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He exuded strength, competence, and yes—obsession. Not to mention undeniable sexuality. She’d never been in the presence of anyone so physically compelling.
He gave her a quick nod, straightened and turned on his heel. “I assume you can find your way to your room, being so grown-up and all,” he said over his shoulder.
JERRY CAMPBELL yawned loudly and twisted his stringy hair back into its ponytail. He’d stared at screen after screen of computer code until he was cross-eyed. It was almost midnight. Dr. Stryker had told him to go to bed an hour ago. He was about ready to take that advice.
But first—he glanced through the glass walls of the virtual surgery lab, searching the halls and other offices, making sure no one was around. Typing briskly, he opened his e-mail account and composed a message, quickly attached a file and pressed Send. Then he began to shut down the computer.
THE WALLS WERE CLOSING IN. Little Tasha pushed against the car seat that pinned her. But she couldn’t move. She tried not to think about the blood, or why her mama and daddy wouldn’t talk to her.
A big boom shook the car. She shrieked. That one was louder than the first, the one that had smashed the front of the car.
She saw a flash of light, and then another boom rumbled through her. She couldn’t see! Couldn’t breathe!
Daddy!
Natasha sat up, gasping for air.
Her chest heaved as spasms racked her rigid muscles. Her mind crashed back into her body. She’d been dreaming. Again.
Where was she? Not in the car where her parents had died. Not buried under mountains of debris in a burned-out building.
She was inside Dylan Stryker’s secluded estate—in the windowless pitch-dark room. No wonder she’d dreamed of being trapped.
Quiet and safe. Plenty of fresh air. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
She kicked at the tangled sheets. She had to get out of there. She’d go sit under the skylight.
As she stood up, she heard something. It sounded as if it was just outside her door. Silently, she slipped her Glock from under her pillow and slid out of bed, gliding silently along the wall, listening. As she neared the door, she saw the knob slowly turn. The door swung open a few inches, until a pale night-light from the hall sent a long shadow across the floor near the foot of her bed.
Natasha flattened herself against the wall, her eyes glued to the hand on the knob. She braced herself, then grabbed the wrist with her left hand and yanked, aiming her weapon at the intruder’s neck.
“Don’t move,” she hissed, her heart hammering.
A deafening screech split the air. Natasha jerked and almost dropped her gun.
Sirens.
Shaking her head, gripping her gun until her hand ached, she shoved the intruder back through the door and against the wall of the hallway.
A small, feminine grunt reached her ears, almost drowned out by the earsplitting screech.
It was Charlene. Natasha flipped her around to face her, but she didn’t lower her gun. “What were you doing?”
Charlene’s eyes were wide with panic. “The sirens. I knew you wouldn’t know what they were. The first time I heard them I nearly jumped out of my skin.” She laughed nervously.
Natasha stared at the woman for a beat, and frowned. Had the sirens awoken her?
Just then, Ben’s door opened. Dylan came out, his hair tousled and his trousers wrinkled. He was shirtless and barefoot. He clutched his polo shirt in one hand and his loafers in the other. His sleepy eyes were too bright, burning with azure fire.
“Charlene, get in there with Ben. Natasha, go back to your room.” He dropped his shoes to the floor and slipped into them.
Charlene scooted around Natasha, past Dylan and through the door to Ben’s room.
“What’s happening?” Natasha yelled over the siren’s screech.
Dylan glared at her. He opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. She darted back inside her room for her gear. She grabbed her hiking boots, a black pullover and her leather fanny pack.
As she stepped back into the hall, the sirens finally decreased in volume and faded.
Dylan hadn’t bothered to wait for her. He’d already reached the end of the hall.
She stuffed her weapon into the fanny pack along with her badge and the pass code generator, then hopped on one foot at a time as she pulled on her boots. She caught up to him when he paused to put on his shirt.
His bare, shadowed shoulders rippled and gleamed in the low light as he tugged the polo shirt over his head.
It was impossible to ignore the yearning that had taken root inside her when he’d appeared without his shirt—the yearning to touch his hot, smooth skin.
She didn’t like the way he affected her. It was distracting—and dangerous.
“What are those sirens?” she asked.
He vaulted down the stairs. She was right behind him. “Security breach.”
“Breach? Where?”
“This way. The west side.” Dylan opened the exit door at the foot of the stairs. Campbell burst into the stairwell from the lab.
“What are you doing still down here?” Dylan frowned at his bioengineer. Campbell looked as though he’d been in a tussle. His long hair was tangled and loose around his face. He pushed it back with hands that shook.
“I was shutting down the computers when the sirens went off. Scared the crap out of me.”
“It’s after four. I thought you were going to bed hours ago.”
Dylan held the exit door for Campbell and Natasha. As she passed him, she met his gaze with a narrow, questioning look. Was she also wondering why Campbell looked as though he’d just crawled through a fence?
“I lost track of time,” Campbell said. “Where’s the breach?”
“Spotlights,” Natasha said, pointing west. She took off toward them at a jog.
Dylan made sure the exit door was closed securely, and then he caught up with her. Campbell followed more slowly.
Abruptly, the sirens stopped, leaving his ears ringing.
Natasha’s long blond hair swung around her shoulders as she settled into a graceful loping stride. Her buttocks and legs were slender, but powerful. Dylan hung back, watching her for a moment before he sped up enough to match her pace.
“Have you talked to Mintz?” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Not yet. The sirens go off whenever any significant weight is put on the fence. Usually they only last a few seconds.”
“How’d you know where it was?” She matched her speech pattern to her pace.
Dylan ran alongside her, impressed that she wasn’t huffing. She was in damned good shape.
“The sirens have a different repeat for each area.”
“Run through them for me.”
Dylan recited the litany. “And the front gate is a solid whine. It’s the most vulnerable, since it’s closest to the main house. I’ll have Alfred give you a sheet listing them all.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got them. Thanks.” She glanced behind her. “Campbell works 24-7?”
Dylan took a quick look back. “He’s almost as anxious as I am to get the interface perfected.”
“I doubt that.”
“He’s talented and loyal.”
“Yeah? If you say so. Not in very good condition, though.” Dylan smiled, hearing Campbell’s labored breathing behind them. “Sitting in front of a computer all day will do that.”
She sent him a sidelong glance, and then suddenly put out her arm and stopped him. “Hold it.”
“What?” They were about fifty feet away from the fence.
“Campbell, stop,” she tossed back over her shoulder as she unzipped her fanny pack and drew her weapon.
“Natasha, there’s no reason to—”
She gestured with her head. “Just wait here.”
Dylan blew out an exasperated sigh. He saw Alfred on the other side of the fence, talking with two of his security guards and two men he didn’t recognize.
“What’s going on?” Campbell huffed.
“She said to wait.”
Natasha approached the fence on the balls of her feet, her weapon ready. Dylan couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was graceful, strong and confident. Her pale hair shone like the moon in the darkness of predawn.
“Damn, she is so hot,” Campbell whispered. “Who’d have thought an FBI agent could look like that?”
Who indeed? Dylan nodded to himself. Hot wasn’t the word he’d use. Cool was more like it. Cool and beautiful, but with a deep undercurrent he couldn’t identify. A steel core lurked behind that beautiful skin. A barrier or a firewall? he wondered.
Still, he couldn’t deny the heat that surged through him as he watched her run. His reaction to her surprised him. He hadn’t felt anything close to a sexual urge in a long, long time.
She turned and gestured for them to come forward.
Dylan stalked up beside her and bent his head near her ear. Her hair teased his nose. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had a breach, you know.”
She stiffened and her chin went up a fraction. “Of course not. I apologize, sir.”
“Don’t. You were only doing your job.”
“Not according to your chief of security. He thinks I should stick to the computers.”
“Alfred is very territorial.”
“That would be an understatement—sir.”
Dylan smiled. He took in her profile—her small determined chin, her willowy neck, the slight upward tilt of her nose.
“Dylan.”
It was Alfred. Dylan stepped up to the fence. “What happened? Did you catch him?”
With a brisk nod Alfred passed a business card through the wire.
Dylan read the information on the card with disgust, then stuck it in his pocket. “A reporter, naturally. Get him out of here.”
Alfred motioned to the two official-looking strangers. “These are the two FBI agents assigned to help us with physical security.” Alfred’s voice was carefully bland. He wasn’t happy about the help.
Dylan turned to Natasha. “You know these guys?”
She nodded stiffly. “One of them.”
“Introduce me.”
She stepped forward just as the men approached.
The dark-haired man walked up to the fence. “Ray Storm.” He touched the brim of his baseball cap.
“Special Agent Storm,” Dylan said. “Thanks for being here.” Storm had the chiseled features and distinct coloring of a Native American.
The second man stepped up. He was taller and bulkier than Storm with the kind of pretty-boy face that had probably gotten him in a lot of trouble in high school.
“This is Special Agent Daniel Gambrini,” Storm said.
“Dr. Stryker,” Gambrini acknowledged him.
Dylan nodded. “Thanks.”
Storm stepped to one side and motioned to Natasha.
Dylan watched them while Alfred described the damage to the fence. Thank God it was minimal.
“Hey, Nat, you doing okay?” Storm said.
Natasha nodded and said something Dylan didn’t catch. Then Storm motioned Gambrini over and introduced him to Natasha.
As the agents headed back toward Alfred, Dylan turned his back on the fence. “Another damned reporter,” he said to Campbell, who had hung back out of the way. “Get back to the house. You need to get some sleep.”
