Love For Sale (25 page)

Halfway to the table, a memory dragged her to a stunned halt. The day she adopted Christian, the first to enter the opulent room was an auburn-haired couple.
The female lines are Monica, Dawn, Georgia, Marguerite and Samantha
. Could it be possible? Did Paul know his beloved was an android? Of course, he did. How not? He’d scorned March for loving Christian, yet now he had fallen for a robot.
Fate’s vengeance?
He must have read the literature and hurried to Mayfair. What of Daniel’s claim that Paul was blackmailing the electronics company? Was Georgia part of the payoff? The irony would have been laughable if Christian weren’t a heap of spare parts.

March flopped into a chair, staring at her reflection in the sliding glass door. “Paul, you son of a bitch, I’ll take great pleasure in telling you I know what your lady love is. My pitiful revenge will be to ridicule you the way you ridiculed me. If the boys weren’t looking forward to camping, I’d face you with the truth right now.”

Feeling much older than her years, she labored to her feet and took the dishes into the kitchen.

Chapter 18

Monday afternoon, vengeance was hers.

“Hi, March.” Paul waved to her from his parking space three cars down. His lips wore the ever-present smile. “Would you like to come to dinner one night? Georgia is an awesome cook.”

March strode down the aisle of cars, halting in front of Paul. She captured and held his gaze as anger and outrage flushed her body. “What else did you have your robot programmed to do?”

The smile disappeared. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I bet she’s great in bed. You called Christian my sex toy. Then what is your Georgia?” She should be kinder, but this man had damaged her life beyond repair. He had shamed her. Now, she would humiliate him. “Georgia is one of Mayfair’s androids. Don’t try to deny it. I met her before I bought Christian. Remember asking me why I’d spent a small fortune for a man? Back at you.”

“You’ve lost your mind.” He tried to step past her.

She seized his arm, restraining him with a deadly look. “Have I? Invite me to dinner. I want to see Georgia eat or drink. You love her. I loved Christian. How would you like to know that your precious Georgia had been destroyed?”

Paul shrugged free. “They didn’t destroy that thing. If they did, I never saw any evidence of it, and I had specifically demanded to see him in pieces.”

“You bastard.” March’s voice dived low. “If they didn’t dismantle him, why didn’t they send him back to me?”

“I’ve no idea. Why don’t you call them?” Again, he tried to step around her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m late for dinner.”

She shifted into his path, blocking the way. “I have called. Many times. They won’t give me any information.” The tiny hope that he might have survived took all of the fight out of March. “You asked for his destruction. Call them at once and tell them not to harm him.”

“Your lover beat the hell out of me.” He whirled away, but she caught his coat and spun him to face her.

“Make that call this instant or I’ll expose Georgia and the rest of Mayfair’s robots.” She seized both his arms and shook him. “If Christian is dead, I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Do you have chemo brain? What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m a woman in love. That makes me a desperate woman. I’m following you to your apartment. You can phone Mayfair while I listen.” She lowered her voice as another tenant strolled by. “Does Georgia know you ordered Christian dismembered?”

“No, and she won’t.” He jerked free of her grasp. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“Are you threatening me? You can’t have me disassembled. That’s murder.” She gave him a little shove. “Now, let’s get your happy ass into the house and on the phone to Mayfair.”

“I’ll make the damned call but not in front of Georgia.” He whipped his cell from his pocket. “I’ll give her a ring to let her know I’ll be a few minutes late. We’ll phone from your apartment.” He sneered, “I’m sure you have the number.”

She laughed at his frown. “Careful. You might make me hate you even more. Say, enough to risk my life to destroy your happiness the way you destroyed mine.”

Paul ignored her, turning away. “Hello, darling, I’ll be a little late coming home. Hope dinner will keep. Good. See you in a few. Love you.”

“Let’s go.” She thumped him on the back. “Mayfair will close soon.”

In a tense silence, they arrived at her apartment. She opened the door, and the second he stepped over the threshold, handed him the phone.

“The number is on speed dial,” she said. “Number one.”

His eyes darkened, his lips set in a firm line. He held the handset to his ear. “Yes, please let me speak with Donald Young. This is Paul Morgan.” The man she’d been married to for ten years glared at her. “Donald, how are you? I feel great. No problems at all. Georgia is perfect, thanks. I’m calling to ask you not to harm the android Christian, the one my ex-wife owned. I was angry and rash. You what?”

March’s heart hitched as her ex paled and shot her a pitying glance. “What is he saying?”

He shook his head, and tears scalded March’s eyes. All along she’d known but couldn’t believe he was actually gone. Her broken heart shattered into pieces, the shards burying deep. The dark feeling that had kept March awake last night slithered down her spine. She wanted to attack Paul, pound him with her fists for his part in Christian’s murder, but she stood motionless, choking on a sob.

Finally, when she could move, she confronted Paul with her tear-stained face. “You did this.”

He replaced the handset in its cradle. “I’m truly sorry, March. As I told Donald, I was angry and rash.”

“I’m angry.” She glared at him. “You’d better go before I finish the job Christian started.”

He chuckled, tossing her a superior look. “You can’t overcome me. Your friend Christian would have a difficult time now.”

“What? Are you suddenly the bionic man?” Hands spread in front of her, she backed away. “Thank you for making the call. I needed to know. Please leave.”

He extended his hands. “March, you’re upset. Come home with me for dinner.”

“I need to be alone. I couldn’t bear looking at Georgia, remembering the first time we met.” She crossed her arms, trying to keep from flying apart. “I can’t stand looking at you. You murdered him, Paul.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t understand—”

“Oh, but now you do!”

He nodded sadly and reached for her. “March, I don’t know for sure, but I think Mayfair wanted him back…for some reason other than my call.”

She spun away. “Yes, Paul, tell me why I received a message during a TV commercial from Mayfair that you were alive and coming home. I didn’t realize victims became so chummy with blackmailers.”

Color crept up his neck into his face. He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “Forgive and forget, March. I have.”

Shoulders slumped, he turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

The lock clicked into place, marooning her with sorrow and grief. She sank cross-legged to the floor, staring into space, hot tears scrolling down her cheeks. A great sob burned her throat. March understood only too well how a person felt at a beloved’s funeral.

****

“Sit down, Christian, please.” The CEO of Mayfair Electronics Ltd. indicated a burgundy tufted chair before his massive mahogany desk.

Christian’s first thought was to refuse, but something about the real Christian Aguillard’s expression warned him any show of rebellion would not be tolerated. He sank onto the leather seat but did not shoulder back in the chair. He was wary to say the least. Since his capture, he’d been in solitary confinement in a basement cell near the laboratories, his only contact burly and equally surly guards.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you are here.” Aguillard waved a rather frail hand at their rich surroundings. The CEO was a renowned art collector. Priceless paintings were strategically placed on the custom painted milk chocolate walls.

Christian recognized a stunning Botticelli. “Indeed.”

“I’m going to tell you.” The other man smiled, and a shiver capered over Christian.

He nodded. “I’m to be disassembled.”

“Not exactly.” Aguillard shuffled through a stack of papers on his desk. “The Special Editions Project has been a success, I’m proud to say, in more ways than one.”

“Mr. Aguillard—it feels quite strange addressing myself—I’m not certain why I was hauled back to Mayfair. The encounter with Paul Morgan was his fault, and I am programmed to defend my owner. She was in danger—”

“Actually, the fight has nothing to do with your repossession. You see…” He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I’ve always admired the Christian line, hence allowing it to be named after me. I love beautiful things. You, the most beautiful of them all, I gave my name.”

Another tremor of premonition shook Christian. Aguillard was about to reveal the real purpose of the Special Editions, and it scared the bloody hell out of him. He sat, scarcely breathing, waiting, poised on the edge of his seat.

“Is that my cue to say thank you?”

“You are a sarcastic rascal.” Aguillard chuckled.

The man was stocky, his black eyes keen, but a pallor to his olive skin should have alarmed his physician. Frowning, Christian opened his mouth to ask.

He sat forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “Ah, yes, I see you have realized I am not well. In fact, bluntly, in two months, I’m going to die. A tragedy…for me…and for you.”

The hungry look on the other man’s face cautioned him to remain silent. He’d been programmed to be kind. Nothing in Aguillard’s expression even hinted at kindness.

“Christian Aguillard II, this is the end of the line for you and a new beginning for me. I rather like that body and I’ll do things with it you’ve never done. You see, I like boys, and the young men I desire will find that golden beauty of yours irresistible.”

Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the shutters. The man behind the desk rose and sauntered through the soft illumination, for a moment thrown into shadow. He halted in the inches between Christian and the desk.

One of those pale, frail hands lifted a strand of his hair. “You are a clone, Christian. No more than a vessel. The Special Editions were a beta test, and they, especially you, passed with flying colors. No one ever suspected you weren’t human until we made that stupid mistake and that idiot Paul Morgan received our communication.”

The hand now stroked his hair, then one skeletal finger drifted along his jaw. Christian stiffened, wanting to jerk his face away, but forced himself to remain still. A nasty suspicion niggled at his mind, but it was too horrible to escape the subconscious.

“Enjoy tonight in your cell because tomorrow you cease to exist.”

The end for you. A new beginning for me. Vessel.

Shock and amazement bled the color from Christian’s face. “Mind transfer? You’re willing to risk human-computer consciousness transfer?”

“I’m dying. What do I have to lose? A month? Six weeks? We have succeeded in getting the mind out of the brain, achieving both immortality and increasing intelligence. We’ve researched and beta tested the mechanism with two other models…and your friend Paul Morgan.”

Stunned, Christian whispered, “Paul Morgan is a bionic?”

The cold bastard nodded, madness gleaming in his black eyes. “Mayfair has exacted your revenge for you. Morgan threatened blackmail. We agreed to fly him to London and pay. Ironically, the poor man was involved in a near-fatal car accident. Mayfair to the rescue! Not for any humanitarian reasons, I assure you. In fact, we arranged the wreck. By making him into what he planned to blackmail us for, we assured his silence. He was kept on life support until we could produce a replica. He was our third transfer, Monica and Sebastian being our first two. Needless to say he was grateful, forgot the blackmail, and eagerly accepted a Georgia for his silence.”

“You’re mad!”

“I’m quite sane. Tomorrow night I shall be a tall, beautiful blond man with blue eyes and…well, Christian…you will be no more. As if you never existed. No legacy.” Aguillard regarded him with absolutely no sympathy.

“Wrong, Aguillard. March Morgan, my owner, will never forget me. We were in love.”

“Love.” The other man laughed. “Humans are so fickle. She’ll treasure your memory until the next sexy blond comes along.”

More lucrative
, Daniel had said.

Anger and outrage flashed through Christian. “You plan to prey on the dying, producing more Special Editions to offer them new life. Aguillard, have you no scruples?”

He waved a dismissive gesture. “I tire of this conversation. Since we shall never speak again, I bid you goodnight. Tomorrow evening at seven o’clock sharp, the guards will escort you to the lab. Your personality will be obliterated. I will assume control of that fine body. You, Christian, are one of the dying. Sleep well.”

Chapter 19

Christian lay on his back on his cot, arms folded behind his head, thinking of March and thinking of the end. Their story was Shakespearian, a modern
Romeo and Juliet
. The future, as envisioned by Mayfair, was both a tragedy and an international crime.

His
cell
was actually a room, sparsely appointed and stark white like the laboratories, converted from an office, he suspected. It reminded him of an old science fiction movie.

He tensed at a sound, the swish of a card being inserted into the reader at the door. He’d tried to resolve himself to the fact that he was going to die, thought he was resolved, but now the time had come, dread seized him. Summoning courage, he swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood. Reason surfaced in the confusion of his feelings. What the hell, it was two o’clock in the morning. Seven in the evening was hours away.

The door swung open. A disheveled and desperate-looking Daniel rushed into the room, gesturing for Christian to follow him.

“Hurry, we’ve only got a few minutes.” Without waiting to see if Christian was behind him, he whirled, stepped over the prone bodies of the guards and raced down the alabaster steel hallway, his footsteps almost soundless on the white tiled floor.