Tainted Hearts (18 page)

Slowly, she turned. His pale hair had been
pulled back, accenting his angular features. Her gaze gravitated
toward his unusual eyes. The silver starburst gleamed with metallic
brilliance, far more distinct than the vidfiles revealed.

“We meet at last.” Anxiety drove a chill
down her spine. She did her best to hide the reaction. He wasn’t
tall yet his sharp-eyed stare exuded authority. She had to stay on
her toes. Job was nobody’s fool. “Would you be offended if I said
your video records don’t do you justice?”

She smiled and averted her gaze. “I was just
thinking the same about you. Your eyes are fantastic.”

He was dressed in an outfit nearly identical
to her dour-faced escort, but the commonality of his apparel only
intensified his mystique. “Before we begin, I have one condition,
and you’re not going to like it.”

“How can you be certain?” She looked at him
again and felt her mouth go dry. Those strange, starburst eyes were
no longer focused on her face. Making no effort to disguise the
direction of his stare, he assessed every curve and hollow of her
body.

“I have many enemies, you understand. I
can’t allow myself to be too trusting. You’ve already been scanned
for weapons, but I need to make sure there’s no recording equipment
hidden on your person.”

“How do you intend to do that?”

He held out his hand. A disk-shaped device
rested in his palm, its strap wrapped around his hand. “It’s not
necessary to touch you, but I’ll have to come closer.”

Silvery light danced in his gaze and a smile
played about his mouth. It was obviously a test. If she refused,
he’d send her away. She squared her shoulders and lifted her
chin.

“All right.”

Closing the distance between them with two
quick steps, Job passed the scanner up and over her head. He
circled behind her methodically sweeping her hair. “Please raise
your arms.”

His breath stirred her hair, making her skin
crawl. She could feel his body heat seeping through her filmy dress
and her heart thudded. He had to be mere inches away. What would
she do if he touched her, decided to force her? She was such a
fool!

Hesitantly, she lifted her arms. He scanned
from her shoulder to her wrist, hovering just above her skin.
Returning along the underside, he repeated the process on her other
arm.

He faced her again, his expression
inscrutable, his movements lazy. He spent much too long with the
scanner hovering over her breasts. Was he imagining touching her?
Her stomach tightened in protest.

“This is really unnecessary,” she said
stiffly.

“I apologize.” But his gaze never lifted to
her face and his hand continued to caress the air above her body.
He knelt, looking up into her face, his smile salacious, gently
mocking. “Don’t panic. I need to put my hand under your skirt.”

“I don’t think so!”

“I’m not going to touch you. We’re almost
done.”

Clenching her teeth, she stared across the
room at the elevator door, wishing she were descending toward Marc
and safety. She could feel a faint stirring against her skin as Job
moved the scanner. He leaned in, his face brushing her abdomen as
he scanned the backs of her thighs.

“Enough!” She stepped back. His hand trailed
across her thigh and tented her skirt, before she managed to get
them disentangled. “Are you satisfied?”

“Hardly,” he drawled. His gaze never left
her as he rose to his feet. “Why the sudden interest, Tuesday? You
wouldn’t even accept an interactive call. Then, out of the blue,
you want a meeting with me?”

“Something happened to make me reconsider
the things you said in your messages.” She swallowed and quickly
licked her lips. “I found your ideas interesting before but in the
last few days, I’ve thought about them more seriously.”

“The question remains. Why?” He crossed his
arms over his chest. His gaze narrowed as he studied her.

“I was kidnapped. Someone from
Sinclair-Dietrich drugged me and carried me off like so much
baggage.” Tears stung her eyes and she felt her lips tremble.

“Why were you kidnapped?” He sounded
skeptical.

“Because this whole tainted world has gone
mad. They’re so desperate for biomechanical hearts, they’ll do
anything! I’ve devoted my life to saving them and…I was abducted
and terrorized because the Priority Matrix wasn’t moving fast
enough.” She sobbed, concentrating on the fear and revulsion he
inspired. “I thought you would understand. I thought you
would…”

She covered her face with her hands.
Everything within her rebelled when his arms closed around her, but
she forced herself to lean into his embrace. His hands rubbed her
back. She pressed her face against his shoulder, gritting her teeth
against her instinctive loathing.

“I do understand.” His tone was low,
soothing. “I know how they use and manipulate. You’ve been their
puppet for far too long.”

Pushing away from him, she wiped away her
tears with her fingers. “I’m sorry. I thought I was over all this
but I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”

“How did you escape your abductor?”

She crossed her arms over her breasts. It
wasn’t hard to appear upset with his strange, silvery gaze
assessing her. “I didn’t. I negotiated my release.”

“You gave him what he wanted?” The corner of
his mouth curved, adding a suggestive meaning to the question.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Come. Sit down. You look like you’re ready
to bolt.” With his hand barely touching the small of her back, he
guided her across the room. “I don’t want you to be afraid of
me.”

She sat on the large, green leather sofa. He
chose the chair facing her. Crossing his legs, he rested his hands
on the chair’s arms, his ever-present stare intent upon her
face.

The elevator door slid open and a slender,
dark-haired girl walked into the foyer carrying a tray of
beverages.

“Rahab, set that here.” He motioned to the
coffee table in front of him.

Was this Raeanne Rawsen? Rahab’s features
bore the sculpted contours so frequently found after cosmetic
enhancement. Medium height, slender build, this woman could be
anyone. Tuesday searched for some hint of the president’s daughter
in the young woman crossing the salon. It was impossible to
determine one way or the other.

Without hesitation, the girl followed Job’s
command. She kept her head bowed and her eyes downcast. Was this an
act or had Job’s control so subjugated Rahab there was nothing left
of Raeanne?

“How long have you been with PURE?” Tuesday
did her best to sound casual.

The young woman busied herself with the
assortment of drinks, shifting bottled water to one side of the
tray, pouring a cup of coffee.

“Answer her, Rahab.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she was
speaking to me.” Her dark gaze lifted for a second, then she
returned her attention to her task. “I’ve been with PURE five
weeks.”

“Are you happy here?”

“Yes.”

Quite the conversationalist. “Are you a 0.0?
What attracted you to the movement?”

Rahab looked at Job as if asking permission
to answer.

“Join us. Ms. Fitzpatrick is curious about
our society. Feel free to be honest with her.”

She remained standing, her hands folded in
front of her. “I ran out of options, Ms. Fitzpatrick. I came to
PURE out of desperation, but I find myself fascinated by what the
organization is trying to accomplish.”

Tuesday looked at Job. “Do a lot of people
come here for sanctuary?”

He smiled indolently, accepting a cup and
saucer from Rahab. “I suppose. Is that what you’re interested in? A
place to hide?”

“There are many ways to hide, Mr.…er, Job.
Some people simply immerse themselves so far in their occupation
they have no identity, others pay for complete facial enhancements
so no one knows who they are.”

Job chuckled and took a sip from his cup.
Tuesday glanced at Rahab. Did she understand the inference?

“Do my cosmetic enhancements bother you?”
Job asked.

She wanted to laugh. Of course he was vain
enough to presume she was talking about him. Good. She pushed her
luck. “No, I find your appearance striking, but the practice
troubles me. The daughter of a good friend had her face changed and
just disappeared. Her father is frantic with worry.”

“Yes,” he mused. “I suppose running away
from home is a bit easier when you can completely change your
appearance.”

“Excuse me, sir. I really do have tasks
awaiting me in the Data Center. May I return?”

Had Rahab understood the message? Did the
young woman even care anymore? “My companion is waiting in the
lobby,” Tuesday interjected. “Could someone let him know I’ll be a
while? I don’t want him to worry.”

“Certainly.” Job reached for his vidcom.

“If it isn’t too much trouble, could you
send Rahab? My friend can be rather protective and the receptionist
was rude. I don’t want him to do something rash.”

Job sighed. “By all means, Rahab, tell Ms.
Fitzpatrick’s friend she’s in good hands. We wouldn’t want him to
do something rash.”

Marc flipped through the PURE pamphlet and
struggled hard not to laugh. Their claims were cleverly twisted
distortions of facts and events, propaganda at its finest.

“Are you here with Tuesday Fitzpatrick?”

He glanced up and found a slender,
dark-haired woman standing a few feet away. “I am. What can I do
for you?”

“She’s been detained. She asked me to let
you know. Thought you might be worried about her.”

“I appreciate the information. Ms.…”

“Rahab.” She looked directly into his eyes
as she said the name. “She wanted to make sure I introduced myself.
I guess PURE’s social graces leave much to be desired, according to
Ms. Fitzpatrick.”

“The woman who greeted us initially was
rather rude.” Had Tuesday spoken with Rahab alone? It didn’t seem
likely. Rahab was certainly choosing her words carefully. “Did Ms.
Fitzpatrick explain what brought her here today?”

“I’m not privy to every conversation that
goes on in the stronghold. That privilege is reserved for members
of security.”

He smiled. “I see.”

“I doubt it,” she snapped. “But I don’t have
time to explain it to you.”

She hadn’t been hostile a moment ago. What
was she trying to tell him? “Is your schedule that demanding? I
know Job runs a tight ship, but surely you can talk to a visitor
for a minute or two.”

“My schedule has changed significantly in
the past few days.” Her voice sounded brittle. “When I arrived at
PURE, I thought I knew what to expect, how to proceed, but the
situation has changed—significantly.”

His mind buzzed with questions, but they
were being watched, he had no doubt. This ambiguous word game was
frustrating the hell out of him.

She walked to the rack of pamphlets and
selected two. “I think you might find these more interesting than
what you were reading.”

He accepted the brochures with a halfhearted
smile and watched her retreat across the lobby.

“Is the tainted man in the lobby your
lover?”

Tuesday carefully put down her coffee cup
before she allowed herself to respond to Job’s provocation. “That’s
none of your business.”

“Everything and everyone within the PURE
organization is my business.”

She scooted to the edge of the chair,
interlacing her fingers to keep from clawing through his artificial
stare. The vanity enhancements concealed his emotions as
effectively as mirrored sunglasses. “I requested the meeting today
but I didn’t start this. Why have you been trying to contact
me?”

“You know why. Pretense doesn’t become you.
If you weren’t interested in what we’re trying to accomplish here
at PURE, you would have refused my messages a long time ago.”

“I’m intrigued. I won’t deny it.”

“As am I.” He stood, moving indolently
toward her. “There is a reason for my question, Ms. Fitzpatrick.
I’m not trying to embarrass you.”

“I’m not embarrassed. I’m offended.”

“Fair enough. Let’s say, for the sake of
argument, that this man is intimate with you and you become
pregnant. Will your baby be dependent upon a biomechanical heart
for its entire life?”

He wanted to talk statistics? Confused by
his change of direction, she answered honestly. “For the sake of
argument, if a 0.0 female became pregnant by a man with a Purity
Rating of 2.0 their child would have a fifteen percent chance of
requiring an biomechanical heart, thirty-five percent chance of
requiring lifelong medications, and fifty percent chance of being
born free of Methuselah Syndrome. There are any number of factors
that can affect the outcome, but those are approximate
probabilities.”

“Fifty-fifty chance,” he mused, his hands
clasped behind his back. “And that’s with a man whose rating is
relatively low.”

“What’s your point?” She kept her tone mild,
her expression neutral.

“How long did it take to perfect the
SP-64?”

He seemed to flit and flutter from one
subject to the next, but doubtlessly there was a connection. Like a
spider spinning a web, each strand would eventually intersect in a
glistening trap. She took a sip of coffee, desperately needing the
moisture in her mouth. “My first working prototype was successfully
installed in 2061.”

“SP-64, so named because it was officially
launched on St. Patrick’s Day in 2064.” He cocked his head and
studied her. “How many have malfunctioned since that day?”

“We have a zero percent mortality rate due
to device failure,” she stated proudly.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Tension’s fist closed around her heart and
squeezed. The answer was seven thousand and forty-two. A
miraculously low number, given the millions in operation, but seven
thousand and forty-two times her device had malfunctioned. “I came
here to learn about your organization, not to review my job
performance.”