ShiftingHeat (6 page)

He was humoring her. And he didn’t seem rattled, not one
bit. His lean, handsome face didn’t hold a wrinkle; not a line of worry marred
his smooth forehead.

So she humored him back. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“That’s my girl.”

She wasn’t his girl. Not anymore. Something else occurred to
her. “So why aren’t you running? Won’t they come back for you?”

“If they come back for me this time I’m ready. I have
lawyers on the case and I’m holding a meeting of the society later. I’m going
to tell them what happened. They’ll never dare do anything like it again and it
should start the debate properly. They won’t be able to hide their ambitions
anymore. You’ll come.” It wasn’t a request.

“Of course.” After all, she’d saved him. “And STORM
definitely wants to force the registration of all Talents.”

He gave her a look that clearly said “duh”. “You saw the
evidence.”

Papers that stated their support for the senators,
declarations of intent. Yes, she’d seen them. But untypical doubts filled her
today. Maybe that connection with Andros, seeing STORM as a very human
institution and not a megalith, had sown the seeds of doubt in her mind. “Don’t
tell them what I did. I did it on my own, nobody else knew.”

“It makes you very special.” His voice warmed. He’d
withdrawn his mental presence so she could only go on what she saw.

And she saw danger. Not because it was there, but because it
wasn’t. She’d put herself in his hands by accomplishing the rescue on her own.
Only he knew, and now he could tell. Or he might decide she was best out of the
way. She’d never come out, never revealed her true nature, so he could do that
too.

Why should she see danger here when before last night she’d
thought of Harken only as doing good, helping people like her who wanted to
remain hidden? She needed reminding, needed to put last night behind her and
move on. “Wouldn’t STORM have let you go after they’d questioned you?”

He shook his head. “They’d have read me, stripped my mind,
and only then released me. You know how STORM works. The people there want to
bring everyone into line, make all Talents reveal themselves. A fucking
dictatorship. Why should they get away with it? Why shouldn’t everyone have a
choice?”

His expression turned grim, his mouth a straight, thin
slash. “I wanted to get inside, to see what the layout was. It could be useful,
so when they came for me, I let them take me. But as soon as I got into that
room I knew what it was. An iso room. So one of theirs could strip my mind and
read everything I am. Nobody should do that to another human being. Not without
their permission. I couldn’t risk them doing that. You know that, Faye. I have
too much to give, I hold too many secrets. Yours, for one.”

A not so subtle reminder of what she’d realized for herself
a moment before. “You should at least leave for a while.”

He grimaced. “Yes, I know and I will, after today. I
promise. I’ve applied for leave of absence to the dean, and I think he’ll be
glad to see the back of me for a few moments. Just until they stop looking.
Only you and a few others will know how to get hold of me. And don’t, not
unless you need to. That dinner I mentioned—I thought I’d cook it for you, at
my new place. Would you like that?”

“Sure.” He was offering her a sop, and probably the
consolation of a fuck afterward. Why hadn’t she noticed his arrogance before?

She glanced at her watch. “I’m due in the main hall. They’re
registering the post-grads today and I need to check on a couple of people.”
She wanted to get away and it was all she could think of.

“I thought you taught undergraduates?”

“I do, but I’m thinking of using a couple of the post-grads as
research assistants.”

He shrugged. “Take care. And if anyone asks you any
questions, let me know. If STORM contacts you, wants to interview you, don’t go
in, let them come to you. If they take you in, don’t panic. You have nothing to
hide. Get in touch with me as soon as you can. Clear?”

Whatever his personality, Harken was doing good work, she
told herself firmly. He helped people who didn’t want to come out, helped them
to remain hidden. That was their right, surely. So she pushed her misgivings
aside as a symptom of stress after yesterday.

Grabbing her cell and a notebook, she came back around the
desk. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Before she left her office, he pulled her into his arms and
kissed her. A fierce, possessive kiss, the kind she’d have loved before
yesterday. The kind she loved now, she told herself, but deep down she knew
something had changed. It wasn’t true anymore. And she hated that it wasn’t but
she couldn’t do anything about it.

She left her office with him, but they said goodbye at the
end of the hallway. He’d disappear after today, to one of his bolt-holes in the
burbs. She had an email address and a cell number. Apart from that, she didn’t
know where he went. But they’d connected at a deeper level so he could find
her, as long as he didn’t go too far. Telepathy didn’t work long-distance.

She had to support him and the work he was doing, helping
Talents who didn’t want to come out. Congress was even discussing classifying
shape-shifters as animals. Then scientists could experiment on Talents without
compunction. Legally. Force them to subject themselves to painful, invasive
procedures until mortals had extracted the essence that made Talents what they
were. Not for them the long, painstaking research that might lead to a new,
balanced outlook. Now they wanted blood, tissue, anything. And they preferred
the live version.

She couldn’t let that happen. Or the other alternative—that
Talents separate themselves from other beings, that they live in communities of
their own. Unbearable. Mortals had gifts too. They had to work together for the
general good, even if that meant waiting longer. But mortals were essentially
greedy and they wanted it now.

Faye doubted that would ever happen.

Turning a corner, she entered the hall. A large space,
cavernous by day when only a few people were walking through, today it was
packed. People milled around the tables set around the walls, talking to the
people there to sign up and discuss the various courses open for registration
today. The hubbub echoed around the usually quiet place, circling above their
heads.

Just by looking, she couldn’t distinguish Talent from
mortal. Which was as it should be. If she opened the outer layer of her mind,
she could tell. Talents had sigils, signs that identified their Talent and in
some cases, their family or tribe. Their minds were ordered, revealing only what
they wanted to reveal. Mortals were more confused, more varied, occasionally
letting slip their deepest secrets, but for the most part nature had taken care
of things and their inner lives remained just that—inner.

She skimmed the crowd with her psi sense, her reactions
almost automatic. A griffin in the form of an adolescent, her long limbs
wrapped uncomfortably around her body. A vampire, her Talent latent except for
her weak telepathy, her sigil demonstrating an undeveloped Talent. A truly
young one, probably no older than she looked. And someone with his back to her,
a young man leaning on a pair of crutches. The harsh lights sent glints of
silver through his fair hair as he adjusted his stance so he could sign the
admission form. That hair, so pale. She’d seen it before.

Her mind stretched out, ready to withdraw. She sensed
something familiar. A trace of a pattern she knew.

She spun around ready to return the way she came but it was
too late. His mind touched hers. He’d found her.

Chapter
Three

A mind much stronger than she’d realized he owned locked on
to hers. Because of that fatal moment the night before when she’d let him in,
he used that, unerringly snaking his way through the tiny opening to gain
access to a deeper level. She gasped, halted in her escape. Tried to organize
her mind, stop him getting to her. Given an hour in a quiet place, she could
seal the damage, but she hadn’t thought she’d needed to before now. Hadn’t
imagined he’d find her.

But he had her now, and as she struggled to close the
revealing opening, he widened it, made it easier for him to track her. He
picked her out like a magnet tracking a needle in a haystack. She couldn’t
hide.

All the way back to her office, she fought him, but she knew
she wouldn’t win. So she made for her lair, where at least nobody would witness
her downfall.

She heard his arrival, that uneven hop and clunk of crutches
approaching down the uncarpeted hallway. She’d left the door slightly ajar. He
didn’t knock.

He stared at her, ignoring the ankle bracelet that she’d
retrieved from the drawer and put on the desk in front of her. “Cara?” He
sounded cynical, jaded, no trace of the enthusiastic lover of last night remaining.
His shoulders slumped so that his tall figure bent in a slouch, necessitated by
the forearm crutches he used, and he seemed somehow smaller. But the eyes were
the same, the bright blue burning into her irises.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I planned to get the anklet
back to you, mail it or leave it at a drop and send you an email. I didn’t mean
to get you into trouble.” She met his gaze, trying to contact him, but he’d
locked down his psi completely. A pang of pain shot through her. She couldn’t
blame him for blocking her, but it hurt all the same.

She indicated his crutches with an embarrassed, brief
gesture. “Did they do that to you at STORM?”

He’d obviously had the customized items for a while, and
they’d been used well. Scratches and scuffs marred the matte black, and a few
of the motifs had come loose.

He glanced at the items with irritation. “No.” Before her astonished
eyes, he straightened and pulled off the forearm cuffs, holding the crutches in
one hand. He’d used them to deceive.

Anger sparked deep within her. “It’s despicable to use
disability as a means of getting to people.” She almost spat the words at him.

His lids drooped over his eyes, giving them a sultry,
shouldering appearance. “Not when you’re really disabled, it’s not. The
disabled need every advantage they can get. I forget about the crutches,
sometimes. God knows I spent enough years trying to do that.” He walked forward
and propped the crutches against her desk. He must be able to balance them
well, to do that with such a sure hand. That indicated he was familiar with using
them. Perhaps he’d broken his leg sometime, something like that.

He didn’t look at the crutches but at her. “The university
knows me as a cripple.” She winced when he used the word and she knew he’d done
it deliberately. To shock or provoke, to make her react. “It seemed like a good
idea to keep the image consistent. I didn’t know what I’d find here. The
university doesn’t know I’m Talented. Do they know about you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t see what that has to do with
the job I do here.” She frowned. “How come they know you as a—disabled person?”
She couldn’t use the epithet he just had to describe himself. It was too cruel.

His lip curled. “I hate those disguised words. It sounds
better, puts me in a category. I am—was—a cripple. Not blind, not deaf, just
unable to walk properly. Or use my limbs.” He clamped his lips together as if
denying his words egress through them. Then he spoke again. “STORM doesn’t
cripple its employees, ever. And no, I’m not an operative, but you know that
from the blue anklet, don’t you? I’m what I told you I was—a geek. I do
research. I told you that too. But you didn’t tell me what you did, did you?
You didn’t even tell me your real name.” The sneer returned. “I always knew my
character assessment wasn’t very good. You proved that spectacularly. You
didn’t need to fuck me to get the ankle bracelet, though. You could have just
drugged me. Are you a nympho, or is it the act of deception that makes you
cream your pants?”

The deliberate crudities made her flinch.

“What’s wrong? Can’t face the truth? That’s what you did,
after all.” Keeping her gaze snared in his, he moved around the table to stand
before her. She had to fight hard not to give way and take a step back. In a
low, intimate voice even more menacing than his usual tone, he added, “Come on,
Cara—or can I use your real name now? Tell me the truth, Faye. Either way, I’m
taking you in. You get to share in the trouble I’m in.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want any of that.”

“Pity. Because you’re coming in anyway.” Tension thrummed in
the air, a palpable force.

Harken had warned her to expect them to come for her, and she
had no way of avoiding them taking her in. The only thing she could do was to
block her mind from intrusions and keep blocking. At least she’d learned how to
do that well. But if a Sorcerer examined her, she’d have no chance. But she’d
try. Keep fighting. “Do you believe that all Talents should be outed?”

He frowned in what looked like disbelief. “Why? What does
that have to do with anything?”

“Well, do you?”

“Of course not. It should be their choice. Now answer my
question.”

“STORM wants to do that.”

How dare he laugh? But he did, full-throated and genuine-sounding.
“Who the fuck told you that?”

Her lips firmed. How sad that he was so under STORM’s thumb.
“I’ve seen memos, directives. You’re probably not high up enough to see them.”

He raised a brow. “How would you know what level I’m at?”

She indicated the ankle bracelet, lying until now
disregarded on the table. “That does.”

He snagged the bracelet and shoved it into his pocket.
“Yeah. But I do research, sweetness. Security levels can be quite high for
research staff. You’re misinformed again.” Although he didn’t move, his mind
twitched and tugged at the hook he’d embedded deep in hers. But she blocked him
around it. She still wouldn’t give him access to her inner thoughts. It took
more effort than she thought, although he wasn’t pressing her for more.