Necrotech (22 page)

Problem was, I didn't know many – saint or corporate assclown – who gave a damn. And I wasn't sure Greg himself knew how valuable that perseverance was.

Unfortunately for him, current events trumped idealism. I had a purpose for him.

“So?” He cocked his head, returning my study with raised eyebrows. His persona's chiseled features still made me want to laugh, but I could admit they delivered. He was cute. “I can't get a lock on your frequency. I take it this isn't a social call.”

I grinned. “That's right, you can't.”
Thank you, Lucky
. “I'm here to offer a white flag.”

His eyes lit, reflecting back a snap of poison green as an ad flickered behind me. “Surrender?” he asked hopefully.

I raised my chin. “Truce, detective. Just a truce.”

I half-expected that warm glow to bank. It didn't. His mouth curved up, and he leaned forward just enough to show his interest. “I'll take what I can get.”

“Even when it comes with a tech limb?”

Okay, that was a low blow. It kind of didn't help my case – especially when his gaze flicked to my folded diamond steel arm and skated away. He shrugged, but didn't apologize.

Neither did I. “Let's keep this honest.” I unfolded my arms, braced my hands on the edge of the table. “I'm not here to talk about you, your wife, or your after-hours inclinations. Word on the wave–” Damn, I was turning into Jax. “Word out there is that you're on the market.”

His shoulders tightened. The vaguely sheepish cant to his smile faded to a grimace. “Why do I get the impression you're not talking about dating?”

“I'm not.”

“Crap.”

“Yeah, my thoughts, too.” I tipped my head to the white door behind him. “You talk to anyone else out there?” He didn't have to say anything. I read the answer clear as day on his face. “You did,” I guessed before he could try to deny it. “Of course you did.”

“You turned me down.”

True, but he was the idiot who'd gone blabbing. “Why do I get the impression you wandered down to the rack and started asking questions?”

The look he shot me was almost as good as a sigh. “You really think I'm stupid.”

Yes. Well, sort of. I waved that away. “Let's try this again, detective. I think I could have work for you.”

Greg dragged a hand over his adorably – and deliberately – mussed hair, but at least he didn't look like he was calculating the results on my libido. “Why the change of heart?”

“Honestly?” I raised one eyebrow at him. “I think you're going to get eaten alive if I don't make it clear you're mine.”

“
Yours
?”

“In my black book, then,” I returned impatiently. Even temporarily. As soon as he signed on with me, I could giftwrap him for Indigo.

That's right. I was delivering a cop to my linker.

It was a multipart plan, and as long as Indigo didn't lose his shit when I told him I had a pocket cop for him, it might work. As a sweet bonus, it would net Indigo Koupra a decent uniform in his network.

Sort of like delivering flowers after a fight, except I was the bad boyfriend in this equation and I wasn't sure Indigo was girly enough to accept it.

All I could do was try. “Look, pride's all well and good, but you're a sinner in blue messing around in sainted turf. The rules are different.”

“Uh huh.” He didn't look appeased. “So what you're telling me is that you don't think I can hack it.”

Pretty much. Still, it didn't sound all that encouraging, did it? I straightened, easing to my feet with an exasperated sound. “Trust me, Greg. Once you start to get the lay of the land, you'll understand. Until then, take the smegging help.”

“What's in it for you?”

I loved that question. It usually meant people were willing to deal – or at least closer to it. “Information, now and again. Sometimes, people. And the occasional freelance job.”

Greg rocked back on his heels, surprise evident on his artistically enhanced projection. “To kill?”

I shook my head. “Nah. You're a cop. Your strength is in that. Any saint worth her shit knows better than to blunt a tool using it for something it's not meant for.”

He didn't like that. I could tell by the way his jaw tightened. “I am not a tool.”

See? Malik was wrong.

“Look,” I said, sighing with it, “you want in on this world? This is how it goes. You're a cop and a sinner, which makes you second to a corp fuckhead in a suit. You've got zero cred. You have to start somewhere.”

“Is this how you started?”

It was how I was having to start again. My lip curled. “Not quite. I started as somebody's pet project.” The fact I respected Lucky kept me from worrying on that bone longer than I had to. I was done here. Patience wasn't much of a strong point for me, and he'd tapped out what little I had left. “Think about it, Greg. And keep in mind what I told you.”

“What, that I'm a
tool
?”

Oh, for fuck's sake. The fact his indignation mirrored the shit I'd flipped Malik for his assessment of Digo's
assets
made this even more ridiculous. “No, you idiot,” I growled. “That you're marked. And I promise, most saints who have reasons to want a cop on the take are going to have a shit ton more tech than me, so consider growing a pair, okay?”

“I will if you'll tell me something.”

I hesitated, turning enough that I could slant him an impatient nod without opening up any deeper discourse. “Make it fast.”

His hands had come out of his pockets. Big hands, but I preferred them callused over this perfected persona. One pointed at my left arm. “Why did you get that?”

Always back to the arm, huh? I opted for honesty. “A run went sideways and it took my arm with it.”

“Why not regrow it?” A valid question.

But a whole lot ignorant, too. My smile slashed into a bitter shade of pity. He was going to have to learn, and fast. “Rule number one, detective. Saints don't have insurance.” I closed out of the projection before he unraveled what was left of my goodwill.

It wasn't his fault. The guy had basically painted himself red and slapped a sign on his ass declaring
fresh meat
. He'd figure it out. With or without my help, he'd learn. Dealing with SINless meant different rules.

He wasn't completely wrong about my arm, either. Medlabs
could
regrow amputated limbs, but the bio gel worked slowly and needed constant maintenance to get right. Nobody on the streets had that kind of funding or time. Much as I made fun of the civic departments, the one place they didn't skimp was injury coverage. If Greg ever got unlucky enough to lose a limb, they'd pay for as many months of intensive care as needed to get him back on the street without resorting to too much tech.

Sure, all kinds of police went bad all the time, but
nobody
wanted to risk tech corruption in a precinct full of cops.

Besides, the arm wasn't so bad, once you got used to it.

I took a deep breath.

My good deed for the day was done. If Detective Douchedick signed up – and now that he knew he had options, I expected him to – I'd have my very own bouquet of cop to give to Indigo. It was manipulative and probably a little creepy, but I was what I was.

Digo would come around.

Maybe.

I scrubbed at my face. Enough. Enough guilt. Enough dealing with other people's shit. I needed my mind off everything, and the siren call of hot water might do it. I pushed myself to my feet, stretching the kinks from my abused muscles. Nanos could fix a lot, but I'd bet all that hot, clean water would feel like Greg's Judeo-Christian heaven.

The bedroom offered a huge bed that looked comfortable enough to sink into and windows that were tinted against outside voyeurs. Curtains covered the panels, sheer and gauzy, and while it was nice enough, it didn't rock my world.

The bathroom, on the other hand, pretty much ruined me for life.

“What the
tits
,” I breathed as I stepped out of one pristine wonderland into another. The colors didn't change, replacing furniture with fixtures that sparkled in satin-finish silver and floor-to-ceiling windows with narrow panels interspersed with mirrors in between. The floor was a mosaic in the same pale gray, blue and lavender colors, and the walls echoed the smooth satin plating.

It was like a zen masterpiece in here. Dull, but calm.

Made all the better by the stand-up radiation shower inset into one corner, the wide bathtub beside it, and – oh, holy fucking balls of joy – a shower. An actual
shower
. A legit water-falls-from-pipes-of-heaven walk-in shower.

Maybe I would have gone for the bathtub, but that seemed too peaceful for my frenetic energy.

My boots hit the ground so fast, I heard the laces stretch. In seconds, I was naked, grinning like a kid in sugar heaven, and standing within the confines of gray metal and squeaky clean, frosted glass.

A monitor by the shower door flicked on as my feet hit the tiled floor, showcasing an array of sliders. “Welcome,” said a gentle, mechanized voice. Mostly masculine, though in a range that put me in mind of Shiva's mystique. “Temperature?”

I was in paradise.

“Scalding,” I told it.

“Temperature set to maximum heat for organic users,” the voice told me politely. “Pressure?”

“Brutal.”

“Pressure set to maximum therapeutic levels. Please enjoy.”

A thrum went up through my feet. Within seconds, panels I hadn't noticed in the ceiling overhead slid wide, and water tore through the pipes. Hot, heavy rain scored over me, splattered to the tile, and I couldn't help myself.

I laughed. Holding my arms out like I'd fly away, I let the heavy, pounding spray wash over me, fill my mouth and eyes and ears, and I laughed until all the what-ifs faded.

Like I said, I liked things simple. A hot shower ranked up there as one of life's gifts a girl just didn't turn away.

Steam quickly turned the glass panels white. I shook my ass under that shower for I don't know how long, ignored the perfumed soap proffered by another panel inset into the wall, and stood beneath the spray until my fingertips wrinkled and the pads of my feet went white.

If I ever became so rich that I had creds to burn, I was installing a permanent, legit water filter in Lucky's place. That man needed to know what this was like.

I stood in the center of the rain, my arms hanging by my sides, and breathed in hot steam as the spray slid over my face, my shoulders. I could feel the ache in my arm draining with the water swirling around my toes. Even the tension in my shoulders eased.

For the first time since waking up in that lab, I completely checked out.

I blame the sheer shit of the past few days. I should have known better.

“Delighted you're enjoying yourself.”

Malik Reed's even, unmistakable baritone cut through the noise of the shower, ripping me out of my fresh water fantasies. I jerked my face out of the spray, flipping my streaming hair from my eyes even as I rocked back on my left foot, stepping into a position that would give me the best leverage in the enclosed space.

I should have followed through with the straight-legged kick I geared up, should have ignored the jolt of surprise as it stole my momentum.

I didn't. Idiot me.

M
alik lounged in the steam
, his athletic body not so much filling the space as angled to make the most of the room he had. His hands tucked casually into the pockets of his slacks. Water spread like a black stain across the front of his vest. Droplets slid down his jaw, courtesy of my shake, but he made no move to wipe them away.

Sexy. Something about men, suits and water. No way I entertained that fetish alone.

His features had settled into hard lines somewhere between determination and implacability, and if it bothered him that his left shoulder was soaking up condensation from the glass he leaned against, I couldn't tell. His gaze, black in the murky bathroom, wandered down my naked body in blatant scrutiny. It hooked on the glint of metal at my left nipple.

He looked like a man poised to admire what was his. A thing in a prized collection.

I shouldn't have found that delicious. I totally did.

Big fat red alert.

I half-turned, lifting my hands to the hot spray. The fact that my pussy was throwing me a hungry tantrum irritated me – I liked sex, but I wasn't into corporate dogs, and definitely not into sadists.

Kind of into provocation, though. Although I looked out of place in all this soft-finish chrome, I was confident enough in my sense of self to feel sexy about it, and I knew he was looking.

“Are you here to join me?” My tongue had no problem with the words, it was my voice that got carried away. Husky and low, like an invite. “'Cause,” I continued, stepping out of the waterfall, “you're way too late. I'm done.”

He didn't say anything. Not even when I walked forward, bare feet splashing in the patterned water swirling the drains. I halted just shy of plastering myself on him, bracing myself with one hand against the same panel he leaned against.

I raised my eyebrows in mock-polite inquiry, didn't bother trying to cover myself. I didn't know how long he'd been standing there, but if he wanted to appreciate all the work I put in to keep myself in killing form, more power to him.

Malik made no effort to move. “Water off.”

The water ceased. The ceiling panels slid shut, catching any drips, and silence descended on the warm, sultry bathroom air like a second shroud.

I narrowed my eyes, though I was forced to pull my sodden hair back from my forehead when droplets slid down my face. “You are in my way.”

“You're missing an appointment,” was his reply.

“Yes, I am.” I'd known when I laid down the line that there was a chance I'd be called on it. “Hope gave you my message, huh?”

“I believe the invitation involved handling it myself.” Malik didn't pull his hands from his pockets – a pose that made him look too much like some kind of adspace model. It didn't sit right on him. Part of me appreciated the raw masculinity of the man, but he was too hard, too cold to pull it off with any real polish. At least Greg's version gave him an impression of the scruffy boy next door.

Although I guess that was the difference between them. Greg was very much aware of his attractiveness. Malik didn't need to sell anything to anyone. He existed, independent of what anyone thought of him. That much was obvious.

I still owed him a punch in the throat.

I let my gaze slide over his features. Delicious, sure. But dangerous. Nothing softened it – not the water clinging to his warm brown skin, the way his shirt and vest fit over his athletic shoulders, not even the incongruity of his expensive shoes against the wet tile. It was a deliberate mockery of the study he'd afforded me, only he wasn't naked.

Good thing. I had no misconceptions about my willpower in matters of the flesh, and a naked Malik Reed would be the worst idea I could entertain.

“You're still in my way,” I said huskily.

“And you're still missing an appointment.”

“For a guy who started this by having his people kick my ass,” I replied, “you're putting a serious harsh on our relationship.”

He inclined his head. “Tell me why you won't allow my team to examine you.”

“Okay, one?” I held up a finger under his nose, which scattered more water on his vest, soaking in like black ink. “I don't need to be
examined
, thanks. The data your people pulled off me in that fight is enough.” Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. If he'd been recording my activities during that scrap, he wasn't going to tell me.

Fine. I'd work on the assumption that he wasn't an idiot.

I lifted another finger. “Two, get the hell out of my way so I can dry off.”

“Will you continue our discussion?”

“Will you keep me in here if I don't?” I countered.

Shit. I shouldn't have asked. Malik serious was bad enough, but there went that smile again. A curve of his full mouth that didn't quite reach his eyes, not really. The closest it got formed those little crinkles beside them.

It also sent sharp, unwelcome fingers of heat through parts of me still wet from the shower and getting wetter by the second.

Maybe I'd see about tech that could turn off my sex drive. It existed. Given the fact he'd ordered four assclowns to break me in a fight, to say nothing of the wedding band I was pretty sure meant he was more trouble than the effort was worth, I didn't need this.

My arms shot out, both hands connected with his chest and I straight-armed him out of the shower door. He didn't stumble so much as take a smooth, balanced step back, like he'd only ridden my momentum.

I swiftly recalculated my assumption of the man's setup. Reflex enhancers? Balance modifiers? Some tech was subtler than others. I'd rather naively assumed Malik had none.

My weight shifted to the balls of my feet, adrenaline spiking, but he didn't even take his hands from his pockets.

I wanted a fight.

Hell, I wanted blood. Skin. Something that would tamp this restless, anxious surge of heat and awareness down.

Malik didn't give me any reason to push it.

“Do me a favor,” I said, a flat edge away from a snarl as I stepped out of the shower. “Don't ever try to keep me confined.”

“Confine you?” Malik snagged a towel from a narrow rack, as gray as the rest of the suite and thick enough that his dark fingers sank into the plush. The gold ring on his hand winked as he held it out, his features once more unreadable. “I can't even get you to show up for an appointment. You won't take my card, a fact Mr Koupra isn't thanking you for right now–”

I winced. “Chum off.”

“–and you haven't given me a valid reason why you won't let yourself be checked out,” he continued over me, a level challenge.

I snatched the towel from him, unfolding it over my naked body so it covered me from armpits to knees, and shook back my hair. “Because my tech is mine to know,” I said bluntly, meeting his gaze. “This is a one-off, Malik, a single run. What I've got going on is my business, not yours.”

“Attractive as what you've got going on is,” he returned, though with none of the warmth a compliment of that nature should have had, “you made it my business when you came looking for resources.”

I tucked the towel in place over my breasts, my jaw tightening. “Does your wife know how much of a flirt you are?” Not even a twitch. The man was not the distractible kind. I bit back a sigh. “I put up with your bullshit ambush, Malik. I got you your evidence. You never said exams were part of the deal.”

“Only a fool would send resources out with an unknown,” he countered. “I am not a fool.”

No. I believed that. If anything, he was cautious, calculated, and thorough.

Look at me. Lulled into complacency with a shower.

Fucking A.

I pushed past him, bent to pick up my pants and discarded shirt, and stalked out of the bathroom, trailing water as I went. “Look at it from my angle,” I said over my shoulder. “You're a complete unknown to me. What am I supposed to do? Trust you?”

“Do you have a choice?” He followed me into the airy flat, apparently not at all bothered that I was still half naked and his sleeve was mostly soaked. “The data you brought me suggests I'm the idiot for trusting either of you without some kind of collateral.”

Water beaded on my shoulders. Rolled down my back. I shot him a fulminating scowl. “You're the one who said you'd help.”

“Never for free.”

What. An asshole. “You're getting data nobody's ever seen,” I pointed out, referencing the stuff he hired Digo to pull.

“That makes him integral. You,” he said with emphasis, “are still only boots on the ground. One word, and Mr Koupra will no doubt dance for joy to hear you've been removed.”

Well, that just flew in the face of what he told Digo in that office. I started at him, hands clenched in my towel. Water dripped off my nose. “And now you're saying you want a full scan of my setup or else no dice.” He tipped his head. I snorted outright. “Or what? You and I can go in circles, but you yourself said I'm the only one who's seen it. I know how to find it. How to get in. Your people can search for hours, but the burn team will napalm the place long before they locate it. You willing to miss out on all that pretty intel just for a scan?”

Malik's eyes raked over the hem of my towel. “I'm willing to hear a counteroffer.”

“Sure.” Heedless of the windows, I dropped my towel.

Finally.
He reacted, shoulders tightening.

“Oh, sorry,” I said dryly, pulling my sleeveless shirt over my head. It'd catch some of the water dripping from my hair, but oh well. It'd dry. “I'm not on the table.”

I knew he heard the phrasing, had processed it, but if there was even an ounce of interest under all that unflappable polish, I didn't have the faintest clue. Just the rigid set of his shoulders. And a wedding ring.

Go figure. The first faithful husband I'd met in the corporate sector, and I found him interesting. And a rabid pain in the ass.

“I bet your poker face is killer,” I muttered.

“I'm waiting.” The way he said it, like I was some kind of kid getting sent to time out, flicked away the last vestiges of my strained amusement.

Fine. I could play the game, and I didn't
always
have to stroke my cock. Just like I didn't
always
have to kick teeth in. Both men were wrong.

I stepped into my pants. “You saw me fight once, you know I'm physically fit.” This was why I didn't go for skintight club wear when I hit the street for a run. Any item you had to wriggle, hop and strain your way into was going to end up wedged into your crotch at the worst possible time. Fortunately for me, my BDUs slid on like a dream, wet skin or otherwise. “The data you lifted off me in that fight can easily fill in any blanks. Extrapolate, and that should be all you need.”

That I didn't want anyone poking at me, scanning me, or otherwise trying to get into my head to tell me how screwed up I was went without saying. If he didn't get that, I wasn't going to give him the opportunity to pry.

It bothered me that he just stood there, watching me dress and listening to my argument like it was perfectly reasonable to be doing both at the same time. The man was a robot.

Except then he opened his mouth, and there wasn't anything machinelike about that baritone. “Give me something that matters.”

“Does your wife let you use that voice in the sack?” I inquired, widening my eyes at him with fake interest. “Does it work?”

He lifted an arm, wiping traces of drying water off his jaw with the back of one hand, and waited me out. Again.

“For all the fucks in – Look. It's easy,” I said, though it was anything but. “I woke up in a lab-like prison with no idea how I got there. I got out, but I had to leave behind my–”
Shit.
“A teammate,” I amended, “to do it. Who the fuck even knows what's behind it all? We're saints, Malik. SINless. We don't trust.”

“Congratulations. That's one thing we have in common.”

“Oh, good. Do I get a sweet little vest and a tie, too?”

A muscle in Malik's jaw went taut, then eased. One thick black eyebrow climbed on his forehead. I refused to look away, even if the words had slipped out. Authority, remember? I firmed my jaw.

I was tired of giving up my shit to other people. My file to Greg. A favor to Jax. The only sanctuary I had in this godforsaken hellhole of a city. My memories. My linker.

Losing more – giving up the fundamental secrets of my personal tech – hit low and hard. I didn't want to do it.

Chunking hell
, I was so bad at this whole relating to people thing. If I were any more terrible at it, I'd be ambulatory meat on a stick. Just a flailing blender of death.

Indigo was right. I sucked at the game. That's why I needed a linker who didn't.

And he hated me, too.

No. I was done giving in. This was my line in the sand.

“I'll lay it out plainly for you.” Malik raised a long, manicured finger, direct mockery of my own earlier emphasis. “Without my resources, you're going nowhere.” Another finger. “Without a workup, you don't get my resources. The choice is yours.”

And just like that, my line in the sand became a choice between my tech and my cred.

Fuck me.