Tainted Hearts

Tainted Hearts

By
Cyndi Friberg

ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED

Copyright ©
2014 Cyndi Friberg

Cover art by
Dar Albert

Editor: Mary
Moran

Electronic Book Publication,
September 2014

Trade
Paperback Publication,
August 2014

Smashwords
Edition, License Notes

This eBook is
licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be
re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share
this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy
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purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please
return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for
respecting the hard work of this author.

Praise for
Beyond Ontariese

Taken by
Storm

“
Taken by Storm
had it all—tense action, suspense, erotic sex, humor and a
wildly imaginative plot.”

~
The
Romance Studio

“
Unplug
the phone and put the kids to bed; once you start reading
Taken by
Storm
you won’t want any
interruptions!”

~
Fallen Angel Reviews

“For a story that will
delight, entertain, and keep you on the edge of your seat, I highly
recommend
Taken by Storm
and award it
RRT’s
Perfect 10
.”

~
Romance Reviews Today

Operation
Hydra

“I highly recommend
Operation
Hydra
…
it’s one of the best science fiction romances I’ve
ever read
. Perfect 10!
”

~
Romance Reviews Today

“Outstanding! This segment only whetted my
appetite for more. The heat between Kyrsta and Trey could cause a
nuclear meltdown.
”

~
Simply Romance Reviews

City of
Tears

“
WOW!
City of Tears
by
Cyndi Friberg is one amazing blend of science fiction at its best
and romance at its hottest…”

~
eCata Reviews

I dedicate this book to my incredible
husband, Scott. Each day you amaze me more. I’d like to thank my
mom for believing in me from the start. I know you’d rather see me
writing Inspirationals but thanks for loving me anyway. And thanks
to Michele Chambers, the best critique partner anyone could hope
for! You all make my life richer and I’m grateful.

CPT Mediplex

Baltimore, Maryland, 2068

What kind of woman keeps a four-star
general waiting for nearly an hour?
Marcus Sinclair concealed
his amusement behind a bland expression and poured water into
General Bettencourt’s glass.

“She’s on her way,” Yvonne Lucero assured
them from the head of the small conference table. Impeccably
dressed in a tailored suit, she appeared calm and composed, but
Marc hadn’t missed the flair of impatience. Was she angry with her
tardy employee or frustrated by the general’s superior attitude?
Marc’s empathic abilities only allowed him to perceive emotion. He
had to guess at the rest.

“This will be indicated in my report.” The
general continued his rant. “This is a direct reflection on your
leadership. Organizations must be run with discipline or
productivity suffers. And productivity is the crux of the issue
here at CPT. Your inability to keep up with the demand for the
SP-64 is creating an international crisis.”

The door swung open and a…sprite breezed
into the room. Strawberry blonde curls bounced against her bare
shoulders and spiraled down her back. Opaque material, in a soft
marbling of pastel colors, flowed about her graceful body, offering
subtle hints and impressions of the curves concealed beneath.

Unlike her austerely dressed superior,
Tuesday Fitzpatrick appeared delicate and feminine. At a glance no
one would guess she had developed the world’s most reliable
biomechanical heart.

“Good morning,” she greeted cheerfully,
pausing at the beverage station.

He picked up the mug he’d prepared
especially for her. She offered him a distracted smile as she
motioned toward the coffee pot. He quickly filled the mug with
steaming coffee and handed it to Tuesday.

“Sorry I’m late.”

No explanation. Just those three words.

He picked up a pitcher of water and exhaled
his pent-up breath. His facial reconstruction had cost a fortune
and it had just passed a crucial test. Tuesday hadn’t recognized
him.

As she moved in front of the windows,
sunlight filtered through her dress, outlining every swell and
hollow of her body. Marc nearly dropped the pitcher. High round
breasts, curvy hips, long shapely legs, and a sweetly contoured
ass.
Wow, just wow
.

Oppressive silence assured him he wasn’t the
only one to notice the sunlight’s teasing display. General
Bettencourt and his two aides followed her movements with rapt
attention.

Had the maneuver been intentional? Their
interaction in the past had been faultlessly professional. She’d
never so much as flirted with him. All he sensed from her now was a
vague sort of unease. No, she had no idea what the sunlight did to
her seemingly modest outfit. Lucky him.

Slipping into the chair on Yvonne Lucero’s
right, Tuesday gingerly blew on her coffee. Marc quickly assessed
her features. High cheekbones, dainty nose, rounded chin with just
the hint of a cleft, and the smoothest, softest-looking skin he’d
ever seen in his life. Damn, she was wasted in a laboratory.

She lifted her gaze. Marc knew he should
look away. He was nobody—a domestic class worker, trained to be
invisible. Or at least that’s what she needed to believe. Like the
rest of her, her eyes were extraordinary. Brilliant green, tilted
at the corners, they completed her elfish air. Her lush lips curved
with the faintest of smiles and then she returned her gaze to her
mug.

Marc gave himself a mental shake and
reinforced his role.
Pull it together, Sinclair. You can’t
afford to draw her attention. Not yet!
Tugging down the jacket
of his uniform, he topped off Yvonne’s water glass and returned to
the beverage station praying Tuesday liked coffee a lot.

“Glad you could join us, Ms. Fitzpatrick.”
General Bettencourt’s sharp blue gaze settled on the new arrival.
“Were you made aware of the importance of this meeting?”

“I was told you wished to address your
displeasure with the amount of time it takes to complete each of my
biomechanical hearts.” She sipped her coffee. “Was there something
more?”

The general’s nostrils flared. He folded his
hands on the tabletop and leaned toward her. “Unified North
American Government is generously subsidizing the SP-64 Project.
That entitles us to certain assurances. Our contract states—”

“I’m fully aware of the conditions of the
contract. Are you familiar with the production demands of the
SP-64? We’re not building transports here, General Bettencourt. The
basic synthetic compound alone takes nearly a year to cultivate
before the biological elements can be introduced.”

“The situation surrounding the Methuselah
epidemic has become so volatile,” he paused for effect, “President
Rawsen is on the verge of declaring martial law.”

Tuesday deliberately set her cup aside and
mirrored the general’s posture. “The Methuselah epidemic began nine
years ago. What has changed—in the past twenty-four hours—to
warrant martial law?”

Good question. Marc grabbed the coffeepot
and went to fill her mug. Her light, floral scent swept over him.
He wanted to bury his face in that cloud of curly hair and inhale
her scent until he was dizzy.

“Thanks,” she murmured absently as he
stepped back.

“I’m not here to debate governmental
decisions. I’m here to explain our intentions.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow. “When
governmental decisions directly affect a device for which I hold
all patents and licenses, I have every right to debate your—”

“You’ll have no rights at all if President
Rawsen declares martial law.”

Her chair flew back and slammed against the
wall and scorching anger swept through the room. “Is that a
threat?”

Marc could have sworn the red in her hair
brightened. Perhaps it was the crimson flush suddenly staining her
cheeks.

“A warning. Productivity at Cardio Pulmonary
Technologies will increase by twenty-five percent within thirty
days or CPT will be turned over to me.”

Yvonne Lucero gasped. “All of CPT or just
the SP-64 division?”

“Vonne!” Tuesday objected. “What difference
does it make?”

“SP-64 is CPT, Ms. Lucero, and we all know
it.” He pushed his chair back casually and smiled. “I’ll return on
Friday to review your optimization plan. I trust you’ll have one by
then.”

With his aides trailing in his wake, the
general walked from the room.

The two women stared at each other, clearly
flabbergasted by the meeting’s outcome.

“Would you please excuse us?” Yvonne
motioned Marc toward the door.

Tuesday watched the courtesy attendant cross
the room. Tall and broad-shouldered, he would turn heads in any
crowd. Maybe it was the confident tilt of his chin or the inherent
authority in his stride, but he didn’t seem the type to settle for
a domestic class assignment. Something about him just didn’t seem
right.

“Twenty-five percent,” Vonne lamented. “How
in the world does he expect us to accomplish that?”

“He doesn’t.” Tuesday tossed her hair over
her shoulders and strode to the windows overlooking the busy
central square of the mediplex. “He knows it’s impossible. The real
question is why does President Rawsen want control of CPT?”

“Money, power…hell, the government gets a
fifteen percent cut as it is. I don’t understand the pressure. Why
now?”

Anger twisted around Tuesday’s uncertainty.
She had poured her soul into SP-64. Not even President Rawsen had
the right to manipulate her like this. Regardless of the forces
motivating him, she would fight him every step of the way. “I don’t
know what inspired this sudden change,” Tuesday turned to face her
friend, “but we need to find out what’s behind these demands.”

“I’ll set the bloodhounds on it.”

Tuesday followed Vonne from the conference
room but turned right and went to her office down the hall. She
spent most of her time in the spacious lab three floors below the
corporate level and the cluttered condition of her office reflected
that fact. Kicking off her shoes, she slipped in behind her desk
and activated her terminal.

“Check messages,” she directed.

A list of new and saved messages appeared on
the holoscreen. She scrolled through the list and deleted several
she recognized as advertisements. Spotting one from her sister, she
groaned. She was definitely not in the mood for Sydney right
now!

An all-too-familiar name caught her eye.
Job. Why wouldn’t this guy leave her alone? She started to delete
the entry but curiosity won out and she activated it instead.

His slender, pale face filled the screen.
Framed by silvery-blond hair, his features were all sharp angles
and sinister hollows. Fascination drew her gaze to his ice-blue
eyes. She’d never seen eyes like his until his first message three
weeks before. Across the light blue surface expanded multiple
spikes, like the points of a silver star. They appeared nearly
colorless one moment, then flashed with metallic intensity the
next. Vanity enhancements had become ridiculously popular over the
past decade.

“Ms. Fitzpatrick,” he began, his voice
slightly mocking. “When will I actually get to see you? You keep
accepting my messages, so I know you’re interested.” He smiled
though the show of even white teeth added no warmth to his face.
“Have you read any of the information I sent you? Why won’t you
accept an interactive call? It would make everything so much
easier. Your resistance only makes you more intriguing, but I think
you know that. Don’t make me do something…unconventional.”

With another humorless smile he ended the
message.

Why did she keep opening his messages? If
she just deleted them, he’d probably go away. Something
“unconventional”? She didn’t like the sound of that. He knew where
she worked. Security protocols would keep him in the public areas
but he could certainly show up uninvited.