Blindsided (6 page)

Springing up from the bed, Teigan went for the stunner under the mattress. Mid-movement, Garret grasped his wrist, effectively stopping him. “Not so fast.”

“The perimeter?”

“Some broad’s at the door. Since you’re me, I thought you should answer.” Garret gave Teigan a once over. Pride, and a determination not to give Garret an edge, had Teigan refusing to grab the sheet up to cover his chilly equipment.

“You might want to consider getting on some pants first,” Garret suggested and left the room.

“And
you
might want to consider getting a new pillow,” Teigan muttered, kinking his sore neck to the side.

“Real men don’t use pillows, that one’s for show,” Garret called back from further down the hall.
 

Damn, the man had the ears of a bat.

With his brain finally shoved into full gear, Teigan grabbed his stunner and strode to the far wall. The bed whooshed down behind him, followed by the clank of floor panel locking in place. He pressed open one of the wall units, revealing his clothing options. Green fatigues, beige uniform, or black casual. Original. He quickly pulled on a pair of black pants and for form, grabbed up a white T-shirt from a cubby, tugging it over his head as he raced up the hall, bare feet slapping upon the cold surface. Second thing he was buying Garret—some nice plush area rugs, right after a decent pillow.

The bell sounded again, and he all but leapt the last few feet to slam his palm against the viewer’s controls. “Yeah.”

“Garret? Garret Evans?” A light airy voice greeted him along with the rising sun.

Teigan squinted against the bright rays flaring across the screen. The program compensated and a woman came into focus, haloed by soft light. And, okay…wow. That might be a sight worth waking up for. The woman’s dark brunette hair had been pulled up from her face with a clip, but fell haphazardly around her shoulders as if she’d just rolled out of bed. In fact, everything about her screamed sex, from the subtle bedroom curves to the wide plump lips that begged to be kissed. The delicate nose and slightly triangular face may have been more feminine and refined, but was set between wide hazel eyes and seductively arched brows. The only thing that wasn’t perfect was the slight blankness in her gaze. As if she didn’t want to be here. Then why was she?

Probably selling something; robo-vacs, insurance, Girl Scout cookies…religion.

He rubbed his face, wishing he had his com bud in. It would be really handy right now to have Garret whispering in his ear telling him things like how this woman knew his name. Though Garret hadn’t seemed to know. He’d called the woman some broad, which supported the theory that she was just a resourceful salesperson.
 

“Listen, whatever you’re selling I’m not buying.”

“I’m not selling anything.” She shifted from one foot to the other, cleared her throat. “Please, I just need a few moments of your time.”

Definitely religion and judging by the firm set of her jaw it looked like she was going to stand on Garret’s porch all day until he let her do her spiel.
 

Sighing, he slapped off the safety lock and yanked open the door. The sun hit him square in the face. He shifted back a step, letting the interior shadows keep him hidden from other prying eyes. Can’t shoot what you can’t see, and for all he knew, this woman could be part of a carefully laid trap. Hell, she could
be
the trap, sent here to kill him...in that clingy, silk suit and with that…guide baton.

Fuck, she’s blind.

A Neanderthal instinct—strong man protect little woman—which had laid dormant in the male psyche for millennia, surfaced. He started to reach for her to support her or guide her or, hell, something before he checked himself.
 

“May I help you?”

“It’s vital we talk. May I come in?” she asked earnestly, then nibbled her bottom lip.

He glanced over her shoulder. A man stood by a silver, XT class Odyssey 360—
sweet
—parked at the end of the sidewalk. He was tall and thin with a full shock of hair that was more salt than pepper. Her car, her driver. Not begging for handouts or soliciting goods. Why was she here?
 

Only one way to find out. “Of course. Here, let me help.”

He reached for her arm as she fumbled for the door frame, and drew her over the threshold. She quivered beneath his grip and tried to slide her arm free.

“The couch is right over here. I’ll lead you to it.” He tried to sound reassuring, must have, because she calmed under his hand, allowing him to help her. Five-six, he judged, with about a-hundred-and-fifteen pounds packed into what was actually muscles on her curved body. The scent that drifted up off of her was a mix of flowers and musk. Something more than his protective instincts reared its little head. Damn. How long had it been? Last vacation?

Ignoring his neglected hormones, he settled her on the couch and sat in the armchair next to it. He cleared his throat. “Well, despite evidence to the contrary, it seems I’m at a disadvantage here.”

“Oh?” Her hands clenched around her baton.

Tense. He wondered why. A plant? A trick? Or merely because of her handicap. If she was afraid, then why in the world would she have followed a man into his house alone, with no means of escape and no possibility of aid? One aging chauffer standing fifty yards away on the other side of the door hardly counted.

“Your name,” he clarified. “I don’t know your name.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She visibly relaxed. “Aria. Aria Octavia Idyllis. I know. Silly, isn’t it? My mother had a fancy for music, poetry, art; that sort of thing.”

“Aria,” Teigan tried it out, it teased at his memory. “It’s beautiful.” He couldn’t help but enjoy the blush that bloomed high on her cheeks. He was further intrigued when she turned her head slightly down and to the side, as if to avoid his gaze. Maybe actions of shyness were as much genetic as learned.
Or maybe she’s not really blind.

He tapped the arm of his chair, not liking the thought of her playing him. Perhaps there was a way to test her without being obvious. “Now the only thing I don’t know is why you’re here.”

Her head came back up. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure where to start.”

“Just spit it out,” he suggested. “I find that’s the easiest.”

The corners of her mouth crinkled up slightly—dazzling. He bet she could knock a man out if she let that smile take hold.
 

The faint smile fell away as she turned serious once more. Everything about her screamed scared: the furrow between her brows, the tense set of her shoulders, the death grip on her baton. Either a really good actress or she was who she portrayed.
 

“Listen. No one can know I’m here. And I can’t tell you specifics, at least not how I found out, but I’m very afraid—” She broke off suddenly, her head tilted to the side, eyes wide, as if she heard something. Teigan cocked his own head, but caught only sterile silence. Definitely edgy.

She stood abruptly, her baton clutched in her hand in preparation to bolt. “I’m sorry. I thought you were alone.”

Right. And no one can know she’s here.
Sensing immediately that this was a one shot deal, he decided to do the only thing he could do: He lied.
 

“We are alone.” He touched her arm gently, trying to ease her back down.

“I heard something.”

He shrugged. “Old house. It settles.”

“That wasn’t a creak.” Her brow creased, her head tipped slightly off kilter as she listened again. She took a deep breath through her nose. Her eyes narrowed. She jerked her arm free, using her baton to find her way around the obstacles and back toward the door.

“Aria, wait!” He sprang up. “Hold on a second. You can’t just come in here, hint at something vitally important, and then waltz out again without telling me.”
 

“Computer, lock door,” he commanded when she got too close.

“I can and I will,” she shot back. “Computer, unlock door.”

“Voice print unaccepted,” the monotone voice droned.

She cursed, fumbled along the wall, trying to find the manual override button on the panel beside the door. Lights flipped on and off as she found the touch panel and hit the wrong controls. She cursed again, but eventually hit the one that had the lock clicking off.

He placed his palm against the door so she couldn’t escape.
 

“Release the door, Mr. Evans.” Her voice was firm and spoken in a low tone, yet he heard the slight waver in it.

“Not until you tell me what has you afraid.”

“What has me upset
,
” she stressed with a yank on the door, “is that you’re not allowing me to leave.”

“Before that.” He bore his full weight on his arm, holding the door firmly closed. “You said you were very afraid.”

“There is someone in this house,” she hissed. “You’re either lying, therefore untrustworthy, or you’re truly oblivious and therefore not who you say you are…and again untrustworthy.”

In a sudden move, she snapped the baton around, whipping his arm. The sting of the strike made him involuntarily jerk his arm back.

“What the fuc—”

Using the moment, she yanked the door open and was through the entrance before he could stop her again.

“Damn it.” He rubbed at the welted skin. Mental note, this damsel would bite. “Aria!”
 

He followed her out, but he didn’t grab her. The driver of the Odyssey had swung open the door and was waiting for her by the curb. She quickly stalked up the sidewalk, her baton clicking like a high speed metronome as it measured the edges of sidewalk before her.
 

“I told you it’s an old house,” he cajoled, matching her pace. “It squeaks, groans.”

She hesitated slightly, but shook her head and marched on.

“The old owners said there’s a ghost, too. I’ve never seen it, but hell, maybe they’re right.” His own steps faltered.
Wow Teigan, you must really enjoy digging. Because the hole you’re currently working on? Practically to China.
“Aria, wait!”

This time he latched onto her arm to prevent her from sliding into the car. “Come back inside and talk to me. Or just sit on the porch.” He spared a tight smile for the driver who looked about ready to try his hand at physically removing him from the face of the earth. “Your driver can see you from here.”

She jerked her arm. “Release me.”

He held firm. “Just tell me what you were going to say before you got all bent out of shape.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “No.”

“Why not?” he asked, as intrigued with her expressions as the answer to his questions.

“Because I said no, and I don’t risk my life for a liar. Now, let me go.” She yanked free and ducked into the car. With a glare for Teigan, her chauffer started to close the door, but a slim hand shot out, stopping him.

The chauffer’s lips drew into a disapproving line. Teigan held his breath, thinking maybe she’d changed her mind.

Her head tipped back up toward Teigan, a pained expression on her face. “Someone is in that house, Garret. For your sake, I hope it’s a friend.”

With that, she disappeared into the dark shadows. The driver gave him one last hard glance before moving around and climbing behind the wheel. Teigan watched helplessly as they pulled away and disappeared around the next corner.

Turning back to the house, he kicked a stone off the walkway, swearing at Miss Aria Octavia Idyllis and her instincts. She was right, of course. There was someone in the house, three someones: the real Garret Evans, Carthridge, and John—keeping out of sight, but nearby if needed. Teigan didn’t know what had clued her in, but there was no denying she’d heard something. And whatever it was had spooked her and ruined his chances of finding out why she was here.
 

Yeah, and you were chasing her for that reason alone.

Shaking his head, he went back into the house. All three men were waiting in the living room. John sat on the couch, his head in his hands. Garret and Carthridge stood across the coffee table from him, arms folded, eyeing him balefully.

“You heard all that?” Teigan asked. Carthridge and Garret nodded, John grunted affirmation. “I don’t know what spooked her, but I couldn’t talk her back in. Not even to sit on the porch.”

“Johnny boy needs to stop snapping his gum,” Carthridge said derisively. “I’ve told him before.”

John’s head snapped up, arms thrown out in exasperation. “I know, I know! Jesus. It wasn’t even a loud pop.”

“I heard it,” Carthridge pointed out. “So did Garret.”

“I didn’t,” Teigan admitted.
 

Garret shrugged. “Well either she’s more attuned to noises to compensate for her sight or…” he trailed off.

“Or what?” Teigan snapped.
 

Garret shrugged again.
 

Teigan turned to Carthridge who was frowning. “Or what?”

“Or she’s an unregistered Viadal,” Carthridge said reluctantly.

“Unregistered?” Teigan asked sharply. “You think Viadal had more experiments going than those he did for the governments?”