Blindsided (8 page)

“You know…” Snap-crack-pop.
 

Carthridge’s lips thinned. Garret’s face went from impassive to downright stony.

“Superhero dudes, the Hulk, Wolverine?” John expounded.

Teigan rolled his eyes. John had a death wish. John glanced at Garret, who’d moved closer to look at the screen. The ex-soldier gave the research tech his blank statue expression in response.

John shook his head with dramatic sympathy. “Man, you guys are deprived. Those old Marvel comics are major collectors’ items. And those dudes were
so
much better than Mysterio or Canidae.” He swiveled the chair so he could see both Garret and Carthridge. Snap-crack-pop. “Don’t tell me you guys were so sheltered that you’ve never even heard of
them.
They’re the only decent comic heroes the 22
^nd
century has spit out.” Snap-crack-pop.

Carthridge returned John’s questioning look with a glare that threatened violence.
 

John’s eyes widened marginally and his gaze flashed to Teigan, as if to say
aren’t you going to do something about that?
Teigan responded with an apathetic look. John spun back around.

“Okay then…let’s see what we can do.” John cracked his knuckles before his hands drifted across the panel in a playful dance. The screens flashed so fast, Teigan gave up trying to follow it. He opened his mouth to ask Garret about how he wanted to work out the meal duties, given it was his kitchen, when John let out a whoop.

“Got him,” he announced triumphantly.

Carthridge, who’d started to drift out of the room again, stepped back in.

“I wouldn’t call him a Superman, maybe Thor, though. Wrong color hair for Clark Kent.”

Teigan ignored John’s irrelevant banter and bent over the information screen, studying the young man with the curly blond hair and cocky grin who had his arms linked behind both Aria’s and a strikingly beautiful redhead’s back. The clip continued as the brother wheeled the ladies around, showing off to another set of recorders while the father and mother stepped up to the mike to grant a moment or two to the media sharks. The caption read:
Idyliss family comes out to celebrate the release of blockbuster sensation, Pandora’s, latest album.

“I remember Pandora.” John tapped the screen where the clip had started to replay; the flaming redhead spread a grin and winked playfully. Aria’s smile, on the other hand, seemed plastered on. The noise? The crowds? Teigan couldn’t imagine what it must be like to not be able to see any of it and again felt a surge of pure male protectiveness.

“I was in my last year of college when she came out with her first album.” John nodded toward the young man on the screen who’d just given the media two-thumbs-up. “The brother looks pretty cut even in that tuxedo; lot of muscle for sixteen. Think he was another superhero?”
 

John sat back, propped his feet on the table, and popped a bubble. Immediately, he grimaced and glanced at Carthridge who was staring back, jaw muscle twitching.

“What do you think, Carthridge?” Teigan asked.
 

“Maybe.” Carthridge lifted one broad shoulder and let it fall. “He’s showing off, playing the media.”

Teigan immediately knew where he was going. “And that’s not in a V-10’s character make-up.”

John made a disappointed sound. Teigan, on the other hand, had to fight not to show his jubilation. If the brother wasn’t a Viadal, then chances were the sister wasn’t either.

Satisfied, Teigan turned back to Carthridge to discuss a conversation he’d had with Whitesman late last night.

“I want to bring in a few more soldiers to work external defense. We keep working like we have over the last twenty-four hours and this is going to get old fast. I’m sure we’ve all done long missions without much sleep, but why spread ourselves thin when Whitesman has offered unlimited resources?”

Carthridge folded his arms, shifting slightly from one foot to the other. His body language told Teigan he wasn’t keen on the idea.

Teigan cocked an eyebrow. “What? You like exhausting yourselves?”

Carthridge gave a negative shake to his head. “Not especially, no. But given we know the actual assassin is a Viadal, I don’t think more manpower is going to help us out much.”

“He’s got a point,” Garret said.
 

“And Nolan should be here by the end of the weekend,” Carthridge reminded him. Nolan was the last active duty V-10. He’d been going through his yearly testing at the start of the mission and hadn’t been immediately available.

Teigan grunted. They were probably right. In his eyes, the more bodies between him and a crazy was a bonus. But that was just it, if the snippets of the mission files Whitesman gave him were any indication, then that’s all they’d be—bodies.

John whistled behind him. “Well, well, well, isn’t this interesting?”

“What?” Teigan spun back around to look at the screen.

John minimized a window, and then resized the smaller window, making it larger. “There was a layer here. One carefully covered up on first inspection. I had to go into her grandmother’s birth records to find it.”

“Damn it, John,” Teigan snapped. John was opening and closing windows so fast he couldn’t read any of them. “Just spit it out and stop gloating.”

John leaned back, folding his arms behind his head, a wide smile consuming the bottom half of his face. “Aria’s mother had a sister.”

“So?”

“So,” he waved a hand toward the screen, “take a look.”

Teigan bent over his shoulder, scanning the window John had left open. It looked to be part of a medical record, crammed full of a genetic analysis he had no hopes of reading. He skipped to the summary at the bottom, read it over once, then re-read it more slowly with dread pooling in his gut.

“Well shit,” Carthridge said from behind his shoulder.

“You got that right.” John smirked, snapping his gum. “And it’s just hit the fan.”
 

Chapter Four

August 1
^st
2104: 1601 EST

“There’s a faint static hum in the piano track. It needs to be recorded again and remixed with the other feeds.” Aria’s voice was all business as she spoke, her fingers drumming softly on the arm of her chair.
 

Under the baleful gaze of her chauffeur, Teigan observed Aria from across the studio office. It was a working office. In the center sat her large desk with seating for two guests in front of it, one of which was occupied by a prim looking secretary. One side of the room was lined with shelves of books and data chips, the other side a cinema size wall screen, and stretched across the back, below an equally large window, was a long panel of controls. On the other side of the monster size window were two recording studios: One for the controller and one where the performers would play or sing. Aria was sitting with her back toward Teigan, a set of high tech recording earphones covering her ears as she dictated to a thin, wild-haired man in the control room in front of her.

“I can’t hear anything,” he whined through the intercom.

“I can,” she retorted, receiving a curled lip from the man behind the glass. “Do the take again, but check all the lines and filters first.”

She slipped the earphones off, setting them on the counter, then swiveled the chair around to her desk. The large window behind her tinted to black as she looked straight at the door, and thus him, but somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, not his face. Too bad, she had beautiful eyes and the smoky purple pantsuit really set them off.

“Mr. Evans. What brings you here?” She turned her head slightly toward the woman seated in one of the guest chairs who’d been scribbling hurriedly on her tablet since he’d entered. “And why did security let him in?”

The pen hovered above the touch-screen surface, the woman’s bun tipped back as she blinked owlishly at Aria.

“I can be very persuasive.” Teigan threw Aria a charming smile, not that she could see the friendly gesture, but it couldn’t hurt to try and soften up the secretary and the scowling man in the corner of the room. The secretary looked over her shoulder at him and blushed, quickly averting her gaze. He glanced at the chauffer—well, one out of two wasn’t bad.
 

“Hmm.” Aria tapped the desk. “Becky. Find out who let Mr. Evans in and tell them if something like this happens again, they’ll be fired on the spot.”

“Yes, Miss Idyllis.” Becky jumped up, and with another glance and blush, left the room.
 

“Now, Mr. Evans, why are you here?” Aria asked, her tone brisk, dismissive even.
 

Teigan strived to keep a straight face. Aria Idyllis might be blind, but she was no pushover. She also hadn’t done anything over the last thirty-six hours to give them any idea as to her real purpose for visiting Garret’s house. After seeing the information John uncovered, they’d put her under surveillance. So far she’d done nothing alarming. She’d been at home when they’d picked her up and had only left to go to work, back to home, and now to work again. Was her life really that predictable? Or was she trying to appear innocent?
 

“Can we speak alone?” he countered and glanced at her driver once more. The man looked about as pleased to see him now as he had the other day, which equated to: Not happy at all.
 

“So now you want to speak alone?” Aria snorted out a laugh, throwing her head back as if she found this highly funny. After a moment, she composed herself, her features smoothing back into a professional look of mild interest. “Well. I must assume since you’re still here that the person lurking in the background at your house was a friend. It doesn’t change the fact that there
was
someone there. Nor that you lied about it.
I
do not like liars, Mr. Evans. Willis,” she nodded toward the corner of the room where her driver discretely stood, “is in my confidence. Whether he is present or not won’t change the fact that he will be fully briefed on this conversation. However, if you would be more comfortable speaking without him, I will ask him to step outside the door.”

“Please.” Teigan decided she looked cute when she got all haughty like this. He imagined she’d not be amused by the thought though. She hesitated, as if unsure of her offer now that he’d accepted, but then inclined her head. Willis opened his mouth as if to object, but then seemed to think better of it. He walked to the door, eyes fixed on Teigan, suspicion boiling out of the hard depths as he passed.

“Please, sit.” Aria waved a delicate hand toward the two comfortably stuffed chairs on Teigan’s side of the desk when the door clicked behind her driver. Not the type of cushy chair you’d get lost in, but still, a nice plush imitation leather that would envelop you in their cool embrace…or was it real leather? Given the desk—a real antique mahogany if he had to guess—probably.

“I’ll stand, thank you.”
 

As much as he wished otherwise, he wasn’t here for a social visit. The information John had unearthed opened too many doors and left too many questions unanswered. He needed to test her, judge her reactions. As much as he wanted to believe her desire to contact Garret had been genuine, he couldn’t take any risks. Too many things didn’t align and he’d been too distracted by her blindness, and yes, her beauty, the other day to observe her properly. He wouldn’t make that mistake again today.
 

His eyes trained on her hands. They’d seemed so frail holding the baton she used to find her way with, but he’d been taught just how inaccurate that assessment had been when she’d used it to whip his arm.
Elegant and slim, yes…not fragile.
 

She knew how to play that image of fragility up though. Today she wore her hair pulled into an intricate twist atop her head, revealing a slim neck, graceful jaw, and slightly pointed ears with delicate lobes. He shifted his weight back onto his heels, trying to adjust the synthetic denim that suddenly seemed too tight.
 

Observation. I’m here to watch her reactions.
Now if he could just convince his little head that observing her didn’t include studying every curve she possessed, he’d be all set.

“You can stand there all day if you like, Mr. Evans, and I’ll return to what I was doing,” she paused pointedly, “or you can tell me why you’re here.”

He drew his attention away from the fluttering pulse behind her left ear, blinking to clear the haze that seemed to have enveloped his brain. “Why did you come to my house, Aria?”

She folded her hands neatly on her desk, one hand clasping the other in a parody of calmness—the fluttering pulse gave her away.

Tell me the truth, Aria. Prove to me that I can trust you.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. That shuttle has left.”

Of course there was that point…why should she trust him when he’d lied to her?
 

He sighed, stuffing his hands into the jean pockets. “Don’t forgive easily, do you, Aria?”

One corner of her lip curled up slightly. “Blame my father. He was a firm believer in perfection. And perfection doesn’t believe in the three strikes rule.”

Perfection.
One of his eyebrows winged up. It fit. He didn’t like how
well
it fit. “And was your mother so harsh?”