Southern Shifters: Pryde and Precious (Kindle Worlds Novella) (2 page)

He had seventy-two hours to find out what she was up to before the chemical company got back to her.

Time to make it count.

A
rianna checked
her email once more before switching the screen to the internet fitness channel she preferred. A creature of routine, she worked out every other day. Physical fitness equated a healthy mind. Or, as her instructors used to remind her, if she built her overall strength, perhaps her mental acuity would improve. Among the Psi, mental ability distinguished how worthy of notice one was. On a scale of one to ten, she rated somewhere around a negative four. She preferred it that way, honestly, because she was of very little interest to anyone.

The woman on the screen began her happy chatter and Arianna hit the mute button. She didn’t need to hear her to see what she was doing and mimic the movements. Frankly, if the whole world had a mute button she’d likely use that as well. The people on the screen all had yoga mats so she retrieved hers as the teacher continued talking. She likely wanted to motivate her audience. That was acceptable—proper motivation could push viewers to achieving greater success.

Arianna had all the push she needed. Her workouts helped her focus, kept off excess calories and allowed her to eat whatever she wished. Since she ordered in more often than not, she didn’t have to examine the ingredients too closely. Performing a couple of warming stretches, she kept half of her attention on the instructor while the rest of her mind focused on her current dilemma.

Stepping into warrior pose, she checked her balance then let the stretch extend her left leg. After reviewing all of the data, she could see they were close to a formulation. The DNA variances weren’t all that different from what she’d been doing in her hybrid plants. The similarities ended there. The different compounds and active agents weren’t familiar. Doing her homework meant examining each data strand. The scientist’s notes were meticulous, but also presumed the audience understood the work.

With very little time before her superiors would require a report, she’d requested the aid of some human chemical engineers to achieve the proper breakdowns. By compartmentalizing the information, she didn’t risk the project’s secrecy while maintaining its integrity. Expecting the answer to take longer, she’d been stunned by their near immediate permission with the caveat to alert them to each communication.

In other words, they wanted her to proceed, but they wanted it exceptionally documented. Unfortunately, she’d asked them look for the best lab to send her request in to. She’d narrowed her list to three and, rather than send all the information to one, she’d parsed it out—sending different formulas to each of her chosen facilities.

From warrior pose they relaxed into the half moon. The stretch pulled her left side and she relaxed into it. Each company had sent her a response. Two were auto-generated, though the third had been more personal. They’d all asked for time—up to three days—to answer her inquiries. Time was at a premium, but she couldn’t demand they push her work ahead of others without drawing undue attention. After documenting the requests, where they went and their responses, she’d sent another report.

Her superiors had let it go unanswered. Or maybe they planned a more unpleasant answer later. In fact, if she heard nothing at all from Simon Hampton ever again, it would please her. She didn’t want the attention or notice. She wanted to work on her plants. The sooner she finished their pet project, the better. The instructor glided through a series of poses, each one deeper than the next until she rested in downward dog.

Where the meditation exercises failed, the yoga succeeded. Pushing her body to stretch and hold the poses, increased her focus. Once she finished the workout, her next task would be to locate and set up a laboratory where she could work. For the time being, she could not return to her greenhouses. Frustrating, but understandable. She could continue to work with the samples of her hybrids at the apartment—she wasn’t giving up all her work for their secretive project—but she would need somewhere else to compile the data and put theory into practice.

The trick would be to find the right place with the right equipment without anyone to fuss or spy on her. Perhaps an isolated cabin in the middle of nowhere? For a moment, she smiled. The last pose was a warrior’s prayer. Thirty minutes of consistent push and pull left her muscles warm and sweat dampened her skin. Perhaps that should be a request to her superiors. Where did they want her to do the work?

The moment the thought took root, she ripped it out. They might want her to come to a secure facility, under lock and key with video cameras. A shudder pulsed through her. The constant observation would be worse than all the people there.

No, they handed her the project. It was up to her to figure it out how to execute it.

Retrieving a bottle of water, she shut off the workout video and hydrated. What she wanted to do was go work in her garden for a while, transplant her seedlings, and perhaps move one of her zinnias from the dark and cold into the sun. It didn’t matter, she had to do what she’d been ordered to do.

Knocks on her door sent a wild skitter of panic racing through her system.

Her heart rate climbed, and she retreated a half-dozen steps to stare at the closed door. It was too early for mail. She received packages regularly, but they had a lockbox for those. The mailman usually put a key in her box to let her know if she had something larger. He only knocked when she’d ordered in an item too large to fit.

But she’d made no such orders. Her neighbors didn’t knock—they kept odd hours like she did, and they didn’t bother her. Another knock kept her riveted in place. Maybe it was one of those door-to-door salesmen? They came through periodically, though the management often tried to run them off when spotted.

At the third knock, she despaired of them giving up and simply going away. Tip-toeing to the door, she peeked through the peephole. A tall man with a broad chest filled her view. He wore a crisp white shirt and had dark, tousled hair. A hint of stubble darkened his jaw and a pair of stunning blue eyes seemed to gaze right at her. He tilted his head, as though aware of her observation and, for a brief moment, she forgot how to breathe.

From the perfect symmetry of his eyes to the gorgeous perfection of his square jaw and stubborn chin, he was a beautiful man. She’d definitely seen good looking men before in movies and on television, but never on the other side of her door. The line of his nose gave him an almost aristocratic bearing and his full, firm lips curved into the barest hint of a smile.

“Miss Ferrars? If you have a moment, I’d like to speak to you.” A deep voice, like hot syrup, poured over her and she let out a squeak. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she retreated from spying on him and swallowed hard.

The damn startled sound already betrayed her presence, so she cobbled together the threads of her courage. “Who are you?”

“My name is John Brandon. I’m here about your email to Rynodyne Chemical.”
Rynodyne?
She’d sent that email earlier in the day.

“You said it would take at least seventy-two hours to get back to me.” How dare they send someone to her door? “An email would have sufficed.” What had Simon gotten her into?

“I apologize for my abrupt arrival; however, I was deeply curious about your project and the questions you asked. I thought I could help more in person.” So much patience radiated in his voice—patience and assurance. It offered her comfort she had no business accepting.

“You can answer the email. That’s more than sufficient.” She retreated another step, but she couldn’t tell if he was still there or not.

“Miss Ferrars, I understand this is a little unorthodox.”

“A little?” Incensed, she glared at the door. “Mr. Brandon, I have no idea why you thought knocking on my door would be anything but a bad idea. How did you get my address anyway? I didn’t…” Her gut clenched. She hadn’t provided any of that.

“Hell…” The curse should have been a warning. Her door handle turned with a crunch and then the security bolt gave when he slammed it inward. One moment he was outside the door, the next he was in.

Panic strangled her. The world darkened, and she did the worst thing possible.

She fainted.

J
ohn barely caught
the slender woman as she crumpled. He hadn’t expected her to outright deny him entry when he knocked on the door. What information he’d put together about Arianna Ferrars indicated a quiet, almost mouse of a researcher who preferred plants to people. She didn’t make waves, didn’t engage in a lot of social interactions and, according to her current employers—his first stop—she was on a sabbatical.

The musty scent of sweat lingered in the air and on the doe-eyed brunette in his arms. Dressed in a pair of spandex bottoms and a sports bra, she had a delicate, yet well-toned form. Nothing spare on her, but her arms possessed muscle definition as did her abdominals. She was perhaps the oddest Psi he’d ever met. Not that they’d actually met as yet.

Carrying her to the sofa, he set her down before returning to secure her door. He’d broken the deadbolt, but no one stepped out of the surrounding apartments to check on the noise. Canting his head, he listened and detected no movement or change in the noise levels from her neighbors. He detected no shifter scents. If other Psi were nearby, they would have responded to a distress call from her, yet none appeared and he scented nothing but humans.

An odd living arrangement for the little researcher. Too many years of fielding secrets and destroying others had taught him to not take anything on face value. He scanned the apartment as he returned to her side. It was small, cluttered. Plants were everywhere…on the bookshelves, on the table, and on a stand. She’d created something of a tropical jungle. The temperature was warmer than he cared for, but considering her slighter size, she probably needed it warm.

Though thready, her pulse continued and her breathing slowed from shallow. She remained pale, and he scented no rising awareness. Kneeling, he took his chances and raised one of her eyelids gently. Her irises were a soft brown, and the pupil was massive. She was unconscious.

“Great.” Muttering, he took advantage of her disabled state to search the apartment. He located a secured tablet in her kitchen. Her refrigerator was stocked with more plants…and mountain region flowers. The scent damn near overwhelmed him when he opened the door. Takeout boxes, cleaned and compressed, filled her recycle bin. Barely anything sat in her trash.

Another large container stank so badly he didn’t dare open it. If he had to guess, he’d say compost.
Fits
…
she likes plants.

Her bedroom was as filled with plants as her living room. Large, over-sized rubber plants, smaller denser evergreens, and more. Some bloomed, some didn’t. He couldn’t even name all the species.

The bed in the center was neat, the comforter drawn up to the pair of pillows. No other scents beyond hers were in the apartment. So, no lover or spouse to deal with. His research hadn’t revealed any connections, but one never knew. Standing in the center of her bedroom, he studied it before returning to the living room. Nothing personal beyond the plants to be found.

No photos.

No mementos.

No knick knacks.

The number of plants didn’t suggest a cover. The little researcher lived there, so why no other personal touches?

Despite his fifteen minutes of prowling through her apartment, she had yet to stir. He checked her pulse, and it had slowed from its race to something resembling normal. Her breathing remained steady. Leaning closer, he took a deep breath and tried to sort through the scents. Unlike many others of his kind, he didn’t track by scent. If she were ill, he would likely detect a sour note, particularly given the lingering perspiration on her body.

No, all he detected was the clean, spring scent of rain in a citrus orchard. Fresh, sweet and exhilarating. Leaning away, he debated his options. He’d broken into her apartment. Not the best beginning if he hoped to get information from her. Worse, she’d passed out—from fear? Exhaustion? Some other issue? He didn’t know. Other than the tablet and laptop, he found saw no evidence of files.

Chances were the information he wanted was on her devices. He retrieved the tablet and flipped it open. A touch brought the secure screen up, but it required a password. One he didn’t have.

The laptop was the same.

Pivoting to study the bookshelves, he inspected the notebooks tucked into one corner. All the information appeared to be about the plants. He scanned four before returning them and looking at the lady in question.

He could take her tablet and laptop. If he turned them over to the cyber security, they could crack the passwords and he’d know where she was at in the research.

But it doesn’t stop the research from continuing…or her from alerting the psi to the fact someone is on to them.
Unless he killed her. He shied away from the implacable thought. He had before and likely would again kill for his people, to protect them. If she were a real threat, removing her might be the only…

Pausing, he eyed her slender form and smiled slowly. He did have another option—he could remove her from the equation.

“My apologies, sweet one.” He passed a hand over her dark hair. “You and your research need to come with me. Unless you have any objections?” He canted his head, waiting and, when she continued to sleep, he nodded.

He’d have to call in a clean sweeper team. They would pack up the apartment, dismantle everything, and wipe any trace of her away. In her bedroom, he threw some clothes into a bag then tugged the cover off the bed. After he added her electronics into the packing, he wrapped her in the blanket.

Carrying the cargo to his vehicle, it stunned him once more that no one intercepted him, inquired or even seemed aware that she was being taken.

Had the psi done this on purpose, assuming the lack of security would keep them at bay? After all, if they weren’t protecting her, what could she have?

A frisson of guilt stabbed at him. If she really didn’t have anything, he was about to turn her life upside down. His cat didn’t reproach him—neither of them wanted to leave her behind.