Ultimate Warriors (34 page)

     
"Nick
Grant," he answered, holding his hand out for her to take. Quinlan took
his warm palm in hers. He watched her face to see if she recognized the name.
If she did, she didn’t show it.

     
A memory
pulled at Quinlan, but she blinked it away. Nick was a common enough name, as
was Grant. She gave him a kind, distracted smile. When he didn’t let go right
away, she pulled her hand back and said, "Thank you, Mr. Grant."

     
Her
voice was soft, unintentionally sultry to his senses. Nikandros glanced down at
his palm. Her hand had been as smooth as silk--almost too smooth. He rubbed his
fingers absently over his palm, wondering at it.

     
"No
problem," he murmured, his tone dipping ever so slightly. As he looked at
her strikingly alluring face, he almost forgot what he was doing. Her light
brown hair blew in layers over her shoulder and she absently pushed it back as
she turned from him. She began to walk away. Rushing, he again stopped her,
this time with words. "Would you like to go get some coffee, or
something?"

     
Quinlan
gave him a small smile. At the playful pull of her look, desire shot through
his stomach like a spark. He swallowed and his throat suddenly went dry. She
slowly lifted up her coffee cup at him, and said, "Thanks anyway, but I’m
good."

     
Nikandros
swallowed down his disappointment as she walked away. Although, he knew that it
was better that she left him. The Protectors would expect a report. The first
contact had been made. That was enough for now.

     
Nikandros
sighed heavily. He was old enough to know when a woman’s look held more than
passing curiosity. There was a cunning mind hiding behind her eyes. Quinlan St.
James was definitely up to something. It was his job to figure out what. If she
planned on selling her late father’s formula, as they suspected she might be,
it would be his job to stop her.

     
Quinlan
kept her pace slow as she crossed the street and made her way to the long
transport limo that waited for her. The driver nodded at her as he opened the
door. Her home was about thirty miles outside the city, but with the new
transit system in place, it would only take her about ten minutes to get there.

     
Once
alone, she slid across the seat to look out the tinted window. She felt the
tires jolt as the limo’s wheels pulled from the street and folded under the
car. The car floated soundlessly over the road.

     
She
didn’t realize the slight smile of interest that came to her face as she saw
Nick Grant walking along a side path. Her lips parted with a heavy sigh, even
as her eyes took in the muscles playing along his firm backside. It had been a
long time since she felt a jolt like that when first meeting someone.

     
It was a
good thing she hadn’t struck up a conversation with him. She had seen the
heated cast of interest in his eyes when he looked at her. The last thing she
needed was a man complicating her already complex life--especially now of all
times.

     
Her home
was usually locked up tighter than a maximum-security prison complex. Whoever
wanted her father’s formula wouldn’t be able to resist coming to the
celebration, particularly with all his papers going for public display. It was
quite possible the man responsible for her father’s death would be there. It
was up to her to discover who, out of all his colleagues, had betrayed him.
Then, she could finally put her father’s memory to rest. After all, it had been
ten long years of waiting.

     
The limo
sped up and Nick was blurred out of her life. Quinlan doubted she would ever
see him again. Sighing, she leaned back and sipped at her coffee. It was just
as well. A woman like her could never keep a relationship.

* * * *

     
East
Bend was a small suburb of Pierson City. The St. James Estate sat just on the
edge, far away from the neighbors. Quinlan’s father had bought the ancient
family home and moved it from England in his youth. He’d built a stone wall
around the edge of the property. It looked serene, but if anyone tried to scale
it, they would be in for a stunning electrical shock that would leave them
paralyzed for days.

     
The only
way in was through the front gate. The wrought iron bars were well guarded by
robotic security. The guards never slept and they never left their post. They
hardly even moved to acknowledge the limo, but Quinlan knew their eyes scanned
the vehicle to identify all passengers. They would only find her. The robotic
driver would register a pulse that the guards recognized.

     
The yard
surrounding her home was green with spring grass. Flowers were beginning to
bloom on the landscaped lawn. Little cobblestone trails weaved over the garden,
intermingled with statues and benches. In the center was a tiered water
fountain with no water. Its old stone was cracked ever so slightly and it was
overgrown with vines. Quinlan didn’t have the heart to fix it.

     
The
square castellated home stood tall against the sky. It wasn’t a full castle,
just the part that could be restored after so many centuries of decay. It had a
narrow stained glass window in the front by the thick oak front door and
smaller, framed windows spread throughout the sidewalls. The old stones seemed
to have a life of their own and as a child Quinlan loved to touch them,
claiming she could feel their energy.

     
Coming
to a stop, the limo door opened automatically. Quinlan stepped out and the limo
drove off to the garage. Sighing, she walked up the round sweep of steps
leading to the front door of her home.

     
Her
butler was there to greet her in his very formal uniform. He bowed low over his
waist and said, "Welcome home, Miss."

     
Quinlan
handed him the empty coffee cup. He was mechanical like the rest of her staff,
so she didn’t bother with pleasantries.
"Any
messages?"

     
"Fifty-two,
Miss," said the butler.

     
"Any
not pertaining to my father?" Quinlan asked wryly.

     
"No,
Miss," answered the butler/giant answering machine.

     
"Send
the standard replies," ordered Quinlan quietly.

     
"Very
good, Miss," answered the butler. Going to his post by the door, he
plugged himself into his adaptor. His eyes closed and Quinlan could hear the
faint sound of a ring as he began to call back her pre-recorded messages.

     
A long
sweep of stairs went up the right side, carpeted with a plush red down the
center. The banister crossed along the second story to leave a top section open
to the front hall’s view. Quinlan ignored the giant portrait of her father
staring down at her from the top handrail. The ceiling was high in this section
of the home, reaching up to the top of the second floor and arching with
picturesque stone cornices. White satin sashes crossed over the walls and roses
wrapped around over the stone handrail leading upstairs.

     
Taking
the steps two at a time, Quinlan reached the top of the stairs. She ignored the
mechanical maid units as they bustled about at lightening speed. She had them
programmed to work, never acknowledging her. She might be lonely, but she would
not lower herself to programming herself some company.

     
Crossing
over the opened area, she turned down a long hall and opened the thick oak of
her bedroom door. She stripped the stained jacket from her shoulders as she
walked across the luxurious rug covering the stone floor. Her shirt was soon to
follow. A maid unit clicked on in the corner and went to retrieve the clothing.
Quinlan tossed her slacks at the unit and the maid caught them.

     
"Menu
six," Quinlan said, ordering her food for the evening.
"Privacy."

     
The unit
scurried off with the clothes, taking them to laundry and shutting the door
behind her.

     
"Fire,"
Quinlan murmured, flinging herself onto the oversized poster bed. She lay
against the silk of her sheets, turning her head to watch the flames dancing in
the large marble fireplace. The orange glow flickered over the stone walls,
caressing her nearly naked flesh with its softness. Thick velvet curtains were
opened over long floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the side garden. Quinlan
ordered them closed. The room was instantly shrouded in a softened darkness.

     
She
pulled all four pillows to her body, curling around them as she closed her
eyes. Unbidden, the image of Nick Grant came to mind. She was alone. She would
never see him again. There was no one to watch her fantasize. She imagined the
pillow beside her was his naked chest. She ran her hand over it and snuggled
deeper. For a brief moment, right before she fell asleep, she didn’t feel so
alone.

     
Silk
wrapped her black cape around her body, concealing herself in darkness beneath
the draping hood. Her hardened gaze narrowed as she peered through the eye
slits of her all-concealing mask. She was as motionless as a statue, watching
the quiet courtyard from above.

     
The moon
was half full, but the tall trees kept its blue light from revealing her. She
blended perfectly into the shadows. A bird perched near her foot, only to get a
quick jolt from the gate’s security system. The bird flapped away. Silk
remained, unharmed.

     
Her ears
focused for sound, trying to listen for the soft hum of an invisible security
laser. Picking up a noise so faint that mere humans couldn’t hear it, she
smiled. She quickly mapped the haphazard pattern of lasers in her mind, marking
a route to the home’s front door.

     
With
unyielding precision, she hopped from the high gate and onto a tree branch.
Spinnerets on the tips of her fingers cocooned a soft silk mass to the limb.
Her hands clutched together, pulled above her head, as she lowered herself
slowly down to the courtyard ground.

     
The
strands of silk growing from her fingers twisted together to keep her from
falling. Her knee high boots landed soundlessly in the grass. With a tug of her
hands, the silk released itself from the branch and drifted off into the night,
floating on the breeze, no heavier than a spider’s web.

* * * *

     
Nikandros
glanced up from the electron microscope and grimaced. This wasn’t good. Running
his hands through his hair, he mussed the dark locks in his frustration. He
then leaned back in his chair to flex his tired neck muscles. If the little
sample he’d been able to collect off of Quinlan’s hand was any indication, she
was dabbling in the Bombyx project or knew someone who was.

     
He
reached into the large pocket of his white lab coat and pulled out his video
phone. Flipping it open, he set it on the desk atop a stack of papers and
pushed redial. After several rings a man’s face appeared on the small screen.

     
"Korbin,"
Nikandros said. Dark circles marred the skin beneath Korbin’s sleepy eyes and
Nikandros watched him rub at them tiredly. "It’s confirmed."

     
That
woke Korbin up. Blinking blue eyes that seemed to drive women crazy, he stared
out from the video display. His voice hard, he asked, "You’re sure?"

     
"Fairly,"
Nikandros answered, though he wished he didn’t have to. "It could be why
she’s going public after so many years."

     
"Do
you think she’s found the missing part of the formula?" Korbin asked.

     
"I
can’t tell from the sample," replied Nikandros. He scratched the back of
his head, before smoothing down his hair. "But, if she has, this
celebration could be a veritable seller’s market. Have you seen the copy of the
guest list I sent you?"

     
Korbin
nodded. "It’s a genuine who’s who of the scientific underworld. You made
contact with her. Do you think she’s up to something?"

     
"It’s
hard to tell. Her eyes are cunning," Nikandros replied, thinking of
Quinlan’s lovely green gaze. It had been haunting him ever since that playful
smile she’d given him earlier in the park. Feeling his lower extremities
becoming uncomfortably full at the memory, he cleared his throat and his head.
"I can’t tell if it’s because she is eccentric or because she is a conspirator."

     
"You
need to get closer," Korbin put forth. He nodded thoughtfully. "I
think you should seduce her."

     
Korbin
had mentioned the idea before. Nikandros had toyed with it himself, especially
after seeing what she looked like. He planned on taking it no further than his
personal fantasies. Although, to seduce someone didn’t mean you took them to
your bed necessarily. It just meant you made them want to be in it.