Red Night ((Book 1) Timewalker Chronicles) (2 page)

Nerves. Damn. The air escaped from her lungs in a slow controlled hiss when he stepped off the elevator. Scurrying after him, she dodged people in the hallways as she followed him to his office. Slumped against the wall, she waited for his door to close behind him. Good fortune was smiling upon her yet again. Directly across from his office was another door with the name of Mr. Red Death himself, Trent Georges.

She cupped her hands above her eyes and peered through the glass.

Empty.

A good ten minutes passed while she waited for the hallway to clear out. Someone would probably notice a door opening and closing by itself. Finally, after she’d stood there worrying about the entire mess long enough for sweat to pool and run down her cleavage, she managed to slip inside Trent’s office.

Now she was really grumpy. She hated sweat.

All she needed was ten minutes. She hoped. His computer was state of the art. Not that it mattered. It only took her a few minutes to reboot and scramble his hard drive beyond repair. His notebooks and papers were next. There just happened to be a shredder in his office. Rolling her eyes, she wondered just what that was for. Trent was going to annihilate the whole world and he was probably worried about his checking account.

She glanced at Tinkerbelle again. Ten minutes. One third of her mission for the day accomplished. Not bad. But she was getting tired. And hungry. Very, very hungry.

Hungry, tired, doomed to sneak around like this for another couple of hours, and, last but not least, her chest still tingled. Now, this whole libido thing was just going to be a pain in the neck. Never before had desire overwhelmed her, threatened her ability to think. Not like this. Every heartbeat sent blood pounding through parts of her body she didn’t have time to think about; and all because she’d walked the strands.

Her mother had tried to warn her of how years of sexual desire would exponentially explode after she reached her destination. Holy hell. Mom could have tried a little harder to convince her. Oh, well. She never was much for listening, anyway. And she sure as hell had never liked being told what to do. That’s why she’d waited so long to answer her Archiver’s call. The Archiver owned her. Had owned all the women of her line since time began. Something inside her really wanted to piss him off for that. For forcing her to leave everyone she loved, her parents, her eight brothers, her life. And for making the task so important that she wouldn’t refuse the call.

Sometimes being honorable was hell. She hated the Archiver for giving her the choice. Petty? Sure. But she just couldn’t help herself. She’d ignored him, hoping he would forget about her. Of course, her plan had failed. The Archiver operated outside the realm of normal time. Another ten years in her life would’ve made no difference to him. May, 2017 wasn’t going anywhere. Disaster had already struck once. She was just here to try to prevent it from happening again, from becoming a permanent apocalypse. Her job was to change the past. Change the future, and not just for this planet. The ripple effect of the Red Death had caused more accumulative damage elsewhere. Parallel dimensions. It was one hell of a mess. And he’d sent her.

“Fool.” Obviously he believed in her and her heritage. She wished with all her heart that she shared that faith.

Alexa listened to the muffled voices reverberating through the hallway for a moment before easing the office door open a couple of inches. Immediately Mr. Cheerful’s voice nearly knocked her back inside the room.

“Are you insane, Trent?”

Yelling. High volume. Yes. Absolutely perfect. Luke Lawson’s good mood seemed to have evaporated. A happy smirk slipped into place on her face. She couldn’t help it. No one could maintain that much good cheer for long. It just wasn’t possible. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she wondered what had happened to sour the morning for him.

“Look, Luke. If we don’t take this to the next level, someone else will.”

Alexa peeked around the edge of the door. A rather large man’s back half protruded from the open doorway of Luke’s office. She seized the opportunity and slipped out into the hallway while no one was looking. The big guy started talking again.

“We’re on to something big here. We’ll get millions in grants. If we don’t start animal testing this vaccine, we’re going to miss the boat. And then, when some freak attacks us with this shit, it’ll wipe us all out.”

Alexa slid across the hallway to get a look at the man’s face. He had light blond hair, cut short and balding into deep widow’s peaks. Alcohol had added a deep reddish flush to his cheeks and nose that contrasted starkly with otherwise pale skin. His eyes bulged from his head like an insect’s, or like a bloated fish that had been lying too long in the sun. Black slacks hugged his oversized rear-end a little too tightly and her foot was within easy striking distance of his family jewels. She gritted her teeth and held herself in check. All Alexa really, really wanted was to kick him in the nuts.

Trent Georges himself was within striking distance, sounding like the fool history had proven him.

“No. Number six is the most virulent. The worst of the bunch. I can’t believe I let you talk me into playing around with the damn thing in the first place.” Alexa managed a quick glance around Trent. Luke was advancing on his cohort. Anger twisted his face, but his voice was deadly calm. “If you start testing on animals, you’re exposing too many people. The vaccine hasn’t been tested. You can’t be serious.”

Trent’s voice could’ve been used to scold a two year old. “They’ll be in quarantine. It’ll be fine.” Trent crossed his arms over his chest. “I submitted the project for approval months ago. Got it back last week. Donovan is getting the lab set up. You start Wednesday, or you resign. This is my project, Luke.”

“Don’t tell me. Richards signed off on it for you.” Luke shook his head in disgust. “I don’t care what that idiot in Washington approved. I won’t do this, Trent.”

“Don’t be hasty.” Trent backed into the hallway. “Go home. Think it over. This is a huge project. You’d be in charge. Frankly, Luke, you’re the idiot if you pass this up.”

Alexa dashed into Luke’s office seconds before he slammed the door closed on Trent’s retreating back. She made herself as small as possible in one corner and watched Luke slump down into the high back chair behind his desk. “Damn it. He doesn’t even have the balls to work in the Hot Zone himself.” Luke ran his hand through his hair, then his fingers pushed into his chest, like he was suffering a muscle twinge there. “He doesn’t know what he’s starting.”

Thirty minutes later, obvious agitation quickened his steps as he paced his office. Back and forth. Back and forth. Desk to door. Door to desk. His nerves were waking hers up, feeding them more adrenaline for breakfast. Not good. Maybe if she could get to his computer, she could quietly get this part of the job done while he wasted time waltzing around his little playpen. And maybe she could stop staring at his tight buns in those khakis.

Yeah. Right. No chance in hell of that happening.

She edged closer to his heavy mahogany desk and the clutter splattered across its shining surface. Most likely, he would notice if she started tapping on his keyboard, but maybe she could get an idea of what he had around just by looking. What she really hoped was that her pulse would stop pounding in her ears.

Trent Georges had disgusted her. So why would his partner in crime turn her on? According to the history she’d been given, he was equally responsible for the outbreak. Just as many souls hung over his head. So, why didn’t she feel their oppressive weight destroying the attraction when it came to him?

The only possibility appalled her. Destiny. Fate. The meddling of the Archiver with her life. And his. A silent “No” fell from her lips. Her jaw dropped at the realization and she couldn’t tear her gaze from his muscular frame. Luke Lawson had wavy chestnut hair, just long enough to bury her hands in and sigh as its softness whispered over her skin. Chocolate brown eyes that would melt her on the spot if he’d actually been looking at her. Broad shoulders. Full soft lips. And his hands. Heaven help her. Every inch of her body begged to be worshipped by those incredible hands.

This can’t be happening. She remembered her mother’s throaty laugh when she’d boldly declared The Prize to be a joke. Alexa refused to believe the Archiver had the power to choose a mate for her before she’d even been born. Her mother had been happy to let the matter drop after a sly, “We’ll see, daughter.”

The Prize. The perfect man for her. A gift given in return for sacrificing her life to save others. A man genetically manipulated to be compatible with her DNA. A man who would sire the perfect daughter. A little girl who would be the next of her line to be Taken. A man who would boil her blood and be the ideal companion for her, for the rest of her life here on Earth 8. He was chosen by the wisest beings in existence, beings chosen by God Himself to protect all the planets, and the races on them, from themselves.

And her man whistled, at six o’clock in the morning.

Her man was responsible for the end of the world.

Luke was still crisscrossing his office like an enraged army ant rebuilding his fallen fortress. And he was all hers. If she could keep them both alive long enough to claim him.

They must’ve made a mistake this time at the big meddlers’ meeting. The Archiver who summoned her ordered her to do whatever was necessary to prevent the outbreak. That included eliminating the scientists responsible. Luke couldn’t be hers. She was supposed to kill him. If she didn’t, M-6 would. He was the third victim of the Red Death.

Even as she flirted with the thought, she knew there was no mistake. The cabbie, Trent, and all the men in the small army of staff that worked in this complex had failed to draw her attention. Nope. The only man she wanted was him. The whistler.

There was always the chance he’d be reasonable. How cruel a fate to be forced to kill her mate. Or anyone else for that matter. She wasn’t at all sure she could do it. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to find out.

The urge to unmask her presence and tell him everything was nearly impossible to resist. If he were her true match, he would have to respond to her. To believe her. But what if he didn’t? Could she risk billions of lives on a theory inspired by a hormonal surge? No.

Frustration built until it was gnawing a hole in her stomach two hours later. She couldn’t allow Luke to get out of sight, so he’d led her on a merry chase around the complex. To the lab. Back to his office. More pacing. Conference room for a meeting where a bunch of stiffs argued over details that wouldn’t matter in a week if the Red Death struck. Back to his office. Even more pacing. And mumbling. And cursing. She wanted to slap him upside the head and tell him to get on with it. He needed to go home so she could destroy any files he had there. He needed to get her inside the lab so she could wipe out all the bugs. And what was he doing? Sitting at his desk for the last half hour, working. There was nowhere she could hide in his Spartan office and relax for a minute. Two chairs, one huge wall-to-wall bookcase stuffed to overflowing, and his desk occupied the small room. That was it. The plain tile floor didn’t look comfortable, and the hallway was no better. No rest for the wicked. Problem was, she couldn’t keep this up much longer, especially without food. She’d been cloaking herself for longer than she would’ve believed possible.

A slight tremor vibrated through the waves of light she could see cascading around her and she hoped he couldn’t see her. The struggle to remain hidden drained her energy, and would soon force her to act in reckless desperation. Exhaustion made her hands shake and her right eyelid periodically twitch. All she really wanted was to devour several pounds of chocolate, then lie down and sleep for a week.

Fat chance of that happening.

But at least he wasn’t whistling.

Surprisingly, she missed the sound. As obnoxious as she’d first thought his habit, the noise had calmed her nerves, just a bit. Oh, well. She’d wanted him to stop, and now he had. No sense whining about it.

Alexa sat in the brown leather chair across from his desk and studied him. Luke was scowling intently at his laptop computer. No matter how hard she tried to remember to control herself, her foot rebelled and periodically tapped the floor, betraying her irritation. His concentration was so complete he didn’t hear it.

Enough!
Time to get this fool out of here before she collapsed.

She sprang out of the chair and pulled the power cord out of his laptop. He frowned but didn’t stop working.

As quietly as possible, she glided around his desk to check the computer screen. Battery back-up. Hell.

Resisting the temptation to touch him, she arched one arm around his broad shoulder and pushed in the power button. A delicious mix of coffee and aftershave lotion invaded her lungs, made her want to…

“What the…” Luke reached around, plugged the computer back in, and started to reboot. Stubborn man. An ornery giggle nearly escaped before she could swallow it down. This could get interesting.

He rebooted the computer. She crashed it. They went through the dance again. She knocked over his coffee when his arm got close to it. Journals and papers flipped onto the floor. She loosened all the adjustment knobs on his brown leather chair when he bent to retrieve them, so he was simultaneously dropped several inches and flipped back into a reclined position when he sat back down. Leaning in close to smell him again, she blew in his ear. The line of his tall frame beckoned her and she and imagined herself on his lap. Now, that situation had definite possibilities.