Shepherd (15 page)

The man scrutinized the module and glanced back at Clay’s body suspended in the center of the room with his chest open and the sterilization field humming around him.

“Onyx.” He didn’t respond, not even turning around at her call. “Onyx.”

Startled out of his contemplation, he glanced up. “It might work, Esme. And it’s Trace.”

At her perplexed look, he held out his hand for the device. “My name is Trace.”

She would call him God if he could just make this work, she though as she followed behind him back to Clay.

“Get what you need to activate the module.” He set the device in the tweezers for a quick check. “Bring the glove thing you were wearing earlier.”

“I don’t think it will handle the sterilization very well.”

“Won’t need to.” He didn’t bother to check her reaction but issued several commands on his interface for the surgery tools. A long thin arm slid from one side, a narrow hypo extended from the tip, the internal segment filled with a glittering substance.

“What is that stuff?”

He hesitated but met her gaze this time. “More of the medium tailored to Clay’s DNA.”

Now he was talking. Esme leaned closer, but Trace held her back. “It’s tailored only to him. It can be lethal to other DNA.”

A careful scrutiny of his face delivered no hint of subterfuge, but she’d never heard of such an advanced process. Just the thought of understanding the design thrilled her. An added option to help Clay recover delivered a sliver of hope.

“I won’t risk him, Esme. I get the impression he would want me to be just as cautious with you. So I’d appreciate it if you don’t get near the hypo. The nanites and the mixture will repel infection and help rejuvenate his tissue.”

She nodded slowly and glanced again at the glitter. “If you’re going to inject it in him, I’d like to know how it works.”

His mouth twitched at the corner, but he nodded back. “Fair. Now let’s see if we can get your power supply to work its magic.”

The process took less time than their debate about how to connect her device. Trace finally gave in to her long and logical listing of how and why she needed to handle the procedure, even allowing her full control of the surgical panel to position and connect the component. With a minor modification, the piece fit as if designed for Clay’s upgraded heart chamber.

Esme input the sequence for activation and ran through the command series three times before she took a deep breath, pursed her lips, and launched the code. A quick glance at the bio stats confirmed a progressive increase in orange. Trace’s panel delivered a more detailed view of the heart and power chambers activating. Clay’s main processor engaged the third lung first, then his spine, each leg, and finally interfaced with his cerebral cortex. The colors lit up like a celebration, but Clay remained immobile.

“How will we know when he wakes up?”

Trace looked at her in surprise. His expression turned guarded, followed by a practiced stare. “His network can be forced out of its normal state to hibernate, saving flesh over hardware. The system hibernation operates at a low level and maintains life-support. Esme, he’s been awake the whole time. He had to be to maintain control over the few remaining vital processes.”

With a gasp, Esme shot a glance at Clay’s face. She caught the flutter of his normal eye. Terror for what he’d endured morphed into red-hot anger for what he’d let her suffer alone.

“You ass. You could have let me know. The whole trip from the basement I wasted valuable time going slow so I didn’t wake you or hurt you. If I’d known you were conscious, we could have made faster progress.” He wouldn’t have suffered for so long either. She crossed her arms, digging her hands under her armpits to hide the tremors while she blinked back the wetness on her lashes.

Trace’s brows rose at her backlash, though his mouth lifted with a laugh. He squelched it as he caught Clay’s scowl.

Laughter was the last thing on Esme’s list. She didn’t know whether to kiss her warden or kill him. He made up her mind for her as his fingers brushed against her coat to entice her closer.

“Sugar.”

Chapter 9

“Countdown—forty hours, eight minutes.”

The system relay filtered through Clay’s hold on the periphery of sleep. Not that he’d wanted sleep. Trace hadn’t given him a choice. The hypo shot shut down any chance he had of pleading his case to Esme, though it would have been hard while Trace was closing and suturing his chest.

Throughout the entire surgery, he’d been distracted by Esme’s focus on Trace’s instruction relating to the nanites and the inner workings of his chest cavity. Dependency wasn’t a trait he relished, but he appreciated that his injury afforded him a once-in-a-lifetime view of their determination to free him and save him. No. He’d experienced such selflessness once before. With each person who stepped into his life to pull him back from the brink, he added another life tied to him in a permanent bond of debt and loyalty. Too intent on Esme’s presence beside him and her hand stroking his forehead, he never saw the hypo coming.

He blinked and brushed his hand over the cold spot on the bed next to him. He must have dreamed her body was curled around him. Wanting didn’t make it so, but the sensation of her body’s warmth and the touch of her hair along his cheek were vivid enough he could pretend it was real.

Voices filtered through the doorway from the console room. Even with a clear view, he saw no one. The resolution of his cyber eye sharpened, the pixels increased, delivering a precise view in his mind of the virtual screen on the far side of his console some forty feet away. The sound data added by his cochlear implant rendered the flat picture into a 3-D image of the room with two people standing near the exit. He didn’t need texture mapping of the image to identify Trace and Esme.

So now he knew where his mischief-maker was. With confirmation Trace hadn’t left, Clay tried to push upright, only to have Trace’s strong hand force his shoulder back onto the bed. The doctor had entered the room so quickly and without detection it stung his pride but delivered a lightness of being as well. However, the fierce look on Esme’s face and the fists on her hips dispelled any thoughts of laughter.

“No movement for twelve more hours. I’d prefer no talking as well, but I suspect that’s a waste of my breath.” Trace maneuvered his scanner over Clay’s chest and, with a grunt, shoved it back in his pack. “And because you’ll find out and I’d rather not have your blood pressure escalating over—”

“You promised.” Esme’s glare turned toward Trace as she cut him off.

“I promised to help retrieve the kegs before he woke up, not hide what we had done.”

Grabbing hold of the bottom of Esme’s shirt, Clay managed to keep the debate at his bedside in spite of her attempt to move and confrontation Trace. “How—”

Trace glanced pointedly at Clay’s hold on Esme. “The same ERD that hoisted you out of the silo worked on the kegs. No risk. So save your arguments for later and stop moving.”

He scrutinized first Trace and then Esme’s expressions. There was something they weren’t telling him. Esme caved first. She let out a snort but rolled her head, giving in. “Another segment broke through in the silo. The access opened up into another building—a basement, actually. There’s no immediate access or breach.”

Clay glanced at the virtual screen in the console room again, puzzled as to why the security system wasn’t emitting warning codes. “You know this because?”

“She pinpointed the layout of the original buildings on your diagrams, and I placed dampener devices around the exterior. It should keep the security tight for the time being.” Trace slung his pack over his back.

They’d retrieved the kegs and secured the building? “How long have I been out, and what the hell did you give me?”

“Six hours. I’ve given Esme another hypo with the same dose and authorization to shoot you if you don’t follow my orders and stay on bed rest for twelve more hours.”

“I have work to do. Ouch.” At the pinch from sharp nails, he considered a grab for the hypo on the far side of the bed table to use on both Esme and Trace. However, that would leave Trace hanging around, not convenient, and leave Esme uncommunicative. He suspected she held vital information he needed, not the least being how she’d assembled the ERD.

“Promise Trace you’ll comply, or I’ll dose you now.”

Esme’s satisfied smirk didn’t daunt him. Negotiation worked both ways. He passed a suggestive look to where a lovely mocha knee showed beneath the tail end of his shirt. “I’ll promise if you stay here with me.”

Trace turned away with a snort. “No movement. I’ll show myself out.”

She nudged the bed with her knee, and Clay managed to brush his fingers along the curve of her calf. “You haven’t promised yet, Clay.”

“You’re not on the bed with me yet.”

Her mouth twitched as she sauntered around the bed to the empty side and crawled closer. “You are too manipulative for my tastes. Now promise.”

“Your complaints are unfounded, and you need to be closer. Right where I can feel you.”

She tried for an expression of aloofness. It didn’t match her smile. She curled around him just as he remembered. Her breast nestled against his arm, her face pressed to the top of his head, and her hair brushing his cheek. Then she whispered into his hair, “Promise.”

“I promise to stay here as long as you’re with me.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“I need you to keep me warm. Now, tell me how you got around the interference from other signals in the silo. Then explain to me how Trace offered you his name?”

She chuckled against his hair and slowly stretched an arm across his shoulders. “I was briefing him on the plans you’ve made to extract Aaron.”

He tried to move his head to see her face, but her arm tightened and her cheek pressed against his, restraining him. “No movement. Don’t you think he’s entitled to know?”

“He would’ve been briefed, once I had everything in place and verified. My concern is how you know the plan.”

“I broke through your security to locate Onyx and save your obstinate hide. Of course, I found the details. How dense do you think I am to design and deliver the tool to extract the boy if I didn’t have some concept of what you planned?”

He closed his eyes and released a sigh. She was right. He’d never considered her anything but brilliant. It wasn’t as if she posed a real threat. He was with her every minute, with the exception of his time in the silo. He could check his system, see what messages she sent—

“Your silence is deafening.” She’d reached beyond the bed to a small table and activated a signal. A virtual screen hovered over his bed. “Go ahead check your precious security. I know you won’t be comfortable until you have.”

She actually allowed him to glance at her face, but she only raised a brow and jerked her head toward the screen.

“The mission is important. This young man is important—to many of us.”

Her gaze ran over his face as she sighed. “I’ve heard all about Aaron from his stepfather. He walks on water. I get it. Check the plan. Check the security.”

Clay gave the command and emitted a high-range frequency signal from his cyber system to confirm his pass code.

“Then you can read through the suggestions I’ve posted,” Esme added as she curled around him again.

He froze at the implications of her comment and just as quickly gave in. Why fight it? Her modifications would no doubt be productive; her ERD had certainly been tested the hard way. He’d found no reason to consider her a threat and certainly no reason for her to target the Underground. It wasn’t as if she had any reason to betray the mission or him. Esme was an open book.

***

Brave men made terrible patients. Of that, Esme had no doubt after the last ten hours. Not that she’d change any of those hours for the world—except for Clay’s injury. He didn’t comment on the pain or his body’s rejuvenation, but she caught the occasional wince and weariness in his eyes that he tried to hide.

Having him incapacitated brought out a whole new facet to his personality, one she found endearing. It wasn’t her imagination, either. When she held him, pain, worry, and fatigue all registered in lower counts on his brain wave and nerve feedback on the vid screen she kept active by the bed. He said as much, actually nestling against her to seek her comfort. Yet men had their methods of controlling women’s emotions, so it was good to have corroborating backup. Her father had used threats of abuse, rarely following through, but once was enough for her to take him seriously. Ivan’s method was more heinous, at least in her book. His threats were against the few people who she managed to maintain any connection with
—
his own sister and nephew. She never doubted Ivan would follow through. He considered people of value only when they had direct impact on his profits or plans. Something Calissa and her son, Kit, lacked the skills to offer.

Clay possessed none of the manipulative qualities of the previous men in her life. If he was angry with her, she’d know it and she’d know why. Much as she enjoyed sex with him, these comfortable hours of drifting in and out of sleep, discussing the outstanding issues on the plan, and lying together while they watched the broadcasts from New Delphi, forged a tie in her heart she’d never experienced before. Okay, enjoying sex was too tepid a description for how her blood raced, her skin tingled, and everything from her nipples to her pussy clenched in anticipation of joining with him. However the quiet moments rivaled the passionate ones in her heart.