
for a
second
before
roving
again.
And
hey,
there
were
breasts
up
there.
She
mewed
like
a
happy
kitty
cat
when he
found
them,
massaged
them
into
taut
tips,
plucked.
She
bit.
Gently,
she
nipped
his
bottom
lip
as
she
writhed
against
him.
More
of
this
would
definitely
be
a
good
thing.
He
hooked
his
hands
behind
her
knees
and
lifted
her
up
to
sit
on
the
table,
which
made
things
a
lot
more convenient
for
him
since
he
didn’t
have
to
crick
his
neck
downward
to
kiss
her.
Hot
damn,
he
could
rub
his erection
right
at
the
juncture
of
her
sweet
thighs.
He
could
swear
she
was
already
damp
for
him,
the
vague scent
of
pheromones
in
the
air,
the
feminine
perfume
of
desire.
He
wanted
her,
here,
now.
And
apparently
she
wanted
the
same.
Technically
there
was
nothing
stopping them.
The
door
was
locked.
She
wasn’t
a
student
of
his.
Their
ages
were
close
enough
that
he
couldn’t
be considered
a
COG—creepy
old
guy.
So
why
not
go
for
it?
Because
somewhere
in
his
toodamnsmart
mind
something
niggled.
There
was
something
off
when
it
came to
Felicia,
and
he
was
too
damn
smart
to
be
wrong.
Ms.
Felicia
ChaCha
Red
Fratarcangelo
was
lying
to him
about
something,
and
even
with
their
tongues
stoking
a
fire
that
should
have
burned
away
any
facade, still
the
secrets
of
her
soul
stayed
shielded.
Even
as
a
teen,
he’d
been
hit
on
by
a
number
of
women
who
thought
his
brain
and
money
would
offer
them an
easy
life.
Hey,
he
was
nuclear
research’s
answer
to
Bill
Gates.
At
eighteen,
he’d
been
idiot
enough
to
believe
one
of
the
women
and
he’d
paid
a
helluva
price.
He
couldn’t regret
the
result,
his
Grace
Marie.
But
God
knows
his
daughter
had
deserved
better
than
she’d
gotten
out
of her
childhood.
He
refused
to
screw
up
again.
Regretfully,
painfully,
he
pulled
himself
away
from
the
willing
woman
in
his
arms.
Her
tempting,
stretchy pants
he
longed
to
peel
off
would
have
to
stay
plastered
in
place
until
he
learned
more
about
the
secrets
held by
the
elusive
Lady
ChaCha
Red.
HOLY
GUACAMOLE,
what
had
she
done?
Or
almost
done?
Felicia
adjusted
her
pushup
bra
on
her
way
back
to
her
room.
Her
whole
darn
face
was
probably
blushing ChaCha
Red
right
now
after
that
royal
rejection.
They’d
been
playing
tonsil
hockey
like
there
was
no tomorrow
and
she’d
been
thinking
wowohwow
that
brain
of
his
makes
him
intuitive
at
the
speed
of
light
as to
just
how
to
turn
her
inside
out
with
want.
Jeez,
did
shewant.
A
glimmer
of
Sister
Esther
Regina’s
voice
whispered
through
her
head
then,
almost drowning
the
sound
of
a
door
opening
down
the
hall.
Now,
the
nun
was
yacking
away
at
how
loose
girls could
get
in
trouble
if
they
ditched
their
knickers
around
a
boy.
Matt
wasso
not
a
boy.
Footsteps
drew
closer,
and
she
quickly
looked
down
so
her
blushing
face
wouldn’t
show.
Her
tender
skin hinted
she
might
have
rub
marks
from
whisker
burn.
She
peeked
up
and
said,
“Have
a
nice
night.”
The
young
man—Rurik
Zazlov—nodded
back
on
his
brisk
way
down
the
corridor.
“Good
evening.” Whoa,
hold
on
just
a
hinky
second.
What
was
this
boy,
maybe
twenty,
doing
in
the
women’s
quarters
so late?
Could
be
nothing
but
a
simple
romantic
tryst
with
Jiang.
Could
also
be
a
covert
meeting
that
boded
ill, as
her
instincts
insisted.
As
much
as
she
wanted
to
run
her
embarrassed
self
to
her
room,
she
needed
to
speak to
this
guy.
“Wait,”
she
hollered
at
his
back.
“Do
you
have
a
minute?
Mr.
Zazlov?” Slowly,
he
spun
on
his
heels
to
face
her,
his
shirttails
untucked,
his
rangy
body
loose
with
that
justhadsex relaxed
air.
His
soul
patch
was
a
bit
thin
with
that
look
of
a
young
boy
trying
too
early
to
be
a
man—a
bit endearing.
But
his
eyes
were
sharp.
She
needed
to
remember
that.
Still,
she
could
play
dumb
and
assume
he
was
here
for
professional
reasons.
She
hadn’t
spent
much
time chitchatting
with
this
boy,
and
maybe
focusing
on
work
for
a
second
would
help
calm
her.
Running
the
twohundredperson
roster
through
her
head,
she
recalled
he
worked
security
rather
than testing.
“Is
everything
all
right
back
here?
Has
someone
breached
the
perimeter?” He
blinked
once,
twice,
a
third
time
before
answering,
which
seemed
to
Felicia
he
thought
a
little
too
hard about
his
answer.
“I’m
only
doing
a
walkaround.
All’s
in
order.”
“Glad
to
hear
it.
There
are
too
many
whackazoid
rebel
factions
in
this
country
for
my
peace
of
mind.
But hey,
academic
environments
need
to
spread
their
wings
and
thanks
to
good
folk
like
you
we
have
the freedom
to
work
together
in
safety.”
“So
it
would
seem.”
This
was
getting
her
nowhere
fast.
Maybe
she
should
try
some
subtle
flirtation
just
to
see
if
he
was
a
dog
of a
man
willing
to
go
from
one
woman
to
the
next.
She
inched
closer
and
reached
to
smooth
his
collar,
folding
down
the
corner
sticking
up.
“I’ll
just
have
to trust
that
folks
like
you
can
keep
our
info
inside
these
walls.”
“Apparently
so,”
he
answered
in
his
slightly
accented
English,
not
even
nibbling
on
her
flirtation.
If
anything,
he
backed
up
a
step,
his
gaze
betraying
him
by
flicking
ever
so
briefly
to
Jiang’s
dorm
door.
Apparently
somebody
was
getting
a
little.
Or
were
they
meeting
for
another
reason
as
well?
He
nodded
coolly,
still
backing
away.
“Good
night.”
His
footsteps
echoed,
growing
softer
as
the
distance
grew
between
them.
Hmm…she
scratched
her
itchy nose.
That
couple
definitely
deserved
closer
observation.
A
simple
romance
was
fine,
but
there
were
so many
politics
and
agendas
here,
she
couldn’t
discount
anything.
Sex
always
messed
everything
up.
She’d
known
it
wouldn’t
be
wise
to
sleep
with
Matt,
but
with
an
attraction
like
theirs,
she
had
to
be
prepared and
safe.
She’d
started
carrying
a
condom
in
her
purse,
for
crying
out
loud—she
winced
as
Sister
Esther Regina
shrieked
in
her
mind.
She
so
didn’t
know
what
to
do
about
this
enigmatic
man.
This
was
a
tough
world
to
be
living
in
for
a
thirtyeightyearold
divorcée.
Healthy
and
so
very
needy
for
the
man
down
the
hall,
but
wincing
at
sex
without commitment,
sex
with
lies
between
them.
She
should
call
a
priest
real
quick
and
say
please,
please
marry
us
ASAP
before
my
body
implodes
and
then I
won’t
be
able
to
complete
my
mission,
which
could
havehuge
world
implications.
But
she
didn’t
love
the man,
either,
so
a
marriage
would
be
a
sacrilege.
All
of
which
wouldn’t
be
a
problem
if
she
could
just
have
one
hour
of
wallbanging
sex
with
the surprisingly
hot
Dr.
Matt
Lanier.
Too
bad
she
only
had
her
instincts
to
rely
on
that
he
wasn’t
some
maniacal terrorist
enemy.
CONTROLS
IN
HANDas
the
craft
lifted
off
the
ground,
Bobby
let
himself
merge
with
the
craft
as
the
sun beat
through
his
windscreen.
He
wouldn’t
admit
something
so
whoohooey
out
loud,
but
when
he
flew,
the experience
was
definitely
otherworldly.
He
could
“feel”
the
plane
inside
him,
therefore
he
knew
the
craft
and
exactly
how
far
he
could
push.
Most people
already
thought
he
was
crazy
and
he
wasn’t
about
to
prove
it
by
explaining
his
secret
to
kickass flying.
Even
when
it
came
to
test
missions
like
today,
he
gave
his
all.
Bobby
flicked
the
controls
that
would
move
the
propellers
from
the
upward,
helicopter
style
for
takeoff,
to forward
facing
on
the
wings
for
fast
moving,
straightahead
flight
over
the
dense
green
jungle.
Flying.
Precision.
He
had
to
keep
his
mind
and
body
in
the
moment,
not
thinking
about
Gracie
and
the
implications
of
the General’s
visit.
He
had
a
job
to
do
and
if
Gracie’s
dad
was
in
deep
caca
with
the
terrorists,
then
the
man
had to
pay.
Bobby
skirted
the
edges
of
life,
but
never
crossed
the
line.
However,
he
damn
well
would
do
his
best
to
keep
Gracie’s
father
alive.
That
much
he
could
do
for
her.
Other
than
that,
though,
he
would
be
wise
to
keep
his
distance.
Finishing
this
demo
mission
for
the General’s
observation
would
carry
them
all
one
step
closer
to
plugging
the
spy
leak
and
shutting
down another
terrorist
cell.
The
staccato
thump
of
the
CV22
winging
through
the
midday
sky
echoed
off
the
green
hills
masking
the direction
of
approach
from
those
in
their
Army/Air
Force
tent
camp.
The
first
purpose
of
this
flight?
To demonstrate
the
CV22’s
ability
to
deliver
psyop
leaflets
into
a
target
village.
They
used
their
own
camp today,
but
the
real
deal
would
be
over
a
nearby
village,
with
political
flyers
supporting
the
democratic process.
Normally
they
performed
this
maneuver
at
night
so
the
noise
of
the
CV22
added
to
the
psychological
effect of
the
messages
soon
to
be
fluttering
to
the
ground.
But
since
they
were
on
the
General’s
timetable,
a
lateafternoon
flight
worked
best.
Through
his
windscreen,
Bobby
could
see
everyone
standing
around
in
the
treesurrounded
tent
camp turning
and
searching
the
sky
for
the
aircraft
as
the
rumble
grew
louder.
Inside
the
CV22,
Bobby
enjoyed circling
the
camp
while
staying
out
of
their
view.
God,
he
loved
to
fly,
and
this
cuttingedge
new
craft
offered
him
the
chance
to
stretch
his
skills
to
the
max for
some
mind
games
with
the
folks
below.
He
cranked
the
stick,
turning
and
driving
directly
at
the
target area,
then
wheeling
the
aircraft
into
a
tight
turn
to
point
away.
The
acrobatic
jolts
threw
sound
so
it
should seem
to
those
below
that
there
were
aircraft
surrounding
the
area.
The
appearance
of
more
power.
Head
games.
He
had
to
admit,
Gracie’s
line
of
work
helped.
“This
is
my
favorite
part,”
Postal
said
over
the
interphone.
“Padre,
crank
up
the
music.” Bobby
could
envision
Padre
in
the
back
playing
DJ
as
he
flipped
the
switches
on
a
box
strapped
to
the
floor of
the
aircraft.
“Music
is
on
and
the
volume
is
up
all
the
way.
Get
ready
to
rock
and
roll,
sir.” Bullhorns
strapped
to
the
landinggear
blisters
blasted
“Ride
of
the
Valkyries”
adding
to
the
effect
on
the target
village.
Soon
the
noise
of
the
aircraft
mixed
with
another
sound.
The
intimidation
factor
doubled
the power
of
psychological
warfare
on
the
target.
Textbook
perfect.
But
a
person
could
read
about
it
all
day
long
and
not
get
the
full
impact
without experiencing
it
firsthand.
Gracie
knew
her
shit.
They’d
run
her
plan
as
ordered
and
he
could
feel
the
ripple
effect.
He
definitely believed
in
mind
games.
He
just
didn’t
like
the
idea
of
someone
being
able
to
pick
around
in
his
brain.