Desire Unmatched: 4 (Coded for Love) (4 page)

Suddenly her neck tightened and her eyes widened as the
professor in front of her clicked his visual Powerpoint presentation to a photo
that had her waking up and paying attention. It was a photo of the Program
campus. Her current residence. Her head swiveled around as she looked into her
classmates’ faces to see if they were staring at her. Had they somehow
discovered she was part of the Program? She’d been discreet. Only the registrar
knew her address. No one was looking at her, and all eyes seemed to be on the
large whiteboard up front.

Cursing her inability to stay awake during class, she tried
to relax and refocus on the professor’s lecture. Why would he be discussing the
Program? Because they were all about biology, duh. The rest of the country was
talking about them, why not her professors and classmates? The current
government hearings on the Program were taking their toll. Everyone she met
seemed to have an opinion on the future of genetically enhanced soldiers in the
US.

Judging by her professor’s rapid words that grew louder and
more animated, he was in the pro camp. Watching him bouncing along at the front
of the rows of desks she saw he’d be the first to line up for enhancements if
it became open to the public.

All her classmates were sitting straighter, leaning slightly
forward on their desks. Several had their hands raised, ready to contribute
their opinions.

“Hang on,” Professor Martin said and clicked the computer to
the next slide, which was a DNA model. On one side was a regular human and on
the other was a Program enhanced soldier’s code.

Despite this being the most advanced science-y thing they’d
done yet, everyone was engaged. Emma stared at the board, willing her cheeks to
stay pale and not flame red as they had a tendency to do. The chart was similar
to things on the wall in Doctor Wise’s office. The Program’s chief medical
professional could give this lecture some real oomph. Not that she’d ever do
it.

Emma wondered what Professor Martin would do if she raised
her hand and volunteered she was a perfect match for one of the soldiers and
actually lived on the secretive campus. Drag her up front and dissect her, from
the look of things.

“Are you all right?” A soft touch came from the girl sitting
on her right.

Emma blinked at her, wondering if she needed glasses because
the girl looked blurry.

“You’re crying,” the girl said.

“I am?” She touched a fingertip to her eyelid, and yep,
total tears. Bloody hell. “Bug in my eye,” she murmured, then, “Thanks” when
the girl handed her a tissue.

She mopped up the wetness and took a deep breath, reminding
herself to focus on the science. She had to pass this basic intro class to move
on to the more interesting ones in her major.

She managed to hold it together for the remaining minutes of
class until finally it was 4:30 and she could head back to campus and get the
daily Xander status update. She knew there’d be no change in the missing
status, unless Shep had reneged on his promise to text her the second they
learned anything.

She pulled her phone out of her purse resting on the top of
her desk and checked it. No new messages. Around her, students were pushing
their way to the front to ask the professor more questions about the lecture.

Her hips shifted as people pushed past her, so she barely
noticed as the girl who’d given her a tissue got in her space. “Are you all
right now?” She had long brown hair and a pretty face. Her clothes were the
kind of effortless cool Emma had always admired and tried to copy, usually with
different results.

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking,” she added, realizing she
might have sounded rude at first.

“I’m Kayla.” The girl stuck out a hand to shake. Her palm
was soft, as if she’d come from the manicurist.

“Emma.” She scooped up her bag, slinging it over her
shoulder, and turned toward the back exit of the classroom. She wound her way
through the maze of desks that always seemed to lose their neatly ruled rows
during a long lecture class. Kayla followed closely behind.

“What year are you?”

Emma slowed her pace. “Um, it’s complicated. I transferred
my credits from my old uni where I was in my third year. They think I’ll have
enough credits to be a second-semester sophomore.”

“I’m a sophomore also. I love your accent.”

“Thank you.” She got that a lot. Americans, especially
female students, seemed to love anything British. Maybe it was still the whole
Robert Pattinson, Colin Firth,
Downton Abbey
thing.

“Are you going back to your dorm now?” Kayla stepped
alongside her, keeping pace as she walked to the garage.

“Um, I live off campus. I’m going to my auto now.”

“You live off campus. And you got an on-campus parking spot?”
Kayla’s pink lips parted and her eyes widened. “Lucky.”

She doubted Kayla would think she was as lucky if she knew
the whole story, but she was content to let it slide. She shrugged. “I guess.”

“I’m going to try to live off campus next semester. If my parents
cough up the money, you know?”

No, she didn’t know. Her dad had sent occasional checks for
expenses, but all educational and housing costs had been on her shoulders.
Hence how she’d fallen into such trouble in the first place. If she hadn’t been
desperate for money, she wouldn’t have signed on at the fertility clinic to
sell an egg, and she wouldn’t have been kidnapped by Paulson, and she wouldn’t
have been rescued by the Program. And she wouldn’t have met Xander.

She averted her face to stare at her trainers and gather
control on her expression. Kayla’s feet were covered by adorable, impractical
kitten heels that totally worked with her funky jeans. Emma consoled her
fashionista self that in the event of another kidnapping or zombie apocalypse,
her thick white trainers were way better for outrunning danger.

“Well, I’m going back to my dorm. Nice meeting you. See you
Tuesday.”

“See you.” Emma managed a smile for her new friend, if you
could call the girl a friend. She watched Kayla walk off for a minute, seeing
the other girl wave to a few folks on campus, then merge seamlessly into a
large, boisterous crowd of coeds.

Six months ago, Kayla wouldn’t have walked away. Emma would
have led the way to the other students and been at the center of the noise. But
that was then and this was now. Now, she turned and went toward her car to head
home, preparing for bad news about Xander. Alone.

* * * * *

Captivity, Day Thirty

Xander scratched his sixth diagonal slash across the
straight lines grouped in fives. The paint was old enough, his uncut
fingernails easily sliced a line in the paint. He’d been here thirty days if
his math was correct. He was no closer to escape and he was done waiting for
Paulson.

He didn’t know what Paulson was up to. He’d had new orders
to stop the morning jack-off sessions into the cups. Either they were out of
cups or they had what they needed. He hoped the former, because he was going to
live the rest of his life wondering how many little Xanders were running around
the world. Mission one after escaping was coming back to destroy anything he’d
left behind.

Frowning, he shuffled over to the window for his morning
sunshine and sniffed the air. What was it this morning? Baguette? No, brioche.
That meant Thursday. He’d learned the pattern. Sunday, nothing. The bakery
stayed closed. Tuesdays, Thursdays were brioche or some sort of sweet bread.
Baguettes were every day of the week, but there were always specials. Someday,
when he got free, he was coming back here to try one of every damn thing at
that bakery. Emma would love the croissants. He couldn’t wait to see her pink
lips surround the flaky, crusty half-moon.

Emma and him? Here? What the hell was he doing imagining
things that were never going to happen? Now he had evidence that he’d snapped.
He backed away from the window, finding his normal spot on the hard tile floor,
and flopped onto his butt, then into position for sit-ups.

He was on crunch twenty or so when the door to his prison
room creaked open. He sat up abruptly, every nerve on alert. His door opened
only twice daily. In the morning to deliver breakfast and remove his waste
bucket, replacing it with a clean one. In the evening to shove dinner in and
remove the dirty breakfast plate.

So what was it now? He crouched on his feet, ready to spring
into any warranted action, but the door opened wider, something large wrapped
in a blanket slid in and the door slammed and locked before he reacted.

He eyed the blanket, judging the size. His stomach muscles
tightened as he acknowledged this latest development wasn’t good. Something
deep inside knew what he’d find if he peeled the woolen brown blanket back.

Walking on his knees, he crossed the four feet to the
unwelcome intrusion into his prison cell. He reached out a hand to pull back
the blanket and found sturdy old-man shoes. Black leather. Shit, wrong side of
the blanket.

He
knew
what he’d find but he moved to the other end
of the blanket to confirm. Pulling back a corner to reveal…yep…Paulson.
Shit.
The old doctor was dead.

And had been dead several hours judging by the bluish tint
to his skin and stiffness of the limbs in the blanket. There was no looseness
whatsoever as he unwrapped the rest of the body from the blanket. It was
distasteful, but he had to examine Paulson’s body to determine cause of death.

He tossed the blanket to the side and studied his new
roommate’s stiffened, frail body. There was no blood as far as he could see,
nor were there any holes in the clothing. He eyed the button-down shirt and
black trousers and rejected them. He was more than a head taller than Paulson.
Despite his rank odor from thirty days of captivity without a real shower, he
couldn’t wear Paulson’s clothes.

Cocking his head, he noticed Paulson’s face looked odd.
Leaning over him, he saw the old man’s face was contorted, as if a string had
pulled the left side of it down. It was obvious now. The old bastard had
stroked out, leaving Xander to a capricious fate.

Fuck, shit, damn it to hell.
Every curse word he’d
ever learned passed through his brain and some made it to his tongue where they
floated in the empty room that suddenly seemed smaller thanks to its latest
unwanted addition.

He had to escape. Today. With Paulson dead, they didn’t need
him anymore. Unless they had another genetic specialist upstairs, the
terrorists holding him wouldn’t bother going through the expense of guarding
and feeding him without any benefit to themselves.

He leapt to grab the thick round bars covering the sole
window and gave them a tug. No use. He’d been tugging at them since day one of
captivity, but they weren’t any looser than they had been. Plus there was a
whole other set of matching bars on the other side of the window.

To escape, he’d have to go out through the one door,
upstairs to an unknown floor plan and out into a city. He was least worried
about the city part. He could grab a cell phone off someone in an instant and
make the call to Shep. The vagaries of stealing someone’s property didn’t
bother him. Life before morality and all that. Besides, the Program would pull
the owner’s info and get the guy a new even better phone within days.

Holding his breath, he walked back to Paulson and started
pulling what he needed off the doctor. He started at the bottom. The shoes were
too small, but the socks would protect his feet somewhat when he got outside.

The thin black dress socks felt unfamiliar on his feet,
which were used to open air or wool boot socks. He went through Paulson’s
pockets, hoping for a cell phone or pen, anything that would be useful. There
was nothing at all other than a plain white handkerchief. He stuffed it in his
back pocket. He couldn’t think of a use for it now, but one took what one was
given in a FUBAR situation.

A wide smile stretched his lips suddenly as he noticed what
his captors forgot. Paulson was wearing a belt. A nice leather belt, with—best
of all—a metal buckle. “Xander, meet your newest favorite weapon,” he said
quietly as he started unbuckling and tugging it from the loops of Paulson’s
pants.

Now it was a waiting game.

The hours until his evening meal was shoved through the door
ticked slowly by. He occupied himself by leaning against the wall next to the
door and reciting every fact he could recall about the Program. He started with
his cohort, listing every man alphabetically by last name, then birthday. When
he’d finished with their height and weight, he started in on the other cohorts.
“
Know your enemies. Know your comrades
,” had been what his dad had
drilled into him from an early age.

When he ran out of people, he allowed himself to think of
Emma. She’d been the calming factor in his brain every night when the fear that
he might die in this tiny basement room, never seeing home again, overwhelmed
him. Her sunny smile and silky hair made his hands ache to touch her, but
mostly it was her disposition. She’d been held captive for three months,
probably in a room like this, and she’d managed to hold on to her smile and her
hope.

Within hours of him rescuing her, she’d smiled at him and
chatted with Loren easily. If she had nightmares, he didn’t know about them.
Then again, he’d never spent the night with her. No, he’d fucked her fast and
hard on a threadbare sofa, then took off.

If, no,
when
he escaped tonight and returned to the
campus, he promised himself one more night with her. This time he’d touch her
gently and try to give her pleasure. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing
when it came to a woman’s body, but he’d touch her and kiss her everywhere he
thought sexy and hope for the best.

He ignored the tiny part of his brain that told him it would
be cruel to have sex with her and leave her again, but he didn’t really have a
choice. As long as his father was a respected member of the Program community,
he’d remain unmatched.