Tainted Hearts (28 page)

A murmur escaped her throat and she wiggled
restlessly. Wrapping his arms around her, he laid her back across
the bed. Her legs arched over his hips. He kept his mouth pressed
over hers, refusing to lose the intimacy of their kiss.

Making sure he wouldn’t hurt her, he guided
her splinted wrist above her head. Her other hand continued its
nonstop course from his hair, down his chest, to his hip, and back.
He wanted her eager fingers wrapped around his cock, squeezing and
stroking, but their position prevented her from touching him.

This was about
her
pleasure, driving
back the ghosts and making her feel secure. He unfastened her dress
and caressed her breasts, tracing lazy circles around her nipples
before teasing them with his thumb.

She arched into his touch and curled her
tongue around his. Yearning built within her, sweeping into him
with astounding speed. Never before had he been so attuned to her
desires. The new perspective intoxicated him, aroused him
unbearably. She felt empty, craved the elemental connection of her
mate moving inside her body.

He found the hem of her dress and slipped
his hand beneath. Her skin was warm and so incredibly soft. Her
legs parted with his first nudge of his fingers. She lifted her
hips as he tugged her damp panties down, unashamed of her
desire.

An image flickered to life within his mind.
He knelt on the bed with his face pressed to the juncture of her
thighs, her legs draped over his shoulders. He couldn’t tell if she
craved the kiss or if his mind had triggered the image. Desire
sizzled along his nerve endings and it suddenly didn’t matter.

Dropping her panties to the floor beside the
bunk, he bent her knee and ducked beneath her leg, making room for
himself between her thighs. She whimpered when their mouths
separated but he was already moving into the position he’d seen so
clearly in his mind.

The anticipation pounding through her was
nearly as intoxicating as her scent. He leaned close and breathed
over her moist flesh. Her thighs flexed and her fingers tangled in
his hair. Myriad emotions rolled through her being and washed over
him, need, anticipation, tenderness. Each more exciting than the
last. It thrilled him to know how much she wanted him. Affection
unfurled with equal intensity. He wished they had hours to explore
these feelings but they were in the eye of the hurricane. The
stronger, far side of the storm was still ahead of them.

“Please,” she murmured.

He didn’t make her wait. Concentrating on
what pleased her most, he tantalized her senses with tender
caresses and gentle kisses.

Tuesday pressed her lips together, fighting
back a scream of pleasure. Perfectly attuned to her desire, Marc
licked her clit and caressed her folds. She arched, pressing closer
to his mouth and greedily accepting the tenderness revealed with
each stroke of his tongue.

He was selfless and caring, expressing his
love, not just with his kiss, but his entire being. She pushed her
fingers through his hair and rocked her hips as he pushed his
tongue into the very heart of her body. So nice, yet not nearly
enough.

Easily sensing her restlessness, he surged
up along her body and thrust home. She stared into his eyes,
surrendering the last of her uncertainty. If this was her last day
on Earth, her only regret would be not having more time with
Marc.

Each firm stroke was an intentional joining,
a blending of minds, bodies and hearts. She canted her hips and
arched her back, wanting all he had to give. Tension built,
gathering, heating. She dragged his head down and claimed his mouth
in a passionate kiss. Her cries were muffled by his lips as
tingling heat spread out through her entire body, then returned to
coalesce between her thighs. He shuddered violently, clutching her
to his chest as he joined her in release.

He eased his hold, gently stroking her hair
away from her face. She outlined his lips with her index finger and
smiled into his eyes.

“Do you think they heard us?” she
whispered.

“I don’t care if they did. You needed this.
We
needed this. Nothing else matters.”

She blew out a satisfied sigh. “This bed
isn’t big enough for both of us.”

“It is if we stay like this.”

Her chuckle accented the fact that he was
still deep inside her. They both groaned.

“I don’t think anyone will begrudge us a few
minutes of selfishness, but we are in the middle of a crisis.”

With obvious reluctance, he separated their
bodies and refastened his pants. “I’ll go clean up in the locker
room. Showering together seems to lead to the need for another
shower.”

“I’ll meet you in the workroom.”

He nodded and slipped from the room.

“I booted below the operating system, which
bypassed the biometric safeguards,” Sydney explained. “That’s not
possible without physical access to the CPU. Thank God for
Raeanne’s quick thinking.”

Tuesday glanced at Marc and smiled. His
forehead scrunched and one eyebrow quirked at an odd angle.

“Is she still speaking English?” he
asked.

“What does that mean to the cyberly
challenged?” Tuesday prompted. Marc stood beside her, his arm
resting lightly on her shoulders.

“I got in without a retinal scan,” Sydney
said with a wink. “The file is encoded with Kerberos XI encryption,
hard as hell to crack on a good day. I tried every trick in the
book, but I couldn’t identify the algorithm.”

“You said couldn’t not can’t. Have you
figured it out?” Tuesday asked hopefully.

Sydney turned back to the monitor. “No, but
I figured out why I can’t break it. There’s a subroutine shifting
the cryptology every five minutes and my crack takes about fifteen
minutes to complete a pass.”

“By the time you identify the code, the
subroutine has already changed it.” Tuesday signed. They had no
other leads. It was imperative that Sydney open this file.

“Exactly.”

“Can you shut it down?” Marc asked.

Sydney shook her head. “I’ve tried. It’s
completely integrated with the other file. You can’t access one
without the other. But,” she paused for effect, “this is a
multiprocessor application and I’ve isolated the program to the
third core of the fifth processor.”

“How will that help?” Tuesday stepped closer
to the workstation. Marc’s hand slipped to the small of her
back.

“I’ve written another subroutine that will
spawn multiple job threads to the same processor. Hopefully this
will slow down the scrambler so my crack can lock on to a code
before the program resets the algorithm.”

“Good luck with that.” Marc shook his head,
frustration tightening his lips. “How long will it take before you
know whether or not it’s working?”

“I’m not sure.” She was silent for a minute
as she entered a series of commands.

“Was there anything interesting in any of
the other files or have you focused entirely on
F_PURE
?”
Tuesday didn’t want to distract Sydney, but there wasn’t really
anything they could do to help. It was Sydney’s turn to save the
world. Tuesday smiled, knowing the thought would please her
sister.

“Define interesting.”

Marc moved up behind Tuesday and wrapped
both arms around her waist. Her fresh, clean scent filled his nose,
summoning him back to the dreary room, teasing him with echoes of
the pleasure they’d shared.

A protective urge to whisk her away from the
crisis warred with his need to stay and fight. If they didn’t
preempt Final PUREification, there would be nowhere to run.

“What about the other files Raeanne
mentioned?” Tuesday asked.

“
John_11_35
contained the Bible
verse. The shortest one there is, if I’m not mistaken. Just two
words—Jesus wept.”

“Why was Jesus crying?” Marc rubbed his
cheek against the softness of Tuesday’s hair. “Raeanne said Job
loved biblical imagery.”

“He found out Lazarus was dead,” Raeanne
supplied from the doorway.

“Okay, I’m not a Bible scholar. Who was
Lazarus?” Tuesday pivoted to face the other woman.

“Lazarus?” An icy shiver skittered down
Marc’s spine. “I know someone named Lazarus. When did Job first
appear?”

“You think you might know who he was?”
Raeanne moved closer to the workstation, her expression intent, her
gaze locked with his.

“Probably just a coincidence. I’ll have to
check it out. Let’s focus on one thing at a time. Why did learning
Lazarus was dead make Jesus cry?”

“They were good friends and Jesus arrived
too late to heal him.” Raeanne crossed her arms over her chest as
speculation clouded her gaze. “Lazarus was already dead.”

“That’s an odd ending for a Bible story,”
Tuesday noted.

“That’s not where the story ends. Jesus
raised Lazarus from the dead.” Raeanne rolled her shoulders,
sounding a bit impatient. “How can you stand just sitting there
writing code? I’d go crazy.”

“That infers you haven’t already,” Sydney
returned without shifting her eyes from the screen.

“My friend was born with the umbilical cord
wrapped around his neck.” Marc couldn’t shake the feeling that this
was no mere coincidence. Mentally scrambling, he searched his
memory for the last time he’d seen or heard from Lazarus Dayle.
“They’d just declared him stillborn when he started breathing. Thus
his unusual name.”

Sydney drummed her finger against the edge
of workstation. “Come on, baby. Beat them to the finish line.”

“Who is she coaching?” Raeanne looked to
Tuesday for the answer.

“Her program is racing the subroutine that
shifts the file’s encryption.”

Raeanne let out a soft whistle. “No wonder I
couldn’t open it.”

“Holy shit, I think I’ve got it.”

They huddled behind Sydney’s chair. Marc
took a deep breath as a solid black bar scrolled down the screen,
taking the image with it. The cursor blinked for a second, alone on
the screen, then characters appeared one by one.

“Damn.” Sydney sighed. “It’s just
gibberish.”

A few more lines formed before Marc smiled.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Sydney. This isn’t gibberish—it’s the
chemical composition for the SP-64 cocktail.”

Understanding slammed into Tuesday in the
same instant Marc turned her to face him.

“Oh, my God,” she cried. “It was never the
heart. Without the cocktail, every person with a transplant will
reject the device.”

“Tainted.” Marc pronounced the word as if he
tasted something foul. “Job was going to make sure of it.” He slid
open his vidcom and spoke a name she didn’t recognize. “It’s Marc.
When’s the next shipment of the cocktail scheduled for dispersal?”
After a short pause, he said, “Shit! Is there any way to intercept
them…I understand…transmit the manifest to my vidcom. Thanks.”

Raeanne resumed her military posture. “I’ll
alert General Bettencourt,” she said and hustled from the room.

Marc’s vidcom beeped. Tuesday watched his
eyes as he thumbed through the manifest. So intense and commanding.
So focused. Her chest expanded with tenderness and pride.

“What do you want me to do?” She was almost
afraid to disrupt his concentration.

“Start calling the distribution centers.
Each shuttle stops at four or five. If we catch them at the first,
the rest won’t matter. Set your vidcom to receive and I’ll transmit
the list. They have to hold the lots until we can do on-site
testing.”

She slid her vidcom open and received the
list he sent. “Wait. How do I explain the testing?”

“Tell them there may have been a calibration
malfunction. This is primarily a precaution, but they can’t release
the product until we’re absolutely sure nothing is wrong.”

Marc’s vidcom beeped again. He paused to
read the text message on the small screen. “Thank God. We were able
to recall four of the shuttles.”

“How many does that leave?” General
Bettencourt joined them in the workroom.

“Three,” Marc supplied, then turned his
attention back to his vidcom.

“I have someone waiting in the warehouse at
the first distribution center,” Tuesday explained a few minutes
later. “They’ll call as soon as the shuttle arrives. We’re down to
two.”

“Luther can’t get either of the pilots to
answer their radios.” Marc snapped his vidcom closed against the
heel of his hand. “I’m tempted to go after Two-Three-Five. It’s a
one-shot run right to the biggest distribution center on the
planet. Chuck can fly it in his sleep, and sometimes does. He’s
made this run for seven years.”

“What do you need?” the general asked.

“Anything can catch a solar shuttle, but
he’s got a good head start. What do you suggest?”

“The
Rahab
,” Bettencourt said with an
enigmatic smile.

Strapped securely into one of the four seats
on the jetfighter
Rahab
, Tuesday let out an excited yell.
Raeanne Rawsen executed another barrel roll and Tuesday laughed
uproariously.

“You’re not going to think it’s so damn
funny when I puke all over this plane,” Marc snarled from behind
them.

The women exchanged knowing smiles, but
Raeanne kept the jet level.

“Still no contact from your pilot, Mr.
Sinclair. General Bettencourt just tried again,” Raeanne reported,
the information coming to her through the audiocom hooked around
her ear.

Tuesday didn’t care that they could see
nothing but clouds and an occasional glimpse of the ground two
miles below. Thank heavens the effects of the Anistaum had worn off
or she would be as miserable as their grumpy male passenger. She
was seated in the copilot seat, after all, so Marc was a mere
passenger. What a grand adventure!

“You’re grinning again,” he warned.