Killing Joe

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520 Macon GA 31201 Killing Joe Copyright © 2008 by Marie Treanor ISBN: 1-59998-927-1 Edited by Linda Ingmanson Cover by Dawn Seewer All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: April 2008 www.samhainpublishing.com

Killing Joe Marie Treanor

Dedication

To Linda, who didn’t give up on me. And to my first husband, who had better not.

Killing Joe

Chapter One No one ever accused the assassin of humor. But he did possess a fine sense of irony that he liked to employ in his work. For example, he knew exactly how to kill the girl. Through his spotlessly clean windscreen, he saw her emerge alone from the hangarlike building she worked in. A swift glance at the open wallet in his hand showed him the photograph of a studious-looking, dark-haired young woman in black-rimmed spectacles and a white lab coat, her severity lightened by a quirky half-smile. Across one creamy if clinical shoulder was scrawled, “All my love, Maria”. He’d written it himself last night, along with a fake New York phone number on the back, just to make his possession of it look innocent. The girl now walking across the car park right in front of his vehicle was not called Maria, and she was not American, but she was definitely the same woman. Even her thick, black hair was in exactly the same style, if you could call it that—tied carelessly behind her head, with lots of it escaping. Dr. Anna Baird, a project leader working for the British Institute of Crash Research. His client wanted her death to look accidental. And obviously, given her profession, a car crash was the most pleasing accident for her to have. But Joe—the assassin always thought of himself as Joe—found it a particularly ironic touch to use her own research to do the job properly. Like any kill, a car crash had to be studied scientifically in order to ensure the target’s death and his own survival, and she did appear to be the number one expert in the field. He had a bit of reading to do back at the hotel. Just beyond his car, the girl paused, and Joe dropped his gaze to the wallet, casually rummaging. Some targets sensed his observation. It wasn’t unusual for eye contact to be made, but Joe preferred to avoid it until he was ready. However, the girl just looked

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around her, frowning, as if she couldn’t remember where she’d parked her car. Joe could have pointed it out to her. After only a moment, she went straight toward it. Joe liked the way she walked, economical with her movements, largely unaware of her own body, yet with quiet, natural grace. And he reckoned, by that faintest roll of her hips beneath her well-worn leather jacket, that there was suppressed passion in there. A clichéd fantasy about a female scientist, no doubt, but he was sticking with it. Dr. Baird still appeared slightly distracted as she went through the motions of inserting her key into the lock of her Saab, opening the door, throwing her briefcase onto the passenger seat and climbing in. There looked to be a permanent frown on her brow. Perhaps Joe’s client preferred happier women. Once she had belted herself in, she placed her hands on the steering wheel with driving-school precision. Then unexpectedly, her head dropped forward onto the wheel in an unexpected gesture of exhaustion or defeat. Like most people, she imagined herself invisible once inside her own car, and Joe found that hint of vulnerability oddly touching. He’d make sure his job was done quickly and efficiently. After the briefest moment, she sat up straight and started the car. Joe let her drive right out of the gates before he started his own engine. It was industrial park land out here, lots of big offices and no housing. Security was poor, too. The different organizations shared a night watchman and had their individual buildings alarmed, but there were no cameras in the Institute car park. Joe already knew which road she would take to go home to her flat in central Edinburgh. At this stage, he wanted only to observe her driving speed and technique. Careful, dull, efficient. She took no chances, never jumped the light at amber, never tried to edge out another driver. Joe marked a few possible spots to stage an accident: a wide road full of fast-moving traffic with several junctions, a busy roundabout… Dr. Baird lived alone—no husband or family, no lover. Her flat was in a tenement block opposite a pleasant green park. Joe stopped at the corner just short of her building and got out to stroll down the pavement toward it. The building was decent enough, but

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hardly luxurious. The girl was living on a not particularly generous salary, as if she was—honest. She had stopped outside the front door to speak to someone—a white-haired old lady. Joe wondered if she would glance at him as he passed, if her gaze would be quickly dropped, self-deprecating or indifferent. There might even be a glint of shy attraction. After all, Joe was attractive to many women, and this girl had loneliness written all over her. In the end, he never got near enough to find out. She turned away to the front door of the building, pausing with her key in the lock, to throw the old lady a quick smile over her shoulder. For some reason, the smile startled Joe. It seemed to alter her whole face, smoothing the frown, lightening her eyes. She seemed to shine. And then it vanished. The door opened and quickly closed and Joe walked past unnoticed. Being a fair-minded man, it struck him that it would be equally ironic if his client was involved in a road accident from which Dr. Baird’s research could have saved him.

*** Having completed his research over the Internet in his hotel, Joe knew exactly how and where to hit her car to kill her—and what bit of his vehicle to use to avoid his own injury. Thanks to a misspent youth of joyriding and playing chicken, he was pretty confident of his ability to do it. Especially in the Zeitek, which devilment had made him hire at the airport. Her investigations into that particular model had been thorough and he now knew its every strength and weakness. Following her to work the next morning, he concentrated on her driving idiosyncrasies: when she braked for a light or reacted to unexpected events. No way would she be allowed to avoid him… Unfortunately, the required force and precision couldn’t be guaranteed in the rushhour traffic. So Joe drove straight past the gates of the Institute to the next roundabout,

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went completely ’round it and headed back into town. He had a phone call to make, an assignation to arrange. It was a pity, he reflected, as he sped along the busy carriageway. It might have been intriguing actually to meet the appointment he was about to make. He liked clever women, and when she smiled, Anna Baird was rather beautiful. Nice body, too. He would have enjoyed wakening that slumbering passion he sensed in her, making the cool scientist hot and wild if he could… But he’d got long past the stage of finding it exciting to fuck his hits. In this age of DNA evidence, it would be bloody stupid besides. He decided not to run with the fantasy stuff. It seemed somehow—disrespectful. An odd word to pop into his head. Joe didn’t have respect for many people and he’d never had any reason to regard women with any special chivalry. In his experience, women were downright dangerous. Fascinating, some of them, and sexually delightful, but nonetheless lethal. In his line of work and with his necessarily limited social circle, he didn’t encounter many like Anna Baird… This time tomorrow, the girl would be dead, the money would be safely in his bank and he would be flying back to America to wait for the next poor sod to kill. He’d be glad when it was done. He didn’t care for this job. Having studied her work now, he knew exactly why his client wanted Anna Baird out of the way. It didn’t make what he was about to do any less legal than his other hits, but for some reason it left a nasty taste in his mouth. It was the last job he’d do for… The car hit him with tremendous force. Shooting out of a junction on his left, it gave him no chance to avoid it. Instinct made him swerve and brake together. It made no difference. The car slammed into the side of his vehicle, hurling him into the oncoming traffic. Two more crashes tried to throw his broken body in opposite directions If only he’d had any breath, he might have laughed. As it was, before he lost consciousness, he had time to think, “Fuck. Now this is irony.”

***

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“Great, you’re all set,” Anna approved when she entered the crash room with her coffee. The crash was set up, the dummy being carefully positioned in the driver’s seat. “What do you think?” asked Bill Mackie, her eager new assistant, straightening up beside the mock car. Anna touched the cold metal. “Zeitek specifications?” “It’s the new Zinnia to a tee” Bill assured her, with a grin at the rough appearance of the shell. Anna reached in to check that the dummy was firmly assembled. It was a new one, built to her own design, resembling a human far more closely than anything they’d had to work with before. Not in appearance, maybe, but in weight and joints, the placement of organs and even simulated flesh, it was the best guide they’d ever had to the true effect of a crashing car on its human occupants. “OK,” Anna said. “Let’s fire him off.” With Bill and Lesley, her other assistant, she walked over to the protective control cubicle, waiting impatiently for the technicians who’d carried in the dummy to get clear of the crash room. When they left, closing the door behind them, she pressed the locking mechanism immediately. “Thirty-four miles an hour,” she said, typing the speed into the computer. “Go.” She hit the button. The “car” moved into action on its rails, quickly building speed. At the same time, the car on the cross-rails sprang into action, too. At precisely thirty-four miles an hour, Anna held her breath. Through the clear Perspex of the windows, she stared directly at the dummy, to see every tiny effect with her own eyes. As usual the dummy’s smooth, featureless face showed incongruous disinterest in its grizzly fate. And it would be grizzly. Anna had already calculated the damage that would be caused at thirty-five miles an hour, no matter how safe at thirty. The dummy’s internal organs were toast. It didn’t mind. Or did it?

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Anna blinked. She was no longer staring at a dummy’s inhuman, impassive face. She was looking at a man’s face, a real man’s. Strong, tanned, wide-eyed with shock. “Jesus!” Anna slammed her hand hard down on the abort key. Too late. The cars collided with the usual almighty crash. “What is it? What’s the matter?” Lesley demanded, jumping after her as she wrenched open the control room door and bolted toward the carnage. “Anna, it’s all right! Wait!” But Anna couldn’t wait. In a cold sweat of horror, she threw herself to her knees among the debris. Of course it was impossible. She already knew that she wouldn’t see a man’s broken body. Just a dummy. Its vacant head was still attached, its battered body tied into the wreckage by a seat belt. “Anna.” Lesley’s hand touched her shoulder. “Anna, are you okay?” With trembling fingers, Anna pushed her hair off her face. She tried to laugh and managed a weak smile. “Yes, I think so. Les, if I ever go completely bats, promise you’ll kick me off this project before I wreck it? Pun intended.” Lesley’s fingers tightened. “Honey, without you, there wouldn’t be a project. But if you keep calling me Les, I’ll have your arse in a sling.” Anna gave a wavery laugh, and pushed her glasses more firmly onto her nose. “Bill? Got your pencil? Right, let’s get measuring.” Springing to her feet, she strode off, pretending to look for her instruments—in reality fighting to control the shaking of her limbs. Bill slowly took his gaze from her and turned it on Lesley. “What the hell was that all about?” Lesley sighed. “About the past, my dear.” She glanced at him. “It’s hard for her to watch crashes, okay?” “Don’t you think she’s in the wrong job then?” “Not from the results she gets, no,” Lesley retorted. “Point,” Bill allowed. “So what’s her problem?”

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Lesley hesitated. Then, “When she was sixteen, she saw her parents and her wee brothers die in a car crash. Sometimes…it’s like she relives it. Here.” “Christ.” Bill looked quickly across to the control room where Anna was rummaging. “That isn’t healthy. Seriously, Lesley.” “I know. But it hasn’t happened for years. Not since the very early days of this place. I thought she’d got used to it…” “Christ,” Bill said again. “Why does she put herself through this? It must be torture wondering if her work could have saved her family…” Lesley’s smile was a little twisted. “Bill, she’s saving someone else’s family.”

*** The scanned dummy bore out all Anna’s calculations, and all her calls for Zeitek to hold up production of the Zinnia. Its shape, which made it so different and appealing, was also its weakness. The car was a killer at anything over thirty miles an hour. In effect, the dummy’s body was completely crushed. When they were finished with it, she helped the techies haul it down to the storeroom and put its limbs back together. Outside the crash situation, it seemed there was no temptation for her to imagine it a real person. It was just that his face had seemed so real, and she was sure she had never seen the man before. It was the sort of face she would have remembered—not particularly handsome, but strong, attractive, different. That’s what’s wrong with me. I’m not working too hard, I’m not exhausted or barking mad. I just need a man. And in the circumstances, the humiliation of that was almost a relief. Laughing at herself, she went to write up her report. She was still writing when Lesley appeared in her office door, coat on and ready to go home. “How’s it going?” she asked. Anna smiled. “Good. This time we’ve got the buggers. They wriggled out of it on the last model, but this time there’s just no excuse.” www.samhainpublishing.com

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“We’ll need to do more back-up tests,” Lesley warned. “I know. We’ll set them up throughout the week. Test for passengers, too. With and without airbags. The whole shebang.” “Fair enough. Oh and talking of the previous model—I got a call about another accident. Not far from here actually, on the A8.” Anna cocked an interested eyebrow. “Oh? A Zeitek? Anyone hurt?” “It was a bit of a pile up. Several injuries, mostly recoverable—but the Zeitek’s a write-off, and they reckon so’s the driver.” “Dead?” Anna asked sadly. “Not yet. They don’t sound very hopeful though.” “Poor bastard. Where was the impact? In the side?” “Both sides. It was hit on the left and pushed right into traffic. A second major impact on the driver’s side.” “It’s criminal,” Anna said in a small, tight voice. “We warned them about that weakness, and not only did they fail to rectify it, they produce the bloody Zinnia which gives all the protection of paper!” “Honey, you’re preaching to the converted.” Anna gave a quick, apologetic smile. “I know. Sorry. I just don’t know how they sleep at nights.” “We’ll stop them this time. After this week’s tests, you can get your report in on Monday. By the end of next week, they’ll have to halt production and alter their design. So slow down.” She straightened, detaching her leaning shoulder from the door post. “Don’t stay in here all night, Anna. Go home.” Anna saved her file and pressed the off button. “I’m off now. Oh, did we get a look at that Zeitek wreckage?” “Yeah. Dan MacQuarrie went down there. He’ll have the report in to you tomorrow.” “Thanks, Lesley. ’Night.”

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As she left her office only moments later, she could still hear Lesley’s heels clicking down the corridor. The sound brought a surge of affection for her loyal assistant. Lesley was amazing. Good at her job, easy to be around, thought for herself and wasn’t afraid to voice any doubts she felt. And yet she carried out instructions, even wishes, to the letter. And though she never mentioned it, Anna knew she looked out for her. If it was embarrassing, it was also a comfort. Following the clicking heels, Anna paused at the top of the stairs which led down to the basement storeroom. She couldn’t remember anyone turning the light off in there, or locking the door. And on the tight budget they worked on, these things were important. With a sigh, Anna turned and ran lightly down the stairs. It was highly unlikely anyone would break in here and steal the crash test dummies, but insurance would not pay up if anyone did so when the door was unlocked. And the new dummy had cost a fortune. The door wasn’t properly shut. Even before she switched on the lower corridor light, Anna could see it stood ajar. Though at least someone had switched off the light. Rummaging in her bag as she walked toward the open door, she dragged out the big bunch of keys, sorting through them to find the right one. As she reached for the door, something breathed behind it. Her heart, her whole stomach, seemed to leap into her throat. Imagination! The light’s off! There’s nobody in there… A faint movement sounded, something brushing on the floor only a foot or so away from her, with only the half-open door between them. A mouse? A rat? But no, you’d never hear a rat breathe! And there it was again, a faint, ragged breath, difficult, uneven, but definitely human. Anna swallowed. She could run and phone the police. She could make a complete fool of herself. Again. Or she could think like a person of sense. It was only just past six o’clock. There could easily be workers still around—and it sounded to her as if one of them was in there. And hurt.

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“Who’s there?” she asked firmly, pushing open the door and reaching at once for the light switch. “Are you all right?” The harsh light from the bare bulb bathed the cramped room in a cold, yellow glow. There was no one there, no axe murderer waiting to do her in, no typist crying over her private troubles. Only shelves full of equipment, instruments, spare computer monitors, protective clothing, helmets, the crash test dummies. Slowly, Anna dropped her gaze to the newest, most prized dummy, which they’d left sitting on the floor, its back propped against the wall by the door. The open, pain-wracked eyes of a man stared back at her.

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Chapter Two It was the same face she’d imagined in the test: lean, strong, almost harsh-featured, with a straight, narrow nose, broad cheek-bones over shadowed-hollows, lips thinned now with pain. His skin was a beautiful nut-brown, warmed, clearly, by far hotter suns than ever shone over Scotland. A lock of black, straight hair fell forward over one side of his forehead; more clustered damply around his neck. Slumped against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, he shivered violently. No wonder—he was totally naked. Many questions clamoured in her head—like, what are you doing here, how did you get in, why did you take your clothes off and where’s my crash-test-dummy?—but instinct drove her at once to her knees by his side. “What’s the matter? Where are you hurt?” she asked urgently. He continued to stare at her, some fierce intelligence behind the clouded agony in his dark eyes. And surely…recognition. “You,” he uttered. There was disbelief in the deep, faint voice and then, astonishingly, she thought he tried to laugh. “Shit, did we take each other out in the end? This just gets better and better…” “Take each other out where?” Anna asked, totally bewildered. He must have a concussion, some sort of brain injury—I need to get an ambulance… His frown deepened. “Out of life. Don’t you believe that you’re dead?” “Not unless you just killed me with an axe and I didn’t notice.” “An axe? Lacks finesse.” “Oh dear. Listen, don’t talk, I’m going to phone for an ambulance…” “No point.”

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“There’s every point,” said Anna, already discovering her mobile phone in the side pocket of her bag. She stood up, holding it high above her head. “Damn, there’s no signal down here. I’ll need to go upstairs. First, where are your clothes?” “Clothes?” This time, it was he who sounded bewildered. Slightly embarrassed, and trying not to look below his face, Anna flicked her wrist toward his body. With an obvious effort, he shifted his head and glanced down at himself. Anna glanced, too, for despite the shivering, it was an impressive body, lean and thickly muscled across his broad shoulders and chest. An uneven scattering of dark hair above his waist and a well-defined, tantalizing line below. Even in this unflattering position, his stomach looked flat and hard, his thighs long and strong. And between them… Hastily, she dragged her eyes back up to his face. The man is hurt, probably braindamaged and you’re inspecting his manhood credentials? Get a grip, woman! “No clothes,” he observed. “Suppose I don’t need them. Though I always imagined it would be a bit hotter.” Anna stared. “In Scotland?” He looked at her, frowning. The pain in his eyes seemed to have lessened, as if he had forgotten about it. Disconcerted, she set about finding his clothes. There was no obvious sign of them in the storeroom, so she grabbed an overall from the pile and shook it out. “Would this fit you?” she asked doubtfully, walking back toward him. She crouched down, holding the overall out to him. “Do you need help?” she asked awkwardly. Slowly, without answering, he lifted his hand, touched the fabric. His eyes dropped to inspect it. Anna released it, and abruptly, his hand moved, seizing hers. She gasped, staring at him as the fear galloped back with a vengeance. His grip was strong, inflexible, like warm steel bands around her wrist. His eyes, cold and pitiless, bored into hers. They were so dark they looked black. Christ who is he, what the hell is he doing here, and in this condition, and… “Where is my crash test dummy?” she demanded.

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His brows snapped together. Bewilderment drifted back into his eyes. As suddenly as he’d grabbed her, he released her, his hand falling back to his lap as he stared around the room. “Crash test dummy,” he repeated. “Anna, where exactly is this? To you?” “To me? To everyone who works here, it’s our storeroom! And how the hell do you know my name?” He ignored the question. Slowly, as if giving himself time, he shook out the overalls and began to draw them over his feet. Scattered across his tanned skin, several pale, jagged scars stood out on his left thigh, his chest and shoulders, his thickly muscled right arm. It seemed the man was subject to accidents. “Fuck, this is weird,” he observed. “You’re telling me.” “Anna, have you done many bad—really bad things in your life?” She blinked, then looked away as he stood a little gingerly and pulled the overalls over his hips. “I’ve had bad thoughts,” she confessed, trying to stave off even more of them concerning him. The knots of tension and fear in her stomach were getting all mixed up with the butterflies of sexual arousal, for now that he seemed to be recovering, she was very aware of a strong animal attraction to him, a magnetism that went beyond the splendidly fit and all-but-naked body. He didn’t seem to be shivering anymore either. It was she who trembled now. “No, I’m talking bad deeds. Bad enough to send you to hell.” “Christ, I hope not. Why?” “Because I don’t think you have, either. We shouldn’t be in the same place. Maybe I’m dreaming.” “Not unless you’re having the same dream as me. Look, what’s going on here? Who are you and what do you want?” “What do I want?” He stared down at her. He hadn’t troubled to fasten the overall across his chest. “I rather think that one’s out of my hands.”

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Hastily, she rose to her feet once more, but it didn’t make him less intimidating. She could feel the heat from his hard, lean body, smell his faint, earthy scent tinged with sweat. He stood a foot taller than her, big, physically impressive. And strange. She drew in a breath that wasn’t quite steady. “Look, you need help I can’t give. I’m going upstairs to phone an ambulance. I’m sure the hospital will be able to answer all your questions.” I just wish they’d answer mine… As if testing himself, he warily stretched out his arms, flexing his elbows and fingers, twisting from the waist, turning his head in both directions. Anna hastily stepped backward out of his way. “I don’t need an ambulance.” “Yes you do! You couldn’t move when I first came in here! You were in agony!” “The pain’s almost gone. I’m fine. I’ll go now.” “Go where?” she demanded. He turned away, but not before she glimpsed such blinding despair in his eyes that it caught at her breath as well as her heart. “It doesn’t matter.” “Wait!” she said in panic, as he took a step nearer the door. She’d found the man naked in her storeroom; he was large and scary and weird as hell. Even as ill as he’d just been, she had little doubt that he could take care of himself in just about any situation. Worse, there was an air of coiled threat about him, a barely suppressed violence that made her spine tingle in warning. And yet letting him leave here alone seemed tantamount to child neglect. Hastily, under his impassive gaze, she rummaged around her brain for the questions that had nagged her since she first saw him and now seemed curiously elusive. With triumph, she finally alighted on one. “You have to tell me first, how did you get in here?” There was a pause, during which she tried and failed to read his hard, veiled eyes. “I don’t know.” It was almost a relief. “You’ve lost your memory.”

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“No,” he said regretfully. “Or at least not much of it. I just don’t know how I got from there to here.” She frowned. “There? Where is there? What happened? Were you in some kind of accident?” He seemed to hesitate, then nodded. “Did you injure your head?” Again, the single nod. His tension was palpable, as if he really didn’t want to go there—and yet she had the feeling he expected her to come up with answers. “May I look?” she asked. “There’s nothing to see.” “Please.” Wordlessly, he knelt down on the floor in front of her, and with a feeling of delving into the unknown, she hesitantly touched his hair, skimming her hand lightly over his scalp. No matted blood. Gently, she probed among the surprisingly soft, black hair that fell almost to his shoulders. When she reached over to check the back of his head, she could feel his breath warm on her breasts, felt her nipples harden in silent request for more. She stepped back. “There’s some old scarring, but I can’t find any obvious cuts or bruises.” He rose fluidly to his feet, like a large cat. She said, “Do you remember what sort of accident it was?” “Oh yes.” His lips curled slightly, sardonically. “It was a car crash.” The blood drained from her head so quickly, she felt dizzy. Involuntarily, she reached out for support and found his hands on her shoulders, steadying her. The dreadful vision flashed in front of her eyes once more—the dummy with his face, hurtling to violent impact at her instigation. “Here?” she whispered through stiff lips. “Your accident was here?” “What does it matter? Don’t look so—shattered. It’s just another bloody statistic.”

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She dragged a shaking hand through her hair, uncaring that she pulled chunks of it free from confinement. “No one’s just a statistic here. What happened?” He shrugged, letting his hands slide off her shoulders, leaving them cold and a little forlorn. “I was driving into Edinburgh. Another car hit me, wham. Next thing I wake up and it’s all happening again, only different.” “Different?” Anna whispered. Fearful, terrible ideas swirled in her head, fighting for recognition. “Yes, like a—movie studio, or something, not real cars on real roads. Guess I was dreaming. Then I woke up again…sore like you wouldn’t believe, and I was here. It seemed to be a long time…but the pain began to get better. Then you came. Are you going to faint?” “No!” She stared at him, struggling not just for words but for understanding of the impossible. Then, defeated, she said, “I need a drink.” With that, she walked to the back of the room and began raking through the box on the bottom shelf. A moment later, she emerged with a whisky bottle and two glasses. “From last year’s Christmas party,” she explained. Laying them down at his feet, she took off her jacket and threw it to one side before she turned to the shelf behind, hauled a few protection suits off the shelf and scattered them like cushions. “Make yourself at home,” she invited. She was beginning to feel hysterical, so it wasn’t really surprising that she sounded it, too. With an expression of slightly wary fascination, he sat, adjusting the suits to make a comfortable nest to sprawl on. Anna followed his movements—quick, deliberate, economical, lithe as a cat. A panther… Dragging her eyes away from him, she unscrewed the bottle cap and splashed whisky into both glasses. Pushing one toward him, she raised the other in a silent toast, then took a sizeable gulp. The alcohol burned a path right down to her stomach, at once jolting, warming and soothing.

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“Okay,” she said, a trifle hoarsely. “What’s your name?” There was a faint pause before he said, “Joe.” She glanced up at him through her eyelashes. “Sure about that, Joe?” “Sure enough.” “All right. You don’t work at the Institute, though, do you? I’d have remembered you.” “Only if I’d wanted you to,” he said cryptically. She frowned. “What do you mean by that?” “Never mind. I don’t work here and never have, so it’s academic.” “Are you American?” “What makes you think so?” “Your accent. Sometimes it sounds American, others— kind of European. Spanish or something. You look a bit like a native American.” Though his hard, dark eyes remained steady on hers, he was silent and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer even so trivial a question. Then, as if the words didn’t come easily, he said, “I’ve lived a lot in the States. But I grew up in Brazil.” “Not a bad guess, then. What brought you to Scotland?” “Work. Is this the sort of polite conversation that goes on at your Christmas parties?” “Not exactly,” she said ruefully. “What, do you get rollicking drunk with the girls and then seduce your boss?” “No, I get quietly drunk in a corner and then take a taxi home alone.” She didn’t mean to say it, but since the words were out, she smiled as if they were a joke and finished the whisky in her glass. Disconcertingly, his eyes didn’t laugh back. In fact he didn’t seem to be one for much laughter at all. He seemed to be… “What did you do with my crash test dummy?” she demanded, interrupting her own speculation. “I haven’t touched anything. There are several at the far end.” “Not these ones, the one that was sitting there, where you were when I came in.” He shrugged. “Why are you so concerned about it?”

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Anna licked the last drop of whisky from her upper lip. Joe’s eyes followed the gesture, making her self-conscious. Hastily, she hid her tongue again. “This is weird. But the whole situation’s so weird that I’m going to tell you anyway. Do you know what we do here?” “Automobile crash research.” “Yep. We do mock-ups of various situations to test car safety and try to improve standards. Well, we had one such mock-up today, using the dummy that has now disappeared. Just before the impact I saw…I thought I saw the dummy’s face change. It became—it seemed to become a man’s face. Yours.” His eyes searched hers, but not with either surprise or derision. As if the idea had already occurred to him. Oh Jesus Christ… How could either of them believe such a thing? There had to be a rational explanation. He was in an accident—sustained some head injury I’m not qualified to discover. Somehow, he wandered in here unseen and fell asleep… So where are his clothes? He took them off somewhere, obviously in a daze. They’re probably in a corridor or something… But his face…I saw his face on the dummy! “I’m wondering,” she said shakily, “if that—seeing your face—was some kind of warning. When did your accident happen?” He shrugged again. “About nine-thirty, I suppose.” She drew in a breath. “That’s when we tested.” And the dummy had gone. Was it lying around the building somewhere with Joe’s clothes? Why would he have moved it? It didn’t make any sense. None of it made any sense, unless…but that was impossible. Forcing herself, she met his gaze once more. “Joe, what does this mean?” He said nothing. So she poured herself some more whisky and drank gratefully. He hadn’t touched his. At last he said, “Has anything like this ever happened to you before?”

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Anything like what? Like suspecting a man of changing bodies with a crash test dummy? Was she really that insane? No! So pull yourself together, woman. Think logically. She shook her head. “No. At least not really…” She slid her eyes away from his penetrating gaze. “When I first worked here and we set up the crashes…I should tell you my family died in a car crash. I saw it happen from a bus stop where they’d just dropped me. Anyway, I used to…imagine…the dummies were family members. But it wasn’t really like that today. Then I knew what I was doing—the test just brought back the memory with extra vividness. This today was…it was like it was really you. And I’ve never seen you before in my life, have I?” “No,” he agreed. “No, you haven’t.” She had no idea what he was thinking, how mad he thought she was, how scared he was by his own situation. Not very, it seemed. She could find no trace now of the despair she had sensed earlier. He seemed almost resigned, though to what, she still had very little clue. She returned to her own more immediate alarm. “You know my name.” He nodded. “And you know where I work.” “Yes.” She took a breath. “Were you stalking me, Joe?” “Yes.” “No you weren’t!” she disputed, perversely. “Stalkers like their victims to know about them.” “Perhaps I was waiting for my moment to get you alone, ask you out for dinner, sweep you off your feet…” “Aye, right,” said Anna derisively, resorting to the language of childhood, which at least lightened his hard eyes, brought a faint curve to his lips. “You find that difficult to believe?” “Impossible, actually.”

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“Why? You are a beautiful girl and when I’m not wearing overalls, I’m reasonably presentable.” “You’re pretty presentable without them, too,” she retorted, then flushed with embarrassment. His dark eyes glinted acknowledgement, but before he could say anything, she rushed into speech herself. “But you’re avoiding the question. How long have you been watching me?” He shrugged. “A couple of days.” “But why?” “You don’t want to know.” “Oh trust me, I do!” “Then let’s say I don’t want to tell you.” “Why not?” she flashed back. He hesitated. “Because it’s got nothing to do with this weird situation.” His eyes fell. “And because, for once, I nee— like the company.” She stared at him. His vulnerability was suddenly terrifying, because it gave credence to her own impossible suspicion. “You think I’ll leave you to your fate if you tell me? Is it really that bad?” “Yes.” “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?” He didn’t say anything at all to that, so with conscious courage she asked, “What exactly do you think your fate is, Joe? The one I would leave you to?” He looked up at the light bulb, as if deliberately dazzling himself. “Hell.” His lips twisted. “Not the fiery hell children are taught about in school—or at least in the schools I went to. My hell is continually reliving—re-dying—in car crashes.” Her throat tightened unbearably. Oh Jesus, Jesus, we both believe the same thing… And her own doubts, her own sanity, counted for nothing beside his pain. Instinctively, she leaned over and with a feeling of great daring put both her arms around his broad, strong shoulders. Damn it, feel sorry for yourself!

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His body was unyielding, hard as she’d known it would be, but warm, strangely exciting. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, knowing somehow that it was sheer surprise that held him so rigid. He wasn’t used to being embraced for reasons of comfort. “You really believe you deserve to suffer such a punishment? Joe, no one is that bad, no one…” He jerked in her hold. “You don’t have a clue, do you?” The words burst out of him with violence, frightening her all over again. Panicked, she pulled back, but his arms lifted suddenly, seizing her, holding her hard against his chest, his hand tangling in her hair to keep her still. “You really have no idea what people do to each other, for no reason worth a damn…” Her heart thundered. Behind the fear came a hot, leaping surge of desire. She whispered, “What was done to you?” “Done to me? Nothing I haven’t given back worse. I’m not the victim here.” His fingers in her hair, fisting, made her every nerve tingle with warning as well as excitement. Twisting her head in his hold, she gazed up into his face, absorbing each tiny line around his dark, almond-shaped eyes, every crease in his forehead, the texture of his lips suddenly so close to hers that her stomach began to burn. His eyes, the cold, opaque eyes that she was sure never let anyone in, were suddenly a maelstrom you could drown in. She said, “If your—soul—is trapped inside a crash test dummy, then victim’s exactly what you are.” “I don’t do victim,” he said savagely, and kissed her mouth before she could draw breath. It was rough, bruising, his purpose to shut her up, even punish her for her unacceptable view of him. Knowing it, she slid her hands up over his thickly muscled arms to his shoulders and pushed. It was like shoving at a mountain. Truly panicked now, she tried to speak under his mouth, but the movement of her lips only excited him to delve deeper. While his big hand held her head steady, his tongue, strong and insistent, swept around her mouth, pressing behind her teeth as if to pull her closer.

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Bombarded, devoured, Anna could do nothing but let him. Yet as soon as she relaxed, sensation flooded her, sweet and raging. Her whole body burned, the fire spreading from her mouth to her groin, devastating her. She was so wet she could feel it on her thighs. And suddenly his motive didn’t matter. She’d had sex while less turned on than this. Faintly, almost shyly at first, she moved her lips under his, dared to touch his tongue with hers, caress it, and then she was kissing him back fully, passionately, and his arms tightened, pressing her breasts to his chest. She clung around his neck, exploring his mouth with the same urgency he did hers, shivering with delight as his hand caressed her back, her waist, the curve of her hip, then slid up her side and over the curve of her breast. The pleasure of that made her moan into his mouth. His hand moved, softly kneading, until his palm discovered her rigid, pleading nipple pressing through her shirt. And as abruptly as he’d seized her, he released her mouth. Her glasses had steamed up. Deftly, he removed them, and his eyes, hot and clouded, stared into hers. Slowly, unable to help it, she touched his face with her fingertips, the lean line of his jaw, the hollows of his cheeks, the corners of his lips. He spoke with fierce triumph. “You want me.” Softly, she kissed the corner of his mouth, brushed her lips across his. “Yes,” she whispered. “But I know you don’t want me.” He took one of her hands, placed it palm downward on his crotch and held it there. Beneath the fabric of the overall, his cock stood out huge and hard. She could feel the heated veins under her fingers, rigid like ribs. A fresh flood of moisture pooled between her thighs, and she licked her dry, trembling lips. More than anything, she wanted to feel him inside her, moving, thrusting. It would be better than with anyone before, or anyone after. She just knew it. He said, “That’s how much I don’t want you.” She smiled a little tremulously. “You want sex. To lose all this crap for a few moments. I’m just here.”

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His brows drew together. He regarded her with his head slightly on one side, curiosity overlaying the heavy desire. “You really think I’m better than you, don’t you? And anyway, who’s rejecting who, exactly?” Rejection. She wasn’t used to it, because she never offered. Had she just offered herself to him, or rejected him? It didn’t matter. He’d achieved his end—he’d shut her up and changed the subject. She slid her hand out from under his and drew back. This time he let her. But she felt his gaze on her, steady, almost—fascinated. He said, “I’ve never been with a woman as beautiful as you.” Pushing back her hair, she paused, startled, not so much by his words—people say anything for any number of reasons—but by his simple sincerity. She knew she wasn’t beautiful, never had been. It didn’t matter to her. And yet his words warmed her to the soul. She said, “You really think I’m better than you, don’t you?” A choke of something like laughter caught at his breath. “Anna Baird, I know it.” He lay back, letting his head fall against the wall behind him, and closed his eyes. “Are you ill again?” Anna asked, alarmed. He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Just tired.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’ve had a busy day.” A shaky laugh broke out without her permission. “No shit.” “Maybe that’s it now. Maybe I’ve died enough. Maybe you were sent to show me…other possibilities. And now I’m dying for the last time.” She moved closer to him, taking his hands, pressing them. “Are you?” she whispered. Somewhere in their encounter, her doubts had disintegrated; the impossible had become truth. It was unbearable that he should die now, and yet she could wish him nothing greater than peace, release from this awful torment… “I don’t know. Have to sleep. Anna…” “Yes?”

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“Nothing.” His fingers pressed hers and released them. He wouldn’t ask. She wanted to weep because of that. Instead, she laid her head on his chest and put her arms around him. After a moment, his own arms came up and held her to him. She closed her eyes, and tried to pray. But her belief in God had long gone and whatever was going on now confused rather than resolved the issue. She could only repeat in her head, “Care for him, please care for him…” until the rhythm of the words became lost in her breathing and his, and gradually, with him, she fell asleep.

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Chapter Three As she always did on beginning her night shift at Edinburgh’s Royal Infirmary, Dr. Helen Scott made a brief personal round of all her patients. At her first stop, the new arrival, she found a nurse already there, changing the catheter. “Still no signs of consciousness?” she asked, approaching the bed. The nurse shook her head. The patient—Joseph Lopez according to her clipboard—lay quite still on his back. A man in the prime of his life, once strong and vigorous, now as helpless as a baby. A few cuts littered his face and hands, but the major injuries were unseen—broken ribs, damaged internal organs, severe brain trauma. He was fast slipping into a coma. The only wonder was that he still lived. “Has his family been informed?” “The police are looking for them. Apparently he’s a foreign visitor though, so they’re having to go through the American Consulate. What do you think, Doctor?” Helen looked at the recorded brain activity. It had almost stopped altogether twice during the day. Then there had seemed to be a bit of a recovery this evening—his brain was certainly busy on something, but clearly he had never woken up to tell them what. Peeling back the bottom of the bed clothes, Helen scratched his toes. “Can you hear me, Joseph? Joseph, wiggle your toes for me, open your eyes. Time to wake up now.” She spoke briskly, making her voice as penetrating and annoying as possible. The young nurse looked slightly shocked, but Helen’s prime concern was to bring her patient back. Whoever he was. Unfortunately, she suspected he was already too far gone.

***

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Anna woke to cold and discomfort. Opening her eyes to the unforgiving glare of the light bulb, she felt momentarily disoriented. Memory returned like a blow, churning her stomach with a massive mixture of excitement and despair. Levering herself up, she realized she’d been lying with her head pillowed on the chest of the crash test dummy. Just the crash test dummy. Its plastic skin had made her cheek sweat. Wiping her hand absently across her damp face, she gazed down at the dummy’s blank, vacant head. There was nothing to show Joe had ever been there. Joe… She touched her lips, vividly recalling the feel of his kiss. Bittersweet—that’s what people said—just didn’t cover it. Reaching down, she touched the cold, plastic face. “Rest in peace, Joe,” she whispered. For an instant, she dropped her forehead on to the dummy’s, but it didn’t make her feel better. There was nothing of Joe there. It was just a dummy. She sat up, shivering, looking for her glasses. Putting them on, she glanced at the overall she had given Joe. It lay on the ground in a heap, as if it had been dropped. The dummy was as naked as she and the technicians had left it this afternoon. Slowly, she stretched out and picked it up. It was cold, too. As if it had never known the heat of his body. Gone so quickly… Anna glanced at her watch. It was after ten o’clock. She wondered when he’d finally died, was just glad if her presence had given him any comfort. It had always seemed awful to her to die alone. Standing, she shook out the overall and folded it, stepping over the whisky bottle to get to the shelf. He’d never touched his drink. She’d knocked back two stiff ones on an empty stomach. She could feel it now in the dryness of her tongue. “Mouth like a badger’s bum,” Helen used to complain after a night out with her fellow medical students. Stupid expression, but it felt curiously apt right now. Anna wasn’t used to alcohol these days. She hoped she’d be all right to drive home. Hastily, she poured the undrunk whisky back into the bottle, cleaned out the glasses with a few tissues and put them all back in the box. That done, she put away the protective suits they’d sat on and picked her bag and jacket off the floor.

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In the doorway, she paused, staring at the dummy. “I won’t forget you,” she promised. And then felt stupid for talking to a totally inanimate object. Joe was long gone. Nothing of his presence remained here. Four hours after she’d come to lock the door, she finally did it.

*** “Dr. Scott?” “Yo.” From her desk, Helen lifted her arm to ward off any further speech until she’d finished the last sentence of her night report. That done, she turned to face her visitor. A young policeman stood in the doorway, the peak of his cap almost touching his nose. “It wasnae me,” she said. “Aye, very funny.” “Sorry, I’ve had a bad night. What can I do for you?” “My colleagues borrowed a photo belonging to one of your patients—Joseph Lopez?” “Oh yes?” The policeman drew an envelope from his inside pocket. “It was to try and trace his family, anyone we could inform.” “Any joy?” “None. No one else is listed at his address, and the phone number on the back of the photo doesn’t exist.” “That’s weird.” “Not really. Girls give false phone numbers all the time.” Helen stared at him. “On the back of their own photograph? You want to meet a better class of girl, Constable.” “You’re telling me. How is he?” “Not good, but still alive.” “Unconscious?” www.samhainpublishing.com

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“Deeply.” She didn’t add the weird thing that she really couldn’t explain. How it was that despite his deteriorating brain condition, his damaged internal organs were repairing themselves faster than she’d ever seen. Faster than she’d believed possible. She needed another, more expert opinion…. To the policeman she said, “Isn’t there anything wherever he was staying that might help? I mean, had he come to see someone in this country?” “We’ve got no idea. We found his passport in his hotel room—the Balmoral, no less—and a laptop computer, but the guy’s security-daft. Every single file’s locked up in passwords. We don’t have any reason at this stage to search further.” “He’s not making it easy for any of us,” Helen said ruefully. Beyond the constable’s shoulders, she caught sight of Alastair Griffin, her daytime replacement, passing in the corridor. She stood. “Thank God. I’m free.” “Me, too,” said the policeman. He looked at her. “Want to get some breakfast?” She considered him for a moment. He was very young and she couldn’t see much of his face, but she liked his easy smile. “I’m dog-tired and grumpy,” she warned. “Me too.” “Match made in heaven. Let me just stash this and have a quick word with my fellow quack. Have a seat.” Pushing his cap to the back of his head, he grinned at her and sat down. Oh yes, very young, but gorgeous with a capital G… Feeling incomprehensibly more cheerful, she chased Alastair Griffin down the corridor. As she went, she glanced idly into the envelope and pulled out the photograph. She stopped dead in her tracks. It was no stranger’s face staring back at her. She was extremely familiar with those serious eyes and that quirky half-smile. Indisputably, it was Anna Baird. “So who the fuck,” she said aloud, “is Maria?”

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*** “Boss wants you,” said Bill as Anna walked through the outer office. “Soon as you come in, he said.” “‘Soon as’ means right after coffee,” Anna said calmly. “Is the kettle hot?” “Hot enough,” said Lesley, pushing the mug into her hand. Anna toasted her. “Cheers,” she said, already walking into her own office to dump her bag and coat. Sipping her coffee continuously, she rifled the mail for anything urgent. Coming across Dan MacQuarrie’s preliminary report on yesterday’s Zeitek car accident, she scanned it for anything new or out of the ordinary. Then, taking a final gulp, she laid down her cup and sallied forth to meet the boss. “How are we doing on the back-up tests?” she asked on her way through the outer office. “Can do the next before lunch.” Anna stuck up her thumb and went out. Though the Institute was headed by Professor Lewis of Edinburgh University, he didn’t actually do much research there. His main function was as a name to draw in funding. It was a government research centre, but private money was necessary to function effectively and Lewis had a very useful network of industrialist, charitable and ministerial cronies. “Ah, Anna,” he said when she came in, waving to the chair on the opposite side of his desk. His coat was over the back of his own chair. Obviously he wasn’t staying. “Traffic bad, was it?” Anna met his gaze sardonically. “No, I slept in.” “Well, you’re going to need to be a bit more on your toes tomorrow! I’ve just had Mason Grenville on the phone.” “Grenville?” Now he definitely had her attention. “The Zeitek boss?” “One of them. The one who’s been receiving your reports for the last two years.” “He did receive them? They made so little difference to Zeitek’s production, I assumed they’d got lost in the post.” www.samhainpublishing.com

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“I advise you to lose the attitude, too. He’s worried, Anna. A lot of people are worried. And I’m not just talking about Zeitek shareholders. Our own government is concerned about this witch hunt you’re indulging in.” “Witch hunt?” Genuinely startled, she stared at him. “Professor, it’s no such thing! We test all cars here, you know that.” “But none have received so continually damning reports.” “Well there’s a reason for that,” she said dryly. “You may feel it’s a good reason, Anna, but to a lot of people, it’s beginning to look like a personal grudge. You went after their last model and failed to get it banned. Now you’re turning your attention to the new one before it’s even launched.” “Professor, the Zinnia’s a death trap! If you read my interim reports…” “I have read them.” Lewis sat back against his folded coat and sighed. “Look, Anna, you’re good at your job. You’re even a bit of a genius in your own way. You do very valuable work, but you are in danger of being discredited here and, through that, discrediting the entire Institute.” She frowned across the table at him. “Discrediting….how?” she demanded. “Anna, word is out. Your crusade is looking like a personal vendetta.” “Bloody right it’s personal. People die when they shouldn’t!” “Your parents and your brothers among them.” Brought up short, Anna stared at him. “That was fifteen years ago. At the time, Zeiteks were no more dangerous than most other cars on the road. Now they are.” “Statistics don’t say so.” “But they can,” Anna said cynically. “You can prove anything you like with statistics. Our tests are conclusive. And Professor, I am not the only member of this project team.” “You’re the project leader. In public perception, the buck stops with you.” He glanced at his watch and stood. “I have an appointment at the Parliament. Look, I only came in to drop you a hint. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be here with Grenville and one of his technical chiefs and the Road Safety Minister from Scottish Executive. All I’m asking of

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you is that you bear in mind what I’ve said about perception and funding, listen to what the Zeitek people have to say and come to some arrangement with them.” Anna stood with him. “Arrangement?” “Try and make the cars safe without costing the company an arm and a leg,” said Lewis.

*** Although Anna trusted her team to undertake the crash tests without her, she generally preferred to be there. They were a big part of most of the research and advice that the Institute produced, and as Professor Lewis had pointed out, the buck stopped with her. However, fuming from her brief meeting with him, she threw herself immediately into other work until she calmed down. Burying herself in complicated calculations for a manufacturer’s enquiry, she ended up leaving herself short of time. Hurrying to her office door, she knew she’d have to run to get into the crash room before they locked the doors. Infuriatingly, she’d only just stepped outside when her phone rang. She almost ignored it, but then, hoping it was Lewis returned from his Parliament meeting with a more sensible attitude, she dashed back in to answer it. “Anna Baird speaking.” “Helen Scott speaking, too.” Anna relaxed, even smiled into the phone. “Helen, can I call you back? I’m running late for a test.” “It’s okay, I won’t take long. I just wanted to ask you a silly question.” “Hurry up then!” “Yes ma’am! Are you, by any chance, acquainted with anyone called Lopez?” “Lopez? No, I don’t think so, why?” “You know you went to America last year for that conference?” “I went the year before, too.” “So you did. New York, wasn’t it?” “The second one was…” www.samhainpublishing.com

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“Do you keep in touch with anyone over there?” “A few. Working in the same line, it’s useful.” “Closely in touch?” “Discussing work by email? We’re like that,” said Anna dryly, crossing her fingers beside the receiver and knowing Helen would understand exactly what she was doing. “All right, all right, smart-arse.” Helen began to sound uncharacteristically apologetic now. “What I really want to know is…I don’t suppose you got…romantically involved with anyone while you were over there?” Anna stared at the receiver. “My love life is a barren waste. Has been for some years. As you well know.” Even as she spoke, the image of Joe rose up before her, and a strange, half-familiar ache began to gnaw at her insides. A loss for what might have been, because despite the weirdness of the situation, there had been a connection there, stronger than she’d felt with anyone for years. Ever. His past didn’t matter to her. There was just something in him that had spoken to her. Even before he’d kissed her, and that had been explosive. And although she wasn’t used to it, she believed—yes, she really believed— that he’d felt it, too. With her. “Anna, are you still there?” She pulled herself together. “Yes and I shouldn’t be. Listen, Helen…” The urge to talk to someone about Joe, about last night’s strange experience, was suddenly very strong. Lesley was too close to work and already thought her half-insane. Helen’s downto-earth understanding was just what she needed. “Isn’t this your night off? Do you want come round for some dinner? I’ll get in a bottle…” “I’d love to, but I can’t,” Helen said with a hint of genuine regret behind her excitement. “I’ve got a hot date.” “Yes?” Anna was intrigued. Not that Helen had been exactly celibate since her divorce, but she rarely bothered to mention her encounters to Anna, except for the funny stories that came with them. “Who is he?” “Police, would you believe? And he has to be ten years younger than me.” Anna grinned. “Go for it, my dear. Have fun—I’ve really got to go!”

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Dropping the phone into its cradle, she rushed out through the empty outer office, along the corridor and downstairs to the crash room. The door was already shut. “Damn it,” she muttered, pressing the intercom. “It’s me!” Lesley’s voice came back at once, half-distracted. “Sorry, Anna, we’ve just hit the button. Hold a second…” Anna stood back and waited. Irrelevantly, she realized Helen had never said why she was asking her questions about America. Well, she’d call her back tomorrow. Get the dirt on her hot date while she was at it. From the crash room came the familiar sounds and sensations of impact. They were different from the real thing, and she’d heard them a lot since she’d witnessed her family’s accident, yet it still twisted her gut every time. And now she remembered Joe who, unless she’d imagined him or he was part of some elaborate, inexplicable hoax, had suffered it, too. Twice. Once in the street, and again in here. Pity and guilt swept though her like a wave. Sorry, Joe, I’m so sorry… She wished she had imagined him. His pain was unthinkable, unbearable… The locking mechanism on the steel door clicked. Almost at the same time, Lesley spoke through the intercom. “All right, you’re safe.” Anna pulled open the door and went in. The impact site was closer to her than to the control room, so she was ahead of the others who were already making their way there, armed with clipboards, cameras and scanners. Among the corrugated mess of the “car”, she could see that the dummy was totally trapped. She just hoped it wasn’t too badly damaged. Clearly there was something wrong with its head because it looked black, like…like black hair. Oh Jesus Christ, no! She began to run.

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Chapter Four Every step confirmed it. His skin was not the grey of the dummy, it was warm nutbrown. And the dummy, however realistic, simply did not bleed. Joe bled, and he was bleeding now, from the mouth, from his stomach and God knew what she couldn’t see under the wreckage. Worse, when she finally got there, his eyes were open, reflecting the sort of pain she could only imagine. “Oh God, Joe, forgive me, I thought you’d gone, I thought…” His lips moved, very faintly, as if he was trying to smile. Except that Joe didn’t smile at any time she could recall and behind the agony of his eyes was a new urgent desperation. Understanding, she dragged herself closer to him. “Got to…talk…you,” he got out. “Need…time. Come back…” “Anna, what are you doing?” Lesley demanded behind her. “Oh God, Lesley, look at him!” The words broke from her in instinctive, helpless pity before she even wondered what her colleagues would make of this. Would they understand that calling an ambulance wouldn’t help? “Well, it’s not the end of the world,” Lesley said philosophically. “Or even the end of him. The techies can stick him back together. Unless he’s completely mangled under there. Let’s hope not… Anna? Are you crying?” Anna dashed her hand across her face, staring from Lesley to Joe and back again. “Look at him, Lesley! Do we have any morphine, or anything?” She began to push past Lesley and an open-mouthed Bill who was staring at her and repeating, “Morphine?” in a startled tone of voice. “Who for?” “For him!” She glanced back at Joe, whose eyes were closed now. She hoped he had lost consciousness, prayed he had some relief from the suffering, that his body would heal as it did before—or that he would finally die… 38

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Both her colleagues glanced at Joe, then to each other and back to her. Anna went cold. Even before Bill spoke, she understood. He said, “Dummies don’t need morphine. I think we do.” She whispered, “You can’t see him, can you?” Lesley’s arm came around her shoulders. “Anna, it’s just a dummy. Your own brilliantly designed dummy. Come on, let’s get out of here.” For a moment, she resisted, staring at Joe’s broken body. Just a dummy. Then why could she see Joe? What sort of sick mind could imagine something like this? Is this it then? I’m finally over-the-edge completely bats? She glanced up at Lesley’s concerned face and was left in little doubt. Yielding, she began to walk away with the other woman, yet she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder at Joe. Still Joe… “Please be careful moving the dummy,” she said to the two technicians who passed them. “Very careful…” “We know, Dr. Baird,” one sighed, as he’d heard the same thing before many times. As he probably had, from Lesley and Bill as well as herself. That particular dummy was an expensive piece of kit and very valuable to their work. When she reached her own office, she slumped into her chair, trying to figure things out. She was shaking. A moment later, Lesley followed her in with two cups of coffee and dragged another chair over to sit down beside her. “Do you want the coffee? Or do you think a dram might be better?” “God no, I’m confused enough.” Taking off her glasses, she ran a hand over her face and pinched her nose. Was that the problem? She’d drunk two whiskies in the storeroom. Had she fallen asleep then and dreamed what happened next? But what the hell explained what she saw before? Her conversation with Joe that led up to drinking the whisky? He hadn’t drunk any. He hadn’t been wearing the overalls when she woke up. She must have imagined the whole thing…was still imagining it. Joe’s pitifully damaged, injured body…

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“Exactly how mad am I?” “Anna, you’re not mad,” Lesley said gently. “For the most part, your mind is clear as a bell. What exactly did you im—see down there? Your dad? One of your brothers?” Anna shook her head. “No. A—a stranger. And this was real. Not like I was reliving the old crash. Like he—the stranger—was actually in there. Instead of the dummy.” Putting the specs back on, she glanced at Lesley. “I need help, don’t I?” Lesley was silent for a moment, then: “I think maybe you do. I think you’re too close to your work right now. It’s what makes you so bloody good at it, but it seems to be taking a toll on your health. Take some time off, Anna. See a doctor.” Anna gave a twisted smile. “You mean a shrink.” “Whatever. They’re doctors, too, aren’t they?” She stood. “I’d better go back, make sure Bill’s not gossiping with the techies. I don’t think he will—he’s a good bloke—but to most people the boss is fair game.” Anna looked up at her. “Thanks for not being most people, Lesley.” “Honey, we go way back. We’re friends.” “Thanks.” She wanted to cry again. She and Lesley had never even been out for a drink, just worked together side by side in trust for five years. It counted for something. It counted for a lot. At the door, Lesley paused. “Ah. Maybe you should postpone this holiday till after tomorrow? Between you and me, I couldn’t handle the Zeitek people, and I really wouldn’t like to leave it in Lewis’s hands.” “God, no, neither would I,” Anna said fervently. “Don’t worry.”

*** It was late afternoon when Mason Grenville finally closed the door of his hotel room. He completed the action with more than a hint of relief, for he had been travelling in constant company for some time. A representative from the British side of operations had met him at Prestwick Airport with some useful info on the way things worked in this country regarding safety issues, the Scottish Parliament and Westminster. And the 40

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influence of the Institute of Crash Research. Interesting and helpful as it was, Grenville had more urgent concerns. Ignoring his suitcase, he opened the laptop bag on his bed and took out the computer, switching it on even before he moved it to the desk under the window. For twelve hours he’d been waiting for a text message or an email to tell him it was done, that the girl was dead. He would then have transferred the money currently sitting in his most discreet account. What he didn’t want was to miss the message that the deed was done, and not transfer the money quickly enough. He really didn’t want to piss off the Assassin. Especially as he was probably still in this country. And while Grenville couldn’t recognize him, he had no great confidence that the same was true the other way around. The Assassin knew who he was. The laptop connected quickly to the Internet, and Grenville went immediately to the private email account he’d set up specially for such nefarious circumstances. No new mail. Damn. He had the twisting feeling in his gut that something had gone wrong. She was meant to have been dead before he got into the country. What was the hold up? Surely if he’d killed her already, he wouldn’t be waiting thirty days to present his bill! On impulse, he grabbed the phone out of his jacket pocket and found James Lewis’s number. He answered in person, sounding as if he was in a bar or some other social gathering. “Professor? Mason Grenville here. Just letting you know I’ve arrived in Edinburgh.” “Wonderful news!” said Lewis enthusiastically. “Look forward to meeting you all tomorrow at the Institute. You and Dr. Baird especially.” Now was the time he would say if anything had happened to the woman. Say it… “You’re very kind,” said Lewis. “We look forward to it, too.” Shit. “Excellent. See you tomorrow, then.” Wretched bloody woman! Now he’d have to let her air her annoying quibbles in front of their bloody ministers. She was supposed to be dead so they would cancel the

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meeting and her work would get lost on Lewis’s desk until Grenville could make him tone it down. It the meantime the Zinnia would be produced and sell like it deserved…. He stared from the phone to the computer, waiting for one of them to do something. “Kill her, you bastard!”

*** Work had got Anna through a lot of crises in her life, from the death of her family to disastrous or nonexistent relationships. It was natural to seek it out after the crash incident, to lose the emotional turmoil of fear and shame in the logic of figures and scientific knowledge. Yet the image of Joe kept intruding—Joe in the crash, Joe as he’d been last night, fierce and passionate with knowing lips and hands. Well, no wonder they’d known what to do! Her own mind had been controlling them. Was she really so lonely, so desperate for love, for a lover, that her mind had conjured up so weird a story? Around her perfect man. Although she’d never been drawn to the bad boy type before, Joe had certainly had that air about him—the sort of barely controlled violence that should have been a complete turn-off. The human brain was a curious thing. It often fantasized about things that it wouldn’t accept in reality. Especially sexually. Was that all she’d done? Was she now destroying her reputation, her career, through a stupid sexual fantasy? One moreover that had never really got off the ground? Get a grip, Anna, you have responsibilities here. To the team as well as to the public. You can’t go to pieces now… And oddly, she didn’t feel in pieces. She felt worried, anxious, confused about where this had all come from. And the haunting image of Joe’s terrible fate tore her apart. But she didn’t feel confused as such. It didn’t touch any other aspect of her thought processes. Maybe that’s how mentally ill people think. They believe they’re functioning normally when the rest of the world can see quite clearly that they’re not. 42

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Or…maybe I really do see Joe and for some reason no one else can. Like a ghost that only appears to certain people. That made more sense. If Joe was actually dead, his spirit could be haunting the dummy for some reason—because of his past crimes, whatever they were, his guilt… But Anna wasn’t a great believer in ghosts and spirits. God knew she had spent enough time in the past talking to her dead family. If they’d been hanging around they would surely have answered her back. And yet even scientists, even doctors like Helen, said there were more things in heaven and earth… At five o’clock, Lesley stuck her head ’round the door. “This doesn’t look like you taking it easy,” she observed. Anna gave a slightly twisted smile. “I’ll start tomorrow,” she promised. “I’m just making sure I’ve got everything to hand for this Zeitek meeting. Have the techs set up the crash demo for tomorrow?” “Yep. Four dummies and a side-on impact. Your dummy’s been patched up, by the way. It’s a bit bashed in places, but it’s basically sound.” In spite of herself, Anna’s stomach tightened unbearably. Forcing herself to speak calmly, she said, “They haven’t set it up in the crash have they?” “No. Like you said, it has to be locked up when the building’s empty. And you want to show it to Grenville first.” “Thanks, Les.” “Watch it,” said Lesley with a grin that was at least half relief at the return of normality. “Don’t stay too late.” “I won’t. See you in the morning.” “’Night.” Half an hour later, with a sense of satisfaction, she slapped one last file to the pile on her desk. “Get out of that, you bastard,” she challenged, then picked up her bag and jacket and headed for the door.

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As she walked down the empty corridor, she was very conscious of the drumming of her heart. She knew she should walk straight out of the building without pause. She shouldn’t even consider her hallucination, fantasy, whatever it was. And what if it never was hallucination? What if, against all the odds, Joe is real? You can’t just leave him there alone… I can’t feed this madness anymore! Shouldn’t you just check one more time? Confirm that it was just fantasy and move on? The door to the basement stairs began to loom on her left. Keep walking, Anna. You don’t need this… But her heart was thundering in her ears now, drowning out the sane, if half-hearted voice. Did she really want to believe in this fantasy? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t pass by anyone who needed help, and Joe wasn’t just anyone. If he existed. Shite! Inevitably, she pushed open the door on her left and went downstairs. The basement was quiet as the grave. Clearly, the technicians had all gone home. Anna rummaged in her bag with slightly unsteady hands, and before she could think about it anymore, dragged out the keys, selected the correct one and pushed it into the storeroom lock. She heard the movement before she even flung down the light switch. Joe stood directly opposite her, in overalls, only a foot away. He was breathing rapidly, as if he’d just made a huge effort to stand. His splendid body was slightly bent. He stared at her, blinking and screwing up his eyes in the sudden light. “Joe,” she whispered helplessly. Although there was no blood now that she could see, the pain clouding his face was unbearable. As he gazed at her, a puzzled expression crossed his eyes, drew his brows together in a frown. With an effort she could only imagine, he took a step nearer her and

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reached out with one hand to touch her cheek. Only when his thumb brushed the wetness there did she realize she was crying. “Tears,” he said with such flat amazement that her heart broke. Closing the space between them, she put her arms around him, laid her cheek on his chest. “I thought you’d gone,” she whispered into the overall. She could smell his body, a faint, earthy odour of spicy male and clean sweat, peculiarly Joe. She closed her eyes. “I thought you were dead, at peace… I never meant to do this to you again…” There was a pause, as if he didn’t know what to say or do. “It’s passing,” he said at last. Very slowly, his arms came up to hold her. Even then it was if she was some delicate porcelain that might break. But his voice was strong now, brisk with urgency. “I was coming to find you. I need to warn you.” “Warn me? Joe…” Lifting her head, she stared up at him helplessly. Turmoil boiled in his eyes, causing her heart to leap. His arms tightened, drawing her closer into his hard body. She could feel his erection growing against her, and caught at her breath as desire rose swiftly without permission. Slowly, he bent his head and took her mouth. This wasn’t the rough conquest of last time. It was slow and thorough and tender, turning her mouth over in his as if he wanted to learn every tiny corner and crevice. She knew no hesitation as she opened to him, accepting his tongue with delight, dancing with it as it twisted around hers and drew it into his own mouth. The butterflies took over her stomach, spreading heat and pleasure lower and lower. She gasped as he released her mouth. His arms fell away from her and he stood back. “I wanted that. Just once. Now, we have to talk. I have to talk and you have to listen.” Bewildered by this sudden change, she could only stand still and wait. He’d turned away from her, so that she couldn’t see his face, but after only a second, as if forcing himself, he turned back. He stood quite straight now and his hard, cold eyes looked directly into hers.

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“I told you I’m not a good person. For some reason—perhaps because you are—you feel responsible for me. You even like me. Well, I’m about to change all that. Want to know what I do for a living? What I did before I died? I’m a hit man.” Anna blinked. “A what?” “A hit man,” he repeated impatiently. “An assassin. Whatever you want to call it, I murder, for money.” Anna swallowed. “Oh dear,” she said faintly. It was a concept so far beyond her experience that she had no idea what to say or even think. Oh well, popped into her mind, at least it isn’t random violence without rhyme or reason… She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Are you good at it?” she blurted. A breath of what might have been laughter hissed between his teeth. “Very good. Or at least I was until I came to Scotland and died myself before I could do the hit.” “Are—are you sorry you failed?” Some emotion she couldn’t read flashed across his harsh face. He muttered, “No. God knows I’m not sorry for that. Look, I’m not telling you this as some kind of confession for my already well-damned soul. I’m warning you. My…” “It makes no difference,” she interrupted, because in truth it didn’t, not to her. He blinked. “What?” “I don’t care what you’ve done before. It doesn’t matter to me. What matters is this thing happening now to you—we have to find a way to stop it.” For an instant the hard eyes softened. There might have been pain there, or regret. Then, as if making an effort, his lashes came down, and when they lifted, his expression was again harsh, his voice curt and blunt. “You were my hit.” She blinked, frowned her incomprehension. “I—I don’t understand.” “I was paid to kill you,” he said brutally. “That’s how I knew your name and face, how I recognized you. I’d been following you for two days. When I died I was on my way to phone you, to arrange a meeting with you that night to discuss your research. I

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knew what would make you come. But you would never have gotten there. I would have killed you by crashing my car into yours en route. And walked away.” Blood drained from her head, making her ears sing. To stop herself from falling, she sank to her knees, trying desperately to think. “That’s silly. You couldn’t…” “I could. I read your papers. I knew where to hit you.” His expression was pitiless now as he stared down at her, striking her with the brutal truth. “I kill people for money. And I’m pretty rich.” “I got that bit,” she said with a hint of impatience that brought a gleam of surprised amusement to his eyes. “I mean it’s silly because no one would pay an assassin to kill me! Who the hell am I? I’m not rich, I have no connection with anyone who is, with any criminal stuff. I’m just a struggling, underpaid researcher. I’m not important enough for anyone to need to kill me!” “That’s where you’re wrong.” Unexpectedly, he crouched down beside her, the movement fluid and graceful, and took her hand in a hard grip. “Zeitek needs you out of the way. You’re threatening their profits.” “You don’t kill people for that!” “You don’t. Mason Grenville does.” “Grenville…” Her hand twisted in his, grasping his fingers. “Grenville paid you to kill me?” He nodded. “I tried to tell you last night, but the sleep was dragging me down too fast and I couldn’t speak. I owe you, Anna, so I’m warning you. Get out of his way.” “You mean…he’ll keep trying? But he’s coming here tomorrow…” “He won’t hurt you himself,” Joe interrupted. “He’ll pay someone else once he realizes something’s gone wrong. But we have one advantage. He doesn’t know I’m dead. And he’s afraid of me. You only have to tell him once, that the Assassin will come after him if he touches you. And then keep out of his way.” Anna said doubtfully, “He’ll believe me?”

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Joe shrugged. “He’ll think we’re lovers. My reputation will be shot and no one will ever employ me again. Fortunately, I’m not in a position to care.” Anna dropped her head into her hands, and since one of them was still holding his, she rubbed her cheek on his thumb. He said urgently, “Will you do that, Anna?” “I’ll say it, if you think it will help.” She glanced up at him and her voice hardened. “But I won’t back down on Zeitek.” His lips twisted. His fingers, still held against her face, moved in what might have been a caress. It made her shiver. “I wish I was still alive to look after you. From a distance, of course.” She smiled. “Where would be the fun in that?” There was a pause. Then: “I believe assassins don’t make very comfortable companions.” “You make me comfortable.” The words came unbidden, and once she’d said them, she flushed. But she wouldn’t take them back, or even laugh them off because against all the odds they were true. His gaze remained steadily on hers, searching but unreadable. “Maybe you were sent back to warn me, and now you can be at peace.” “I don’t feel at peace.” “Because you think I’m in danger?” “Yes. And—other things.” From the ceiling above them came a dull thud. Joe moved so fast she barely saw him. Like a silently springing cat, he got himself to the half-open storeroom door and pressed into the wall as he scanned the corridor outside. Slightly bewildered, Anna followed him. “It’s the cleaners,” she said quietly. Confirming it, a burst of muffled female laughter drifted downward. The unmistakable sound of a vacuum cleaner started up. “They come in on a Thursday evening.” “Will they come down here?” “Only on Tuesdays.” “Shut the door,” he said.

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Anna licked her lips. Obeying, she said uneasily, “Are you afraid of Grenville’s new assassin?” He shrugged. “Too quick. He’s probably still gnawing his own hand off because I haven’t contacted him. I’m just careful.” Reaching over her, he tested the door. She could feel the heat from his body, felt the faint brush of his arm across her breasts like an electric shock. His eyes dropped to hers and she forgot to breathe. For several heartbeats neither of them stirred. Then, quite deliberately, he moved his body across hers, flattening her against the door, fitting his erection over her pubic bone. Heat flooded her. He lifted one big hand to cup her cheek, the side of her head. He said, “I wish it was different. I wish I knew what to do with a woman like you.” “You don’t strike me as an inexperienced man.” Her voice shook. From pure instinct, her hips arched upwards into his, seeking closer contact with the massive cock pressing against her. “My women are whores and gangsters, bitches who let me take what I want for their own gain. And would then knife me as soon as not.” “How do you know I won’t?” “That’s the thing. I don’t care if you do. Even if I wasn’t dead already, I wouldn’t care.” His hand moved across her face, his thumb caressed the corner of her mouth. “You’re beyond my knowledge, Anna Baird, like a different species…” Gasping, she moved between him and the door, deliberately stroking him with her body. “We’re all sisters under the skin,” she whispered. His mouth was tantalizingly close. She could feel his breath on her parted lips. “Meaning?” “Meaning, take what you want, I’m willing.” His breath caught. His thumb stilled on her parted lips. His mouth inched closer. His tongue flickered out, touching her upper lip, then vanished. “But what do you want, Dr. Baird? A quick fuck on the storeroom floor?”

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He really expected her to say no. Despite his crotch grinding into hers, he expected her to be shocked and push him away. “I want you,” she whispered, overcome by heat. The sound of her own ragged, desperate breathing filled her ears. “Any way and anywhere you like…” “Here, now, up against the door?” “Oh yes…yes please…” Opening her mouth further, she reached up for his, and found it, hot and arousing. His tongue thrust deliberately in, playing with hers. He tugged her jacket, shrugging it off her shoulders. She made a tiny, inarticulate sound of anticipation, knowing her shirt would be next. But he didn’t trouble to remove it. Unexpectedly, his hand slid inside it, under her bra, over the contours of her naked breast, freeing it from its coverings even as he tenderly thumbed the straining nipple, caressing the soft underside with his palm. Anna moaned into his mouth. Her own fingers found their way inside his overall and at last she could run her hands over his broad, thick shoulders, down over his hard, muscled chest. Joe’s hands were on her hips now, pulling up the fabric of her skirt and slipping under across the naked skin of her thighs. A low growl came from his throat as he discovered the stocking tops and suspenders, her own secret sexiness. As if he couldn’t wait any longer, he thrust his hand between her legs and groaned when he found the soaking wisp of her panties. He tore his mouth free. “Christ, you’re so wet. You really want this.” “I really want this,” she whispered, and reached blindly back for his mouth. He gave it, helping her to shrug his overall away. Without even stepping out of them, he shoved the fabric of her panties aside and in one fluid movement, slid his finger across her wet folds and straight inside her body. Without permission, her pussy contracted around him, and she gasped aloud, breaking the suction of the kiss. “Joe…oh Joe, I can’t wait…” she whispered.

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A fierce, triumphant smile lit his clouded eyes. “Let me help you there,” he said, low. Deliberately, he raised her hips between his hands, nudged his cock between her thighs and pushed it long and slowly inside her body. She was so wet that it slid all the way home immediately, making her sob with the astounding pleasure. It was hot and huge within her, filling her, impaling her, and she had never known joy like it. With his first thrust, she began to come, but it seemed he was as desperate as she, for from then on, it was hard and fast, a furious, desperate straining for completion. Fortunately, the storeroom door was secure steel, and didn’t protest as he drove her into it. Even through her shattering climax, she was aware of his burning, avid eyes boring into her as he continued to hammer her, pushing fiercely for his own release. It seemed to hit him with the power of an explosion. He seized her mouth, muffling the deep, powerful sounds of his pleasure in a devouring, almost savage kiss. Hot seed shot up inside her, filling her with devastating new sensations while his whole body rocked and shuddered. He rested one forearm on the wall above her to support himself; only his body pinning her to the door kept her upright as the convulsions continued to shake her. Gradually, the trembling in his body subsided. She held on to him tightly, waiting with still-thundering heart as he slowly released her mouth and lifted his head. Behind the satisfaction in his face was a hint of anxiety that faded as he gazed down into hers. He moved slightly, so that he could cup her naked breast, caressing it with slow tenderness while he took her mouth again in a long, deep kiss. Instinctively, she began to circle with her hips, catching the last aftershocks of orgasm, glorying in the feel of him still hard inside her. Releasing her mouth, he spoke against her lips. “Tell me you liked it and you want more.” Fresh heat swept through her, causing her to contract involuntarily around him. His breath hissed between his teeth, and she smiled breathlessly. She felt wanton and brazen and had never been so happy in her life. “I loved it. And I want lots more. If you can still stand up.”

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“I can do anything.” His hands slid down over her buttock and lifted her clean off the ground. Smiling, she swung her legs around his hips and gasped at the feel of him moving inside her as he began to walk across the floor. With one hand, he pulled the protective suits on to the floor, kicked them into a bundle and then knelt down, depositing her among them. Slowly now, he unbuttoned her shirt, easing it off her shoulders and arms. Without assistance, he unhooked her bra, drew it off and cast it aside. Just feeling his hot gaze on her breasts made her so excited she thought she would orgasm again without any further action on his part. But he paused to pull the skirt up and over her head and then she saw his gaze travel lower, to where he entered her. “I can’t believe I’m doing this to you here, now.” He thrust once, almost sending her over the edge again, and seeing it, his eyes grew fierce once more. “Wait for it,” he said softly, and bent, covering one breast with his hand while he set his mouth to the other and began to suck. “Oh God! Just don’t stop,” she pleaded. “Not for a long time,” he agreed, circling her long, stiff nipple with his tongue and pushing languorously inside her at the same time. “Not for a long, long time…”

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Chapter Five “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” asked Darren. Daren was the name of the young policeman. It didn’t really suit him, but she had to call him something, and as he pointed out Pig or Filth just didn’t make him feel that it was his night off. Helen sighed and glanced around the bar. Since it was early on a Thursday evening, Deacon Brodie’s was still fairly quiet, and their table was pleasantly secluded. She said honestly, “I’ve been trying to work out whether to talk to you about something.” “You’d better or it’ll get quite dull after a while. With just the strange looks. What’s on your mind?” Helen looked at him over her wine glass. Though he had boyish good looks, he wasn’t quite as young as she’d imagined this morning, and now, dressed casually in jeans and t-shirt, he appeared both more mature and more approachable. And despite the humor that speckled his speech, she had the feeling he actually had a strong, serious side. “The photograph,” she said. “The one you brought back this morning that you’d been using to trace Joseph Lopez’s family?” “Yes?” Helen took a drink and laid down her glass with precision. “I know her.” Darren closed his mouth and paused with his hand still on his pint glass. “You know her? Then why the f…why didn’t you say?” “I just have,” she said tartly. “But I had to think about it. She’s a very good friend of mine, and she’s had a lot to cope with in her life. I didn’t want her upset by—whatever this is. So I phoned her up and asked. She doesn’t know Lopez and has no romantic entanglements in America. Or anywhere else. I already knew that, but I had to check. So I thought, she has an American double called Maria. It’s not unheard of. www.samhainpublishing.com

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“I put it out of my mind, went to sleep. Only when I woke up, I knew it was Anna.” “Anna?” he pounced. “You didn’t hear that. I knew it was her. No one else in the world smiles just like that. And I remembered something else, too.” She let him sweat for it while she took another sip of wine. “I’ve seen that particular photograph before.” “Where?” he demanded. “In a magazine. Oh, not a popular one, an academic journal. She published a paper a couple of years ago that got quite a bit of attention. A couple of scientific and professional journals printed it, or covered it, and that was the publicity photo they used.” Darren frowned. “So why is our boy wandering around with a photo from an obscure academic journal?” “Because he reads said obscure academic journal?” Helen suggested. “Which would narrow him down to a fairly small group of people with the same academic or professional interest.” “There’s more,” she pursued relentlessly when he would have spoken. “I’ve seen his clothes and, worse, his shoes. Mangled as they are. This guy is stinking rich. He’s no struggling researcher.” “Which means?” Darren enquired, sitting back and regarding her with mingled interest and patient resignation. “Which means he’s probably some hot shot industrialist concerned in the same industry as A—as my friend.” “That should narrow it down even further. Good!” “Good? Not necessarily. We still don’t know what he was doing with her picture, and that’s the bit I don’t like. Why pretend she’s called Maria? Why have it with him at all unless he’s got some creepy thing for her—stalking her, even. I think the guy’s weird, and if he wasn’t comatose in my hospital I might be forced to kick his arse.”

***

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Anna tangled her fingers through the fine, dark hairs on Joe’s chest, following the line of a long-healed scar. “I can’t even imagine what your life was like.” As they lay close in each other’s naked arms, talking of different things, he had finally told her something of his childhood on the streets of Rio de Janeiro. Not much, just a couple of sentences that told more by what he left unsaid. Now he didn’t answer her remark, just stroked her hair. She said curiously, “Why didn’t you stay with the nuns when they rescued you?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Rebellion, boredom, an urge to self-destruction. Plain greed.” “Do you regret it?” She glanced up from tracing a long, white scar with her finger nail. “Leaving them?” He shifted restlessly. “I don’t know,” he said again. “I never think about it. It’s like my way was already set, before the nuns ever took me off the street, before they even beat an understanding of right and wrong into me…” “They beat you?” she demanded in quick horror, and he gave a twisted smile. “Some of them did. Beating wasn’t the problem. Restriction was. I ran away without a backward glance. By then I’d been granted a glimpse of how rich people lived—not just a roof over their heads, which was luxury enough to us—but big houses, fast cars, soft clothes, expensive jewels, anything they wanted. I wanted, and I knew how to get, too. I could steal with the best of the street kids, and I could fight. From there it was easy enough to get into killing.” Abruptly, he rolled her onto her back, looming over her. “Stop asking me. I’ve been around. I know how decent people regard men like me. So why don’t I disgust you? Is it pity?” There was a hint of ferocity in his eyes, reminding her, if she needed reminding, of who and what he was. She shook her head vehemently. “No. Though I don’t deny your— situation would move me to help all I could, whoever you were. You…” She tightened her arms around his neck. “No one ever made me feel like this before.”

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His lips twisted. “I think you need to get out more. How come you’re not married with two point four kids?” “It just never happened. My relationships, such as they were, always took second place to my work. And my friends. And washing my hair to be honest. I’m a crap girlfriend.” “I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured, sliding his hand in between her legs, where her own body’s juices mingled with his drying semen, making her gasp and wriggle. “I can tell you’ve been missing the sex. Don’t you ever miss the other stuff? Husband and kids?” “Sometimes,” she admitted honestly. “But it’s always been negative, if you see what I mean. I never met anyone I wanted enough to marry and have children with.” She slid both hands down the smooth skin of his back till she found his taut, hard buttocks. “What about you, Joe? No urges to settle down?” “Don’t be silly. I used to be a hit man. Now I’m dead. Neither is a good basis for setting up home.” Anna stared at him while the layers of happy fantasy fluttered away. She brought her hands back up to hold his face. “I don’t want you to be dead. And I don’t want you to suffer any more…” “Who’s suffering? For a dead guy, I’m getting plenty of action.” Before the hurt could hit her, he swore and kissed her mouth, hard. “For any guy, I’m a lucky bastard…” “Lucky? You’ve been in three fatal crashes in two days!” “I don’t care about that.” She wanted to weep. Instead, she brushed her lips achingly across his. “You will, Joe. I don’t know how to solve this, let you move on, rest in peace, whatever it is that needs to happen—but we can stop the cycle in the short term quite easily.” He slid his body off hers and propped his head up on his hand. “How?” he asked reluctantly. As if distracting himself, he began to trace his damp finger around her darkened aureole, watching it glisten. She could smell their mingled juices, thought inevitably of even more sex.

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She swallowed. “Come away from here. Like this, as you are now—then I won’t have to carry you. Frankly, I couldn’t carry the dummy on my own. The dummy will disappear, be a ten-day wonder and push up our insurance premiums—but you’ll be safe from the crash tests.” His eyes were steady on hers. His finger stilled but didn’t leave her breast. “Where would I go?” “To my flat, of course, unless you have a better idea.” A frown twitched between his eyebrows. “You’d do that for me?” With difficulty, she smiled. “I’d do anything for you.” Even that simple truth made her heart soar. Something was clearly wrong with her… His hand slid downward, closed between her legs again, cupping, gripping, making her gasp. “Come for me, then,” he whispered. “Wait!” she panted as his clever fingers probed and stroked among her folds, parting them, gliding butterfly light across her clitoris. “We have to do it before morning, otherwise people will watch me walking away with the crash test dummy. Nobody can see you, Joe…Joe!” While his thumb circled her clitoris, he pushed two fingers into her pussy, and through the mounting climax, she heard him saying, “I don’t care about anybody else.” And then she fell apart. She was still coming when he slid out of her convulsively grasping hands and set his mouth to her lower lips. The sharpness of the pleasure made her cry out, sparking a new orgasm from the old, but even then he wasn’t finished. He made her come twice more for his mouth, and only when she began to think she couldn’t take anymore did he release her, though only to turn her over onto her stomach and yank her hips upward so that he could push himself hard into her and seek his own release. It turned out she could take more. As he slammed against the soft flesh of her buttocks, pounding her, the throbbing of his cock, the jetting of his seed inside her, sent her over the edge once more, and they collapsed ecstatically together into the nest of protective clothing.

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“I’ll have to wash these,” she gasped when she could speak, and for the first time she felt his body shake with laughter. Enchanted, she curled into him, smiling, and for a time, they lay in silence. Then she said, “So you’ll come with me.” His heart beat against her breast. “I’ll come with you.” She smiled again, kissing his neck, his lips. Then, as her smile slowly died, she said, “I thought I was mad. When no one else could see you. I thought I was hallucinating.” Grasping a handful of her hair, he gently tugged her head back so that he could see her face again. “And what do you think now?” Laughter caught in her throat. “Now I don’t care.” “Yes, you do, Anna, yes, you do…” With a last kiss on his shoulder, she sat up. “Come on. The cleaners have gone and there shouldn’t be anyone else around. We should go.” With unusual difficulty, he sat, laying his hands flat on the floor on either side of his thighs. She dropped the overalls he’d been wearing into his lap, but he didn’t touch them. A curious lethargy seemed to have come over him. “Joe?” In panic, she stared at him. He tried to smile. “I think—it might—have to be—later. I’m—sleepy…can’t make myself—move…” His eyelids fluttered, as if trying to close against his will. With a supreme effort, he dragged himself backward, toward the place the dummy was usually left, but it was as if his limbs were weighted down with lead. The natural grace and quickness had gone, leaving him heavy, clumsy with drowsiness. “Joe…” She threw herself down beside him, helplessly grasping both his hands in hers. His fingers clasped hers tightly in the first sign of fear or need he had ever revealed, and it broke her heart. “Joe, I’m with you…I’ll wait for you, I won’t leave you,” she said urgently. His head lolled back, his fingers lost their grip, but she thought he tried to smile. Speech was beyond him. As she held his hands, pressing them to her lips, her cheeks, he slowly changed before her eyes. His face glazed over, his hands stiffened, the texture and color of his naked skin transformed from vibrant brown to sickly grey plastic. The harsh

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planes and angles of his face flattened, erasing every expression. His eye sockets closed over, like a film covering his lashes, removing the last vestiges of life. Her tears fell on the grey plastic hands. A moment of terror and pity before she returned to the fight.

*** She woke with a jolt—aware only that something had disturbed her sleep, but not what it was. Glancing at once toward Joe, she saw only the dummy’s flat, impassive face. She blinked to clear her eyes and peered at her watch. Just after seven. Since she’d had no idea how long Joe would sleep, she’d been afraid to go home and leave him. She’d imagined there might still be a chance of getting him away in the night, so she’d brought the Zeitek files down here and sat beside the lifeless dummy to prepare for tomorrow’s meeting. Inevitably, she’d fallen into a fitful doze. And now, cold and stiff, she realized they’d run out of time. Unless Joe wakened in the next few minutes… Close by, a steel door crashed, making her jump to her feet. Her heart thundered as for the first time in her life she faced the possibility of actual physical danger from another human being. Joe’s replacement, summoned by Mason Grenville to kill her? But no, Joe had said it was too soon. Although he had reacted seriously enough to the sound of intruders last night, before she had told him it was the cleaners… This noise was the steel door to the crash room. She’d heard it opening and closing a thousand times. Carefully, trying to steady the wild pumping of her heart, she walked to the storeroom door and flicked out the light. Now, in the fine line under the door, she could see that the corridor light was on. Slowly, silently, she turned the key. When the door was opened a bare crack, she heard the faint sound of voices. Men’s voices, echoing from the top of the corridor…from the crash room. Opening a shade further, she peered through, angling herself till she could see all the way down. www.samhainpublishing.com

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Just outside the open crash room door stood Professor Lewis, talking to someone inside. “…automatic locking mechanism, operated from the control cubicle. When a crash is in progress, no one can get in or out. Let me show you the controls, run through things with you. You’ll see it all again in action later, of course…” Lewis moved into the room, passing the shadowy figure of his companion. “So this is where it all happens…” observed a slightly bland but unmistakably American voice. “Doesn’t look like much. Considering it could wreck a corporation.” “Mr. Grenville, I assure you no one wants to wreck Zeitek.” A snort came from the American, and then the steel door crashed shut. Anna let her breath out in a rush. No assassins. Just a disgruntled Zeitek boss who’d somehow talked Lewis into an early reconnaissance without her. Interesting, but not dangerous. Stepping back, Anna found her shoes and slipped them on, along with her jacket, and gathered all her files together. Upstairs was a clean silk shirt that she’d collected from the dry cleaner’s over a week ago and never remembered to take home. An all-over wash in the ladies, the spare pair of knickers she carried in her handbag (a hangover from student days), and no one would know she’d been up most of the night having sex… hours of hot, incredible sex with Joe…. Just thinking of him made her warm and tingly all over. Alternately fierce and tender, gentle and rough, he was the most exciting lover she’d ever known. Or wanted to know. She’d never dreamed of finding such intense and varied pleasure in the simple act—acts!—of sex. But they weren’t simple, she realized. Not to her. Her time with him, making love with him, had been like a—a bonding. But now it was time to go to work. To put all thought of Joe to one side, if she could, until she had done battle with Zeitek.

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Chapter Six Mason Grenville was an arsehole of the first order. Unconcerned with right or wrong, even with seeming to be right, he had one agenda, and one agenda only. To beat her down. To get agreement that the Zinnia was as safe as any other car. He began with the patronizing “my dear young lady” approach that made Lesley’s hand twitch visibly as if to slap him one. Then he moved on to brow-beating them. And he was impressive. Tall and fit, still in his forties, he was good-looking, distinguished with perfect teeth and even more perfect self-belief, a big personality in an important job. If he’d been a school teacher or a friend’s parent, he would have scared her witless. When she was ten years old. At thirty-two, he didn’t stand a chance in hell. She simply stared him down and repeated the test results. “At thirty miles an hour?” Grenville looked thoroughly amused. “Darlin’, you’ve got your figures all wrong.” It took Anna a full second to take that one in. Even the Scottish Executive blokes were shuffling their feet and looking uncomfortable, and they had seemed inclined to give him his head. Since Lewis said nothing, merely looked apprehensive, Anna curled her lip. “Mr. Grenville, did you really come to discuss our findings, or simply to insult us? This is a scientific institute, run on strict guidelines with largely public money, in order to prevent as many serious road accidents as possible both in the present and in the future. Do you really imagine it’s staffed by a few bored or ignorant housewives taking time out from painting their nails?” Lewis said smoothly, “Of course Mr. Grenville is well aware of the qualifications of our staff. I’m sure what he meant was to enquire if our tests have been confirmed elsewhere.” “By an independent body,” Grenville added. www.samhainpublishing.com

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Bill said flatly, “We are an independent body.” “Not from where I’m standing. I see a bitter, grieving woman out for revenge against my company. My dear, I pity you, and I am so sorry for your loss, but you must move on now. Stand aside and let these good people work without your interference.” Anna whitened under the attack. Lesley grasped her arm and stood. “The project leader does not lay down results in advance,” she said pleasantly. “I don’t think you’ve many ways left to insult the entire staff.” “Oh lighten up there! I’m not impugning your worthiness—but I believe Dr. Baird is unconsciously skewing the results.” “Not possible,” Bill said flatly, and Anna, who foresaw an entire day of bickering with nothing resolved on Zeitek production, took a deep breath and aimed for conciliation. Or at least a change of subject. “To set your mind at rest, Mr. Grenville, why don’t we show you how we work? You should then be able to see how we reached the conclusions we did and we can move on to discuss what measures to take regarding the manufacture of the Zinnia.” He sat back, regarding her with the same lazy, superior half-smile. Smug, murdering git! “Very well. What have you got for me?” “In a few minutes, we’ll show you how we conduct the actual impact tests, but first we thought you’d like to see the latest technology in crash test dummies. It’s the best resemblance we have to the human body, and by scanning it after impact, we can tell the degree of damage to head, brain and internal organs. Most importantly, it fits together like Lego bricks and it can be reused repeatedly. We can also adjust its size.” The star dummy—she was trying very hard not to call it Joe, even to herself—was laid out in the main office. Anna had tried to reverse her decision on this—the idea of anyone taking out Joe’s internal organs while he was awake was just too unspeakable— but Lewis, backed by Lesley and Bill, had insisted. She found herself shaking as she led the way into the office, but to her relief, the dummy on the table was only a dummy.

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And in fact, this was easier. Grenville actually seemed genuinely interested in the technology, asking sensible questions and complimenting her on its unique design. “We have a crash demonstration set up for you downstairs,” she finished, “if you’d like to follow…” “Dr. Baird, may I interrupt you here for a moment?” It was Gerry Quinn, the Scottish Executive minister in charge of road safety. “I’m afraid my time is strictly limited today, and I have seen your tests before. I wonder if I might have a quick word with you while your colleagues show Mr. Grenville the crash?” Anna glanced at Lesley, who shrugged. “Sure,” she agreed, continuing forward to open the door politely for the departing guests. “I’ll catch up with you later.” Not to be outdone, Grenville stood aside for everyone else to precede him. Only when they had gone out did he turn to Anna smiling, leaning slightly in toward her. “Don’t fuck with me, girl, or you’ll regret it.” It was totally unexpected. Anna’s heart lurched into her stomach. Despite the stab of fear she couldn’t prevent, outrage was uppermost, and she would have answered back from sheer instinct if nothing else, until, with a jolt, she remembered Joe’s warning. Somehow, it had all got forgotten in Grenville’s earlier crass behavior, and then in his more reasonable recovery in the last half hour. But now, she remembered with a vengeance. This man had hired Joe to kill her. He wanted her dead. Just to save his company a few bucks. “Will I?” she answered, and her voice shook only very slightly. “What exactly are you threatening me with, Mr. Grenville? Violence? Assassination?” His smile broadened for the benefit of onlookers. “Work it out, bitch.” It was typical intimidation. Bullying, name-calling, supposed to sap her self-confidence and selfrespect. And once, it might even have done so. “You back down now, however you like, before it’s too late.”

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Anna smiled back, was glad to see the shock of surprise in his eyes. Deliberately, she took off her glasses. For some reason, she wanted to look him in the eye, without a shield of any kind. “I’ve got a better idea. You back down. Take my recommendations and endorse them. And Mr. Grenville, if you don’t, and if you touch a hair on my head—or pay anyone else to touch said hair—the Assassin really won’t like it. He’s pissed off with you already.” And with that, she placed her spectacles back on her nose, turned on her heel and walked casually back to Gerry Quinn. She hoped no one could see her trembling. If she’d needed confirmation that Joe’s warning was real, she had it in the stunned eyes of Mason Grenville himself. And he wasn’t stunned that she could accuse him of such a thing, merely that she knew about it. For Joe was right. She had definitely glimpsed fear as well as fury as she’d spun away from him. Gerry Quinn radiated anxiety, too, as Anna led him politely into her own office and invited him to sit. Clearly he was picking up something of her turmoil, for he said at once, “Don’t let our guest upset you, Dr. Baird. He’s used to his own way and to getting it by bluster. It doesn’t make him a bad man.” Through the open door, Anna saw the technicians arrive to remove the dummy. She couldn’t resist one last look, just to make sure he wasn’t Joe. The blank, half-face gazed straight ahead. Biting her tongue to prevent herself from telling the technicians yet again to be careful, she turned reluctantly back to Quinn. What she really wanted to do was make sure Joe was safely returned to the storeroom and left in as comfortable a position as possible. “No, that doesn’t make him a bad man,” Anna managed to say lightly. She sat opposite him, adding, “Though if you ask me, failing to act on our reports does.” “Well, you’re only looking at this from one angle.” Anna blinked. “There’s another one?” “Of course there is. Several other ones. For instance, have you considered what would happen here in Scotland if Zeitek withdrew the Zinnia?”

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A stab of unease twisted through her. “They don’t need to withdraw it, just make a few basic changes.” “Actually, they’re quite substantial changes.” “But hardly out of the question.” “Actually,” said Quinn, “they are out of the question.” “What?” He sighed. “If we insist on these changes, Zeitek will withdraw from Scotland.” Anna stared at him, anger building inside her. She could see where this was going now. “He’s got to you, hasn’t he?” she said bitterly. “You don’t even need to be corrupt to be got. Everyone has his price and yours is Scottish votes. You don’t want to be the one who presides over the closing of the Zeitek plant.” “I think you’re being a little unfair,” Quinn said with dignity. “Not to say blinkered. You’re right, I don’t wish to preside over the closing of Zeitek. Would you like to be responsible for the loss of that many jobs? For the economic and social hardship that comes with unemployment? A lot of the workers have gone through this before elsewhere. Many are in their fifties with mortgages and families—how easy is it going to be for them to find more work? The plant’s in an economic black spot already, close it and that community has nothing…” “Okay, I get the picture!” Anna swept her hand through her hair, unconsciously pulling some of it loose from its confines. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I was being unfair to you, and rude. I apologise for both. It’s just…I regard safety, the saving of human life, as the most important issue. Not just in this project, in everything. Economics obviously have to be considered, but what the hell use is economic prosperity if you’re dead in a road accident?” “You’re being a little simplistic,” Quinn said mildly. “And there are no guarantees of death in the Zinnia.” “Actually, there are. You put that killer on the streets as it is and I guarantee you will have deaths. Preventable ones. Mr. Quinn, we have safety standards in cars for reasons. Our parliament endorsed them. We can’t just ignore it when they’re breached.”

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“The alterations you recommend would be costly at this stage. Grenville has made that quite plain. If we insist on them, Zeitek will build the car somewhere else.” “But it won’t be sold here.” Quinn sighed. After a moment, he said, “Is there a cheaper fix here? A compromise that would improve safety while perhaps not making it perfect? Something a little less drastic that Zeitek could do? Grenville might go for that.” “I’ve already looked into it. Lesser improvements can be made, but they still wouldn’t bring it up to scratch. Mr. Quinn, I don’t want to teach you your job, but have you considered that he’s bluffing?” Quinn smiled sardonically. “Oh yes. But I don’t think he is. I’ve—ah—looked into Zeitek’s affairs. They’re not doing so well. Between ourselves, I suspect Grenville’s job is on the line. The success of the Zinnia is vital to him. He’d rather build it here as planned, but build it he will.” “I’ll talk to his technical people,” Anna said reluctantly. “But I can’t change my report.” “Okay, let’s see what you can come up with. Thank you, Dr. Baird.” Shaking hands politely with him as he took his leave, Anna thought his optimism was unfounded. She was fairly sure Grenville would see any attempt at compromise as a weakness that could be jumped on and used. Her own hopes were pinned on the American’s fear of the shadowy Assassin. Temporarily free of all her visitors, Anna ran down to the basement to check on Joe before joining the others in the crash room. In response to so many distinguished visitors, the technicians were clearly playing it by the book. The storeroom door was closed and locked. Pushing the key into the lock, Anna was chiefly aware of the excited butterflies dancing in the pit of her stomach. She wanted Joe to be there. She wanted to be able to leave casually with him at lunch time when Grenville and the others had gone, take him home to keep him safe, while she tried to find a long-term solution.

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And where in hell did she look for that? On the Internet, under Crash Test Dummy Possession? Perhaps she should talk to a minister. Or there were plenty of people associated with the occult and the paranormal in Edinburgh. In fact, there was the Department of Parapsychology at Edinburgh University. That would surely be the best place to start. In an academic environment she was comfortable with… She wouldn’t think beyond that just yet, she knew, as she pushed open the door and switched on the light. For if she managed to free him, she would be alone without him forever, having been granted a tantalizing glimpse of what life and love could be. Love. The word swept around her mind, sending warm, intense tingles wherever it touched. It made her want to laugh and cry together, because she had finally found it in such a ridiculously unlikely place. She blinked at the empty space where Joe should have been. Hastily, she scanned the rest of the room. No dummies apart from an old, broken one in far the corner. The four decent ones were all in the crash demonstration, and Joe… Joe had gone. Had he got out somehow? Was he wandering the building looking for her? Would he recognize Grenville if he ran into him? Would Grenville know him? Hearing footsteps in the hall outside, Anna pulled herself together and stepped back outside the storeroom. One of the technicians, who’d clearly come from the crash room, was starting to climb the stairs three at a time. “Matt?” she called on instinct. “Where’s my dummy?” He knew what she meant. Everyone called it Anna’s dummy. In fact she strongly suspected some of the techies just called it Anna. He paused on the stairs and grinned at her over his shoulder. “It’s in the crash room now. Driving the car.” Anna felt the blood drain from her face, rocking her on her feet. But there was no time to give in to stupid weakness. She didn’t even ask him who had authorized it. It didn’t matter. Without another word, she sprinted down the corridor. Behind her, she heard Matt calling, “Dr. Baird, it’s locked!”

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But surely only just locked? Matt had just come from there. They had only just finished resetting the crash with Joe. She might be in time. All she had to do was reach that intercom button and yell, “Abort!” It would be all right. She’d stop it. I will, Joe, I will…

*** Grenville was angry. Angry that the Assassin had turned out to be so unreliable, angry that the girl was able to use it against him. Angry that he was being thwarted by a nobody who didn’t even own her own lousy little apartment. Stupid little bitch didn’t even realize that he, Mason Grenville, owned her. In every way that mattered. Well, she was about to find out. When he’d first hired the Assassin, his plan had been to take her out, and then, when she wasn’t there to defend herself, discredit her research. He’d asked around. He knew she was the prime mover behind not just this project, but the whole Institute, no matter what that dickhead Lewis believed. So, there was a change of plan. Grenville hadn’t risen to the top without thinking on his feet—he thrived on the challenge. It had been in his mind last night when he’d called Lewis back to arrange an early visit here, and the plan had fully formed then. He didn’t really need her dead. The main thing was the discredit. What’s more, he didn’t believe that would matter to the Assassin. If Grenville had her killed, it was more than possible the Assassin would come after him. But for what he was about to do, he really doubted the Assassin would trouble to get out of bed. It was only Baird who cared about the bloody research. Lewis, he could twist around his finger, and the government boys were falling over themselves to please him. Well, he’d make it easy for them. Starting with the proof that the silly bitch’s indestructible dummy was far from that. He’d suggested they use it in the car, and when Lewis gave the nod, the researchers had shrugged and gone along with it. Now, crowded into the control room with everyone else, Grenville gazed intently at the crash setup.

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“Doors locked,” the research geek reported from the computer. Grenville glanced at him. His finger hovered over the enter button, but his gaze was not on the screen, it was on the female researcher. Grenville said, “So both these ‘cars’ move at thirty until impact?” His hand nudged the mouse, casually covered it. The geek was waving toward the crash scene, giving some rambling explanation which everyone was sagely following. Except Grenville. He already knew how it worked and didn’t really care. All that mattered was that everything adjusted automatically to the speed set on the computer. They cars would crash at whatever speed they were told to. A swift glance at the computer screen showed him what he was looking for—the speed set, just as Lewis had shown him this morning. Two clicks and it no longer read thirty-four. It said seventyfour. Grenville kept his hand resting on the desk, just beside the mouse, so close to the geek that he almost touched him. The geek said, “Okay, here we go.” And without looking at the screen, hit the enter button. The cars began to move. Grenville smiled. Like taking candy from a baby. Thank God he’d only ever given the Assassin half the money… Abruptly, as the cars shot together at breakneck speed, two people spoke at once. The female researcher said abruptly, “That’s not thirty! Bill, it’s too fast!” Grenville didn’t even have time to fear that they’d look at the screen, because at the same time, the intercom crackled and Baird’s voice cried harshly, “Lesley, abort! Abort now!” It was chaos. The researchers looked at each other. The geek stood up as if giving precedence to the woman, who had no time to do anything anyway. The “cars” impacted with a mighty crash that filled Grenville’s ears. Bits of dummy and debris flew around the room, giving him all the more cause to be grateful for the protection of the control cubicle. Keeping his head, Grenville inched his hand over the mouse. In an instant, the seven had changed back to a three.

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“Way too fast!” the geek exclaimed, hitting the release for the door-lock mechanism “That was never thirty!” “Faulty equipment?” Grenville suggested blandly. “My arse,” said the female researcher harshly, and when he glanced at her in surprise, he found her staring at him. “You changed it. I saw you.” With a crashing of the heavy steel door, Baird erupted into the room. Ignoring her, Grenville lifted his brows haughtily at the other woman. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t blame your inefficiency on me.” “I saw you change it back,” the woman said tightly, “and what’s more, the computer log will show it.” Fuck, thought Grenville, annoyed, as she pushed past him out of the room. He wasn’t sure demonstrating a moment of carelessness would be enough. He would have felt safer discrediting their equipment and therefore the validity of all their tests. Following the others without much enthusiasm, he went to inspect the crash carnage. Baird was sitting in among it, an expression of blank hopelessness on her face. Hell, she was a mess. Tears trickled unnoticed down her cheeks. She held the badly dented head of her precious designer dummy in her hands, staring at it. The rest of its body was scattered across the room in bits. Grenville knew a moment of satisfaction. If nothing else, he’d destroyed the dummy of which they were all so proud. And severely pissed her off. The other woman stared around the mess. “There’s none of him left in the car,” she observed in a puzzled voice. “Bill, he was strapped in, wasn’t he?” “Of course he was. I did it myself.” Leaning over, the woman caught at the end of the seat belt, clearly unfastened. “Shite,” she said ruefully. “It’s almost as if…” “…he was trying to get out,” Anna whispered.

***

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Across the city in the Royal Infirmary, a nurse attending Joseph Lopez noted that his heart had finally stopped beating. She was sorry, but not surprised.

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Chapter Seven Walking down the hospital corridor to check in with Alastair Griffin before she began her shift, Helen found her mind hovering between Anna and Darren. On impulse, as she passed Joseph Lopez’s room, she stuck her head ‘round the open door. The bed was empty. “Ah.” That, she supposed, solved the problem. “Ah, Scottie!” Alastair greeted her when she wandered thoughtfully into the office. “Can I beam up now?” “Be my guest. What’s happening? I see our American visitor finally succumbed.” “Ha! It’s people like him who make me think I’ve been wasting my time for the last fifteen years.” “Well, you have.” She gave him a quick, rallying nudge. “He was on the way out, Al. He shouldn’t have survived as long as he did.” “Exactly. So what the hell was he doing walking out of here?” “What?” “That’s what I said. He woke up this morning and discharged himself before dinner. Sound decision—it was mince and tatties.” Helen closed her mouth. “What happened, precisely?” “Precisely? I haven’t a clue. His heart stopped this morning. And as soon as we got it going again he woke up. As if everything started to work once the battery was properly fitted. He was a little disoriented at first. Thought he was dead, apparently. Anyway, by the time we did all the basic tests, he seemed fine.” “Fine? How could he be fine?” Alastair shrugged tiredly. “We did all the tests—no obvious brain damage. He didn’t say much, but I got the impression he doesn’t. His perception was spot on. We bandaged up his ribs again and off he went.” 72

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“You mean…no one came to collect him? You just let him take off?” “Couldn’t stop him. To be honest, I didn’t think he’d make it to the front door, but he did. Climbed into a taxi and away he went. He did say thanks. As if it hurt his jaw to get the word out, but he still said it.” “But his internal injuries were massive…” “Well, we already saw how fast these were healing when he was unconscious. Like I say, why study medicine when this joker turns it all on its head anyway? Bring back wise women and witch doctors, I say. On which note, Scottie, energize.” When he’d gone, she reached for the office phone and dialed Anna’s number. Once again, there was no answer from either her house phone or her mobile. Helen left a brusque “Call me!” message on both her answering services. After a moment’s hesitation, she dialed another number. It was answered quickly. “Darren. It’s Helen.” She heard the grin in his voice as he started to speak and part of her was delighted. But they were both working and she had to get her message across. Interrupting him, she said, “Darren, Lopez woke up and discharged himself and Anna isn’t answering her phone. Any chance you can make sure she’s okay?” There was a pause. Then in an even voice that told her he was disappointed, he said, “Sure, I’ll drive by. I’ll check that Lopez is still in the hotel, too.” “Thanks, Darren.” This time, she allowed the warmth to seep into her voice. “Got to go, but I’ll call you in the morning if I don’t hear from you.”

*** By now it seemed natural to the assassin to lie still and wait for the pain to pass. He had spent a lot of time in his dreams doing just that. In a surreal storeroom full of crash test dummies and overalls. And whisky. Fuck, but the human brain was weird, and he suspected his was weirder than most. It seemed guilt had finally caught up with him, punishing him in his comatose dreams. Though why it should also have given him a love affair—and a night of mind-blowing www.samhainpublishing.com

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sex—with the beautiful Dr. Baird was beyond him. To make him feel all the more of a bastard, maybe. Sourly, he wondered what all those hospital monitors had made of his dreams. Just remembering them now made his cock harden inconveniently in his pants. Interesting that his cock always seemed to function at full strength. Unfortunately, the rest of him was incapable of doing anything with it. Even if Anna Baird sat in his lap right now, stark naked with that sultry do-as-you-will look in her beautiful eyes… In self defence, Joe flicked the switch on the TV remote, and found one of Clint Eastwood’s spaghetti westerns. He dropped the remote and eased himself into a better position. His ribs protested, but he ignored them. A knock came at the door. Brisk, businesslike. Joe was not at his best. With an effort, he rolled off the bed, drew a small, lethal knife from the sleeve of the coat on the nearby chair, palmed it and walked across to open the door. A policeman stood there, young, fresh-faced, curious. “Evening, sir,” he said cheerfully. “Sorry to disturb you. Mr. Lopez?” “Yes.” “Just making sure you’re all right, sir. The hospital informed us you’d discharged yourself, since we’d been involved in trying to trace your next of kin.” “I’m fine.” As an afterthought, he added, “Thanks.” “Do you mind if I come in for a few minutes?” “Yes,” said Joe baldly. “I’m going to bed.” “Okay. I’ll just ask you here then. In your wallet, you were carrying a photograph of Dr. Anna Baird. Do you know her?” Though it was totally unexpected, Joe had grown up dealing with surprises that were a lot less pleasant. Without a pause he said, “I’ve never heard of her.” “Then why do you have her photograph?”

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“I don’t.” He let a hint of annoyance into his voice. “The only photograph in my wallet is my girlfriend. Her name isn’t Anna and she isn’t a doctor. Thanks for your concern, Officer, but I’m going to bed now. Good night.” Deliberately, he closed the door and went back to sit on his bed. On the other side of the door, the policeman hovered for a few seconds, then Joe heard his footsteps retreat down the hall. Anna. They knew the photograph was Anna. How the hell had that happened? This was a small city, but surely it wasn’t that cozy? Anyway, it didn’t matter. Bleakly, he stared at the television screen. Did anything matter? Sitting here in the luxurious hotel, he remembered the feeling of comfort, of life, that he’d found in a bare storeroom, with Anna. In his dreams. Had he really turned into such a sick, feeble specimen that he was fantasizing over “nice” girls falling in love with his bad-ass self? Not just any nice girl, either. Her. His hit. The girl he would have killed if he hadn’t been in his own accident and dreamed of loving her instead, of wanting to protect her from his own client. Never rule anything out… On impulse, he picked up his phone and dialed the Balmoral’s reception. “Hi—just checking if Mason Grenville has checked in yet.” It was a long shot. Even if Anna had spoken the truth in his dream, there were many hotels in Edinburgh; he didn’t have to be staying in this one. “Yes sir, last night. Shall I put you through?” “No, that’s all right, I’ll call in later. Which room number is he?” Dropping the phone beside him, he wanted to laugh. So now he could keep an eye on Grenville, protect the girl just as he’d wanted to in his dream. If only he could move without damaging himself beyond endurance.

***

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“There you are!” Helen exclaimed when Anna opened the door of her flat. Without waiting for an invitation, she barged in, demanding, “Why don’t you answer your phone, Anna?” “So people come round?” Anna tried. She closed the door and followed her friend into the living room. “I thought you’d be at work,” Helen said, casting her a quick, shrewd glance. Anna shrugged. “Took a couple of days off.” “You look like shit,” Helen observed. Anna smiled lopsidedly. “Thanks.” “What’s the matter?” Helen asked quietly. “Work?” “Sort of.” Anna moved restlessly through to the kitchen, switching on the kettle, finding relief in going through the expected motions. She felt numb. There was grief and horror at losing Joe in such a way, and yet relief for him that it was finally over. She had helped the technicians put the dummy back together, but there had been no sign of Joe in it. She had kept watch to find out. And even when Lesley made her go home, she had driven back to the Institute in the middle of the night. She knew that Joe had gone, that he was free of the crash cycle and that was what she’d wanted. She thought he’d appreciate the irony of Grenville achieving it for him. She knew that what she should be worrying about was how to combat the triumvirate of Grenville, Lewis and Quinn, but right now her brain was too numb. Making coffee, she was aware of Helen’s perceptive gaze. She knew she wouldn’t get away with silence, and she didn’t really want to. She just didn’t know what to say. Shoving a mug across the counter to her friend, she said abruptly, “I think I’m probably insane. But it feels like love. And grief.” Helen’s eyes widened. “Spill.” “I can’t.” The tears she hadn’t cried made her throat ache. “Not yet.” She tried to smile, picked up the other mug and walked back into the living room. “Anyway, where’s the fire?” she asked lightly, as she sat down in her favourite chair, drawing her legs under her body.

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“Oh, nowhere. I was just worried about you.” Helen sat on the sofa and regarded her. “I wasn’t going to tell you this in case it worried you, but Darren—he’s my toy boy cop—says you sound a lot stronger than I give you credit for. And he’s right.” “Now you’re being mysterious. What could worry me?” Helen sighed. “We had this patient. Guy in a coma after a road accident. A Yank, and we had a terrible time tracing his next of kin. Never did. But we did find a picture on him—it was a photograph of you.” Anna blinked at her. “Me?” “That’s why I was asking you the other night about Joseph Lopez. Anna, I’m afraid he’s some sort of stalker, fixated on you.” “Joseph?” Anna stared at her. “You didn’t tell me he was called Joseph!” “Does it make a difference?” Helen didn’t sound quite amused. “And a road accident? Where? When?” “Wednesday morning. Glasgow Road.” “He’s in a coma?” Anna whispered. Suddenly, she couldn’t sit still. She had jumped to her feet without realizing it, slopping coffee over the floor. Excitement flooded her with an intensity she couldn’t have imagined feeling again only a moment before. “Why didn’t I think of that? Why didn’t I check hospitals? I thought he was dead! We both did! And he was your patient all the time! Helen, will he recover?” “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It looks like he already has. He discharged himself from the hospital yesterday.” Anna threw herself back in the chair, eyes closed as emotion raged through her. Then, after the surging relief, came understanding. Opening her eyes again, she stared at Helen. “He discharged himself? Then I can’t find him? How can I find him?” “Quite easily actually,” Helen said ruefully. “He’s staying at the Balmoral Hotel. Anna!” She yelled the rest after Anna bolted out of her chair and out of the room. “This guy is trouble! Darren’s met him and there is definitely something up with him. He oozes danger, some sort of threat…”

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Anna, her jacket on, glanced ‘round the door with a radiant smile on her face. “I know.”

*** Mason Grenville thought he’d won. He may not have entirely discredited the research or Dr. Baird, but clearly he’d rattled the girl, judging by her very odd behaviour after the crash test yesterday. He rather thought she’d discredited herself there. Stepping out of the lift in front of reception, he thought he could probably afford to be understanding about her when he met the First Minister this morning. Quinn and Lewis would do the rest for him. He reckoned he was home and dry. Throwing his key across the reception desk to the girl who smiled at him, he turned toward the front door. Already, he could see his car waiting for him in Prince’s Street, just beyond the kilted doorman. Since he was in a good mood, he stood aside for the old ladies just entering the hotel, and as he did so, his gaze fell on two women hurrying across the foyer to the stairs. One was talking urgently to the other, but it was the quiet one he recognized. Anna Baird. In a great hurry to get somewhere. Thoughtfully, he turned back to reception, pushing in now in front of the old ladies to speak to the still fixedly-smiling receptionist. “Do I have visitors?” he asked. “Were the two young ladies there asking for me?” Unfortunately, the two young ladies had disappeared from view, but she knew who he meant. “No, sir. Someone else,” she said surprisingly, and before he could turn on the charm and ask who, she turned to the old ladies. “Lady Lawson, lovely to see you back again.” Grenville hesitated. He really didn’t want to miss this appointment with the First Minister, since it seemed likely to grant him what he came here for. On the other hand, it entered his head that Anna Baird was here to see her lover. The Assassin… Now there was a match made in hell. He couldn’t imagine what the pair possibly had in common—apart from an obvious ambition to thwart Mason Grenville. He supposed it 78

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was sex. The superior little bitch was just a dirty slut underneath her pristine lab coat, desperate for a bit of rough between her legs. Grenville wished he’d thought of fucking her himself. Might have saved a lot of time. And money. Somehow it had never occurred to him that the hit man would stay in this very hotel. It offended Grenville’s sense of appropriateness. But then, why not? Judging by the guy’s fees, he wasn’t exactly a poor man. Suddenly, Grenville needed to know who this shadowy figure was. Time and again he’d discovered that knowledge was power, and actually uncovering the identity of the hit man would make damn sure he was never double-crossed by him again. Might even get him his wasted money back. What didn’t enter his head was the fact that he would really be safer not knowing this particular identity. While he paused, Baird’s friend stepped out of the lift alone. She didn’t look happy. Crossing the foyer, she sat down on one of the large, comfortable sofas and grabbed a magazine. Making up his mind, Grenville sat in the one opposite and took a newspaper out of his briefcase.

*** Anna stood outside the door, her trembling hand raised for the third time. The thundering of her heart threatened to drown out the faint sounds coming from the television within. It was ridiculous. She didn’t even know what she was afraid of, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to knock at his door. She almost lowered her hand yet again, only she knew she couldn’t leave without seeing him. She’d even sent Helen away—much against her friend’s will—so that she could meet him alone. She had to see him. So she had to knock. She knocked. More loudly than she’d intended. The sound almost made her jump. Apart from the TV, she heard nothing inside the room. The door opened quite suddenly and her breath stopped. She gazed up at Joe. www.samhainpublishing.com

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Much as she remembered it, his straight black hair fell forward over one side of his forehead, though the rest seemed to be tied behind his head. His eyes, dark and hard as agates, stared down into hers, and for a moment she thought she saw the reflection of her own shock. She tried to smile. “Joe.” He said nothing, though his eyes scanned hers, one to the other as if looking for something. Fear grasped her heart like a fist and squeezed. She said, “Can I come in?” Slowly, reluctantly it seemed, he opened the door wide. She brushed past him, remembering the scent, the heat of his body. It was a large room, with two comfortable sofas and a large double bed. The bed had been made, but it still bore the imprint of his body. He had been lying there when she’d disturbed him. He didn’t ask her to sit down. He didn’t say anything at all. He just closed the door and looked at her. He wore dark jeans and a t-shirt and reminded her of nothing so much as a wary panther. She swallowed. “Do you remember me?” “I know who you are.” He moved at last, walking forward to stand in front of her, close but not touching. It wasn’t the nearness of affection. But at least his voice was the same, deep and low with that fascinating mixture of American and Latin. It still melted her. “How do you know me?” She gave a lopsided smile. “I spent some time in a storeroom with you.” His hand came up involuntarily, rubbing his forehead. “Shit.” Though it was hardly the reaction she’d been hoping for, perseverance made her say, “You remember then?” “I thought it was a dream. They told me I was in a coma.” “They told me that, too.” “Who did?” he asked at once.

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“My friend. She’s one of the doctors who looked after you.” He didn’t respond to that, except to move a little way from her. “So what are you doing here?” Cold, impersonal, not even very curious. It felt like a blow in the stomach. Somehow, she managed to say, “I wanted to make sure you were all right.” He turned his head to stare at her again. “You know what I am and what I came here to do, and you’re checking on my health?” He came back to her suddenly, large, strong, overpoweringly male. His sexual magnetism was still devastating. “How do you know I won’t kill you now?” “I suppose I don’t,” she said shakily. “Best run along then.” “Joe, don’t…why are you being like this?” “This is who I am, for Christ’s sake! What did you expect? Words of love and a happily ever after?” Since that was so close to the mark, she flushed under his harsh, sardonic gaze. Some of what she felt must have shown in her eyes, for he said, “Fuck, you really did.” She couldn’t meet his stare now. She felt battered. He moved restlessly. “I don’t understand any of this, but I have to say you make a pretty fucking amazing dream for a man who thinks he’s dead. So I’ll do you a favor. Get the hell out of here.” Her gaze flew back to his. Just for a second he had sounded like her Joe. But his face was hard and closed, his black eyes still glittering with callous mockery. “Face it, Doctor, I’m no longer dead, so I don’t need you to save my wicked soul. Or fuck me senseless.” With his every word, the blood drained further from her face. Each felt like a knife twisted in her gut, all the more painfully because they were so palpably true. Lonely and frustrated, she had made the strange events between them into something they were not. Like men the world over, he had simply taken what was offered. Held together by a thread, she dragged her eyes free, managed to nod.

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“Fair enough.” Her voice barely shook at all, giving her the confidence to add, “Glad you’re all right,” as she tried to get herself to the door and out of the room. Of all the mistakes she had ever made… “Oh Jesus Christ.” Abruptly, he caught her arm and pulled her roughly back against him, his fingers digging hard into her flesh. She caught the barest glimpse of his angry, desperate eyes, and then his mouth swooped down and seized hers, bruising, searing, invading. As she hung helpless in his arms, relief flooded her, bringing tears of sheer emotion before she struggled to kiss him back. Both his hands came up, holding her head steady and gradually the kiss grew deeper and softer. “You’re beautiful, Anna,” he whispered against her lips, “and not for me.” She said, “I love you.” Shock widened his eyes, held his mouth unmoving on hers. Slowly, he lifted his head. “No, you don’t. You know nothing about me.” “It doesn’t matter,” she said simply. “I don’t like what you’ve done in your past, either, and even that doesn’t matter. You don’t have to love me back, you don’t even have to stay. I just wanted you to know. And to care…a little.” His hands moved inwards on her face, both thumbs touching the corners of her mouth. He said, low, “I care,” and kissed her again. “I care too much to do this to you and yet I’m finding it damned hard just to let you walk out that door.” She smiled tremulously. “I won’t go.” “Yes, you will.” “We’ve never made love on a bed.” “You’re a forward hussy.” The unexpected laughter began to die in his eyes. Instead, she saw pain. “Anna, if I take you to bed, I won’t want to let you go. Get out now.” By way of answer, she reached up and took back his mouth. Released, desire swept through her like a whirlwind, and she began to writhe against him, looking for the familiar ridge of his cock against her. She found it, growing bigger and harder as she

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pressed into it. He groaned, pushing her backward toward the bed. One hand on her buttock ground her harder on to his cock. The other swept up over the curve of her breast, making her moan with pleasure and need. It slid under her shirt, pulled down one bra cup and closed over the naked flesh, caressing with his palm, then rolling her nipple between his fingers until she moaned into his mouth, Anna pushed her hands up under his t-shirt, seeking skin and finding bandages. Pulling back, she stared at him wide-eyed. “Broken ribs,” he said breathlessly. “Apparently I was in a car crash. At least one.” “Are they sore?” “No,” he said urgently, lifting her up in his arms as if to prove it. A knock came at the door. Joe froze. Anna whispered, “It might be Helen. My friend. She told me where to find you.” “Christ. I so need to move out of here.” Reluctantly, he let her feet slide to the carpet, and then walked silently across to the door. Anna found herself watching his bottom, the movement of his hips. Just looking at him made her hot. She loved the way he moved, and God knew she was wet enough to jump him now and push him straight inside her… Pulling herself together, she followed him, though from instinct not too closely. He opened the door with the same suddenness she remembered, and beyond his shoulder she saw Helen, wide-eyed and scared. Beside her, grasping her by the wrist and holding a gun at her throat, stood Mason Grenville. Grenville actually smiled, as if he had achieved victory. He said, “I believe you owe me.” “Fucking right,” said Joe, and punched him hard in the throat. At the same time, with the same devastating speed, he seized the gun with his other hand, and while Grenville was still choking, pulled him into the room by the front of his coat.

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With a soundless cry of terror, Helen fell back against the opposite corridor wall. Anna followed, throwing her arms ’round her friend, and Helen hugged her convulsively. Joe’s foot kicked the door shut. The two women looked at each other. Somehow, the violence was almost more shocking because it had looked so casual. Helen gasped, “What are they doing in there?” “I don’t know,” Anna said uneasily. She could hear odd thuds, a strangled moan. “But I don’t think Grenville will like it. I’d better go back. Are you all right?” “No, I’m scared and outraged and fucking curious. Who the hell is that? He was sitting in the foyer earlier—I think he followed me up here and when I knocked on the door, he just grabbed me!” “Mason Grenville of the Zeitek Corporation. He paid Joe to kill me so he can build his stupid, dangerous car, and now he’s pissed off because Joe didn’t.” “Should we call the police?” Joe’s door opened again and the figure of Grenville bolted out, fleeing unevenly down the hall with his hands over his face and throat. There might have been blood. Joe stood in the doorway, breathing a little raggedly. He said, “Grenville’s resigned. To all intents and purposes.” Anna rose and went to him, new anxiety replacing the relief he had just brought her. “Your ribs…” “Do you want them fixed again?” Helen asked.

*** While she re-bandaged his ribs, she asked questions, and had the grace not to call them mad while she listened to their strange love story. Only as Anna helped him back on with his t-shirt did she observe mildly, “Weird.” “So did you wake up during the last crash test?” Anna asked him curiously. “It looked to us as if the seat belt had been unfastened.”

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“I saw Grenville in the glass room. I saw the malice on his face. I heard your voice from somewhere, and I knew—I thought I knew I had to—stop him.” Helen looked at him. “You came back for her. You chose to live to save her.” Joe glanced at her, then away. “I owed her.” Helen picked up her jacket from the bed. “Well, my boy’s right, you’re a dangerous son of a bitch, but for some reason I like you. Don’t let her down or I’ll poison your painkillers.” And with that, she left the room, closing the door behind her with a small snap. Anna said quickly, “It’s not pressure, Joe. She says these things because for some reason she’s my friend.” “I know what she is and I know the reason.” He looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “Anna…” Don’t send me away again, please don’t tell me to go, please don’t leave… “Anna, do you want to come away with me? Just take off…” From sheer, flooding relief, she closed her eyes. Happiness beckoned. It might not have been happily ever after, but it was enough. She said, “No more killing?” “I’ve retired already.” A new idea began to form. “And you won’t mind if I drift into a sort of travelling consultancy? In road safety and crash research?” “I might even fund some of it.” She glanced at him uncertainly. “With your dodgy earnings? I suppose it might as well do some good.” “I love a pragmatist.” I wish you did…

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Epilogue “To Doctor Anna Baird!” The enthusiastic toast was echoed loudly in many accents. Anna, blushing to find herself the focus of so much attention, gave a little laugh and a mock bow as the new staff of the Italian crash research centre drank to her health. The facility had been set up under her consultancy in record time, and in celebration, they had all piled into her hotel bar. Secretly proud of her achievement, in her moment of “glory” she sought, as always, the attention of the man she loved. He sat on a bar stool, his big, lethal hand lightly curled around a beer bottle. But he wasn’t watching her. His face was lifted to the television above the bar. It shouldn’t have hurt. He’d given his full support to her every venture over the last six months, from the moment she’d handed her work at the Edinburgh Institute over to Lesley and Bill, down to this major project in Rome. He’d even given mind-bogglingly large donations and discovered an unlikely talent in himself for organization and management. An outstanding all-purpose Mr. Fix-It… In fact, without him, the Rome centre would never have been completed half as quickly. But more than that, he made every day a revelation for Anna. Working or playing, she delighted in his constant company, his quiet, understated humor and the intriguing, timeless depths of his knowledge. She liked to puzzle and wonder with him over the strange, impossible experience that had first brought them together, learning to understand the profound yet simple morality that had lain dormant in him for so long. She treasured every tiny insight into his past life, into what made him tick, every spark of pleasure and pain. Life with Joe was a constant surprise, and she would have gloried in it even without the intense sex. And that just got better and better. She’d never imagined being so close 86

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to a lover, opening herself to another so completely. She’d never known such physical or emotional joy and, although he never said so, she was sure he felt it, too. And yet he was a loner, a man used to his own space, and he was subject to moods of distance and withdrawal. Anna respected that. She just wished he hadn’t slipped into one of those moods right now. Half-ashamed, she acknowledged it was no longer enough simply to do her own good work—she needed his participation, too. As the chatter rose around her and people clinked glasses with her, she watched him speak to the barman, who pushed a remote control across the counter. Joe picked it up, and the volume rose. The barman grinned across the room at her. “Is you, Dr. Anna!” he shouted, pointing up at the television. At once, everyone moved to crowd around the television, and Anna, swept along in their midst, saw that it was a British news channel. Worse, there she was on the screen, stalking across the floor of the crash room at the Scottish Institute toward the carnage of some past test. The reporter said, “The research led by Dr. Baird forced Zeitek to look again. And the result was unveiled today.” The screen changed to a showroom full of suits with champagne glasses—and a shiny new car that bore only a passing resemblance to the Zinnia which had once so occupied Anna. “Four months behind schedule, the new Zeitek Zinnia is being billed as the safest car on the planet…” Beside her, an Italian researcher gave her an admiring nudge. “Hey, you did that, too!” Anna shook her head. “No,” she said. “I tried, but he did it.” Joe turned toward her at last, his ponytail curling around his shoulder, a faint, sardonic smile curving his lips, and her heart gave the funny lurch it always did around him. He lifted his bottle in a toast to her and drank. Damn it, this was one party she wouldn’t let him sit on the edge of.

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She slid onto the barstool beside him. As their bare arms touched, his moved instantly against hers, an instinctive caress. But almost immediately, something shifted in his eyes and he looked away again, pretending to watch the television. His arm twitched, moving so that he no longer touched her. With a sudden chill of apprehension, Anna recognized this little sequence of gestures—a repeat of what had happened earlier in the day. She had caught him watching her at work, a strange, intense expression on his face, and yet when she’d smiled, he had looked away immediately. It had been like that all day, she realized, almost as if he was—afraid of her. Afraid of hurting her. Pain swelled up, filled her, because there was only one way he could possibly hurt her. Oh no, not now, please not now, I can’t bear it if you go… She closed her eyes briefly, fighting it, refusing to turn into the clinging, whining thing she despised. She’d at least pretend to be strong. And wait for him to come back. She said, low, “You want to leave.” His gaze came back to her, almost startled. “Leave?” Her lips twisted. “I can see you want to. In your mind, you’ve already gone.” A moment longer he stared at her, his face unreadable. Then he took another swig from his bottle. “Anna Baird, the world thinks you’re so clever, you’re beginning to believe it yourself. I am not a crash test dummy that you can push and pull and then read the results in black and white.” Her heart beat louder, faster. “What do you mean?” He laid down the bottle and gazed into it. It seemed to be easier than looking at her, and yet still he spoke with obvious difficulty, forcing the words in a rush. “I mean you scare the hell out of me. I’ve never spent so long in anyone’s company, and I know I should get out. I’ve always known that. But it’s too late.” He lifted his head, and his eyes, his whole face, blazed, a sudden maelstrom of heat and wild emotions far too confused to read. “I can’t leave you, Anna, even for your own

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good. And you’d better know now, I won’t let you leave me.” He drew in his breath on a mutter that sounded suspiciously like Fuck it. “I love you.” And almost as if he was afraid she’d laugh, he seized her and stopped her stunned mouth with his. When she became aware of anything other than his battering kiss and his even more astounding words, she realized the Italians were cheering them. Pulling free, if only to breathe, she buried her face in his neck, wiped her tears on his warm skin. But there was no time to come to terms with the soaring joy, or even the relief that flooded her. Joe pulled her from the stool. In front of everyone, he dragged her out of the bar and straight into the empty lift. Even before the doors had properly closed, he had his arms ’round her, pushing his hands inside her shirt as he devoured her mouth, grinding his hard cock into her abdomen, lifting her to press it into the hot tenderness between her legs. She stumbled back against the wall of the lift, trapped between its coldness and Joe’s incredible heat. Half-laughing, breathless with lust, she gasped, “Oh dear! Can we make it to the bedroom?” “We can make it right here,” he ground out. “And then in the bedroom.” As he tugged up her skirt, she gave a gasp of laughter that held as much excitement as panic. “Joe! What if someone stops the lift?” “I don’t care. I’ve said the ‘L’-word—I’ve nothing left to fear.” With fresh dawning wonder, she realized that it was true for them both. And then, since coherent thought became impossible, she gave herself up to the moment. It had never been so good.

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About the Author To learn more about Marie Treanor, please visit www.marietreanor.comSend an email to Marie at [email protected] join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Marie! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/sexydelights. Subscribe to Marie’s Newsletter at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/marietreanornewsletter.

Look for these titles By Marie Treanor Coming Soon Gothic Dragon Ariadne’s Thread

A glass of wine sends them back in time. But only one of them remembers who they are.

The Enchanted Inn © 2007 Pam Champagne It's bad enough that a wrong turn in a snowstorm forces Gina to take shelter at an out-of-the-way inn. Her ex-fiancé Luke is stranded there, too. The man she left when she caught him in bed with another woman. A glass of wine at dinner, and Gina wakes up in a bed with Luke by her side. It's the same inn, but it's the year 1778 and Luke insists his name is John. And he says she's an indentured servant, Rachel. Gina has to quickly learn primitive tasks like dip candles and cook without a microwave. While John is delighted that his normally reserved lover has become a wildcat in bed, her outspoken opinions could put them all in danger. For Gina, it's like a second chance with Luke. But when an innocent mistake turns their newly discovered love upside down, Gina realizes how big a mistake she made when she left Luke. Gina never gives up hope of going back to her own time, and she's determined to take John with her—whether he wants to go or not.

Enjoy the following excerpt for The Enchanted Inn: She took the plunge. “My name is Gina Locke and you’re Luke Harding. Ruth McPherson sent us here on Christmas Eve, 2006. Don’t you remember? We were sitting in the living room, drinking her homemade elderberry wine.” John studied her face for a long moment then threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Do continue. I did not know you were a weaver of tales.” Gina choked back tears of frustration and rose to her knees to grasp his shoulders. “This is not a story. It’s the truth.” She fought the urge to shake him. “Come here.” John tugged her close. “That knock on the head must have been a bad one.” Gina sighed. “You don’t believe me?”

“Shall I tell you what I believe? You hit your head and had a dream. When you woke, you clung to the dream as reality.” He kissed her forehead. “We must be patient. Your memory will return.” If only yours would. Gina huddled closer, lapping up his caresses and murmured phrases of concern. Still, his concern didn’t calm her fears of remaining in the past. If John remembered who he was—that he’d been her lover in another time—she’d be willing to accept her situation. One thing was certain. There was no way John was going to listen tonight. So she sighed and said, “Perhaps I’m dreaming right now. How old am I?” “Four and twenty as of last month. Now be silent and kiss me.” She turned her head away to escape his lips, now feathering her cheek. “What is wrong?” Gina heard genuine puzzlement in his voice. “I don’t feel like having sex with someone who doesn’t trust me…who thinks I’m…I’m daft.” God, it seemed so strange to use that word. “Try to understand,” he coaxed. “I’ve been with you at this inn for three years. One morning I wake to find a different person inside the body of the woman I love. We must become reacquainted.” Gina couldn’t argue that his reasoning wasn’t sound. For tonight, she’d put her problems in the closet. Looping her arms around his neck, she captured his lips. For an instant, he grew rigid at her aggression before his mouth opened to her questing tongue. Within seconds, their raspy breathing sounded loud in the otherwise silent room. Gina tugged and yanked on John’s clothes, never losing lip contact. He tore his mouth away. “Wait. I will do it.” Gina bit back a smile at the haste with which John stripped off his clothes. She pressed against him as he slipped in bed and gasped at the thrill of pleasure that shot through her. His body sliding against hers started a tingling in her breasts that worked its way down to her toes. She kneaded the knots in his back until he relaxed. Luke always had loved that. There wasn’t an ounce of softness on his body. Feeling his cock against her stomach, she reached between his legs and ran her hand over its smooth sheath. “Hmmm…like silk.”

Hands on her shoulders, he pushed her away. “Rachel! What are you doing?” “Don’t you like it?” she whispered, trailing kisses across his chin to his mouth. She swallowed his next words. Her tongue slipped between his teeth. John groaned and tightened his hands on her arms before sliding them around her back. His erection grew in her hands. Yet, it seemed he didn’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman and had no clue what a woman could do to please him. Gina wouldn’t have been satisfied with the sex life John and Rachel must have had. Probably a quick slam-bam process. God, she was confused. Right now, all she wanted was a release from her worries. Since she was stuck in this godforsaken century with no home and no money, she sure as hell was going to enjoy herself with a man who, if by some horrible twist of fate turned out not to be Luke, was his double. A sob tore at her throat. Please, Luke, remember me. John pushed her to mattress and thrust his knee between her legs. “I will have you now, Rachel.” She giggled. How formal and how rude. “I don’t think so. We’re not through playing.” He drew back. The last candle flickered and died. She couldn’t see, yet sensed his gaze on her face. “Play? Whatever do you mean?” Gina drew his hands to her breasts. His sudden intake of air sounded like he’d been sucker punched. She held his trembling fingers and brushed them over her hardened nipples. He didn’t need any more tutoring. “That feels so good, John. Don’t stop.” He played with her breasts, making her wetter. She ran her hands up his chest and tweaked his nipples. His cock twitched. Snaking her hands down his belly, she grasped it and gently pumped its length, eliciting a drawn-out groan. If only she could take him in her mouth. Poor John. He would more than likely run back to the stables as if the devil were after him. She wanted to laugh, remembering he’d called her a lusty wench. Obviously, he didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Then a thought struck her as fast as a bolt of lightning. Could the real Rachel be back in the present in Gina’s body getting it on with Luke? No, that couldn’t happen. This was Luke in bed with her. She had to believe that or she’d crumble. She jumped as a jolt of pleasure-filled pain shot through her. John had grown bold and captured a nipple between his lips. He sucked. For such a big man, everything he did was gentle. Tonight she didn’t want gentle. She wanted to forget and lose herself in the moment.

John wiped beaded sweat from his forehead. Who was this pliant woman stroking him as if it were an everyday occurrence? What had happened to the woman he had come to love? Rachel had never been this passionate. Would never have handled his manhood with such boldness. His concerns vanished as lust overtook him. He ran his lips across one nipple. Her moans of pleasure excited him, brought him to his limit of stimulation. Grasping her hips, he pulled her under his body and settled between her spread thighs. He took a deep breath and resisted the temptation to plunge himself to the hilt. Rachel did not care for frantic coupling. Tentative as always, he ground his teeth in frustration and slowly pushed into her moist warmth…and almost died with joy. Rachel was moister than she’d ever been. Proof that she wanted him with equal fervor. He pushed again, gaining another two inches. He hesitated and rested his forehead on hers, willing his body to remain under his control. She would be angry if he was too rough. Suddenly, the woman beneath him raised her legs and wrapped them high around his waist. The new position opened her wider and drove him over the edge. All rational thought fled. He thrust hard with no thought of her discomfort until he was fully embedded. He breathed like a hard-ridden horse. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Did I hurt you?” Expecting to hear cries of protest, her words shocked him. “Don’t stop. Please.” He was nearing the brink of explosion and strove to please the lady. He captured her cries with his mouth, his manhood swelling when clenched by her feminine muscles. He

rocked his body a few more times and emptied his seed deep in her womb. She continued to squirm underneath him. “Rachel?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “What are you do—” Her lips sought his in a wrenching kiss. Stunned, he held on tightly as she spasmed around his shrinking manhood. He could not believe that he grew hard again. Unable to control the need to couple for the second time, he pushed to his knees. Her legs slipped off his back. He grasped under her knees and pulled her tight against his groin, working her hips back and forth. With the second explosion, he collapsed. “Rachel, by all that’s sacred, you are going to kill me.” “Don’t,” she protested when he started to roll away. “Stay inside me.” Totally confused at this turn of events, John stayed put. He was shrinking and knew he’d soon slip out of her moist center. His heart thumped wildly. “Are you all right?” “Hmmm…” she murmured. “That was good.” This woman may look like his love, but she was not his Rachel. He was no doctor, but he did not think a simple bump on the head would turn a proper lady into a wanton woman. He frowned, unsure of his feelings. Rachel was the woman he wanted to marry. A wife to bear his children. God-fearing women did not behave like this. No matter how much he loved their coupling this night, did he want to marry a woman such as this?

An assassin can't afford a conscience. It's bad for business.

The Assassin Journals: Hunter © 2007 S.L. Partington Ex-soldier turned assassin Gage Brassan is having a very bad year. First, an unwelcome attack of conscience has him switching targets at the last moment, which doesn't sit too well with the criminal organization that hired him. Then an old girlfriend’s betrayal and a trip to prison stir up memories of his military past and a promise left unfulfilled. Tortured by his haunted past and hunted by the organization he betrayed, Gage seeks the truth behind the execution of the elite military patrol he once commanded. With the help of Jak, a Rigian street kid, and Joanna, the sister of an old army buddy, Gage follows the blood trail from the war-torn Androsian system to the highest echelons of the Galactic Security Force to the corrupt halls of the Rigian People’s Palace. On the run, unsure whom he can trust, he struggles with a growing attraction to Joanna while trying to protect his estranged father from the personal fallout of a life gone wrong. He knows the answers are out there. The trick will be living long enough to find them.

Enjoy the following excerpt for The Assassin Journals: Hunter: I woke to darkness and the certain knowledge that I was in very deep shit. Light crept in under the door of the windowless room, and I heard muffled voices outside. I sat up slowly, closing my eyes against the pain in my head and shoulders. Someone had sold me out. Probably the waitress in the bar. I really was going to have to stop trusting women like that. The odds were pretty good that Jak the Rigian Rat Boy rotted in the alley along with the garbage while the barmaid spent his cash.

I listened through the pain in my head, trying to figure out where they’d taken me, but the voices outside the door weren’t dropping many hints. I could only assume the Guilds had elected themselves a new Grand Poobah, and I was at the top of his shit list. Shouldn’t I be dead? The heat and stale air in my windowless cell weren’t doing much to help alleviate my headache. I heard the sound of a lock rattling and looked up as the door opened. Skinny Sorrellian stood over me with a canteen that he tossed on the floor in front of me. I thought about asking him where I was, but he didn’t look like he was in the mood for conversation. He shut and locked the door without speaking. I opened the canteen and sniffed, then took a tentative sip. Water. Another hour or so passed and I dozed, jerking awake when the lock rattled again. Skinny Sorrellian was back. “Get up,” he said. “The master will see you now.” I got to my feet, and he led me from the room. I wouldn’t want to keep the master waiting. I was led into a large, spacious room, furnished with expensive Terran antiques and hand-blown Lyrian crystal. A log fire burned in a black marble fireplace; above it hung a watercolor painted by a renowned Rigian master, five hundred years dead. A massive rosewood desk sat in the center of the room and a man stood before the French doors leading to a stone flagged terrace. Rigian, older, gray streaked his yellow hair. He didn’t turn as I was brought in, just continued staring across the darkening lawn. “You disappoint me, Hunter,” he said at last. “Is there no honor at all among murderers and thieves?” I didn’t reply and he turned to face me. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.” “Do I know you?” “My name is Artur Melardis. I am the Guild Master. I believe you were acquainted with my predecessor. You seemed to have no trouble at all taking the money he paid you to eliminate our esteemed president.” I shrugged. “My shot went astray. Sometimes it happens.”

“An interesting argument. It is not often that an assassin pleads incompetence. You took the Guild’s money and reneged on your contract. A rather substantial sum provided in good faith with the expectation of results. There are those within our organization who scream for your head, but I believe that would be…unproductive. You owe us a death.” “Who did you have in mind this time? Delaren? Again?” “Master Delaren is learning, to his frustration, that attempting to transform a system like ours is rather like trying to bail a sinking ship with a thimble—a valiant attempt, but in the end, an exercise in futility. He has made some modest gains, I will admit. Members of the civilian security patrol are less inclined to accept Guild direction, and financial benefit. The general population does not fear us as they once did. These things are inconvenient, but will be overcome with time. His constitutional amendments, however, are making potential business associates nervous. Several have already canceled rather lucrative contracts. This I cannot allow. Since you are directly responsible for inflicting him upon us, it is only right that you correct your mistake. Kill him, and your debt to the Guilds will be cleared.” There had to be more to it than that. They’d never make it that easy. “I don’t suppose refusing is an option.” “Unfortunately, no.” Melardis moved to the desk and switched on the com-link. “Bring in the boy.” He looked back to me. “Equally unfortunate is the fact that we find ourselves unable to trust your word. Once burned, you understand.” The door behind me opened, and Skinny Sorrellian came in carrying Jak the Rat. The boy’s hands were bound, and an angry, purple bruise decorated his left cheek. Skinny Sorrellian dumped him on the carpet at my feet. “A friend of yours, I believe.” I kept my face carefully neutral as I looked from the boy back to the man behind the desk. “Let him go; he’s no threat to you.” “I am afraid that is not possible. He is our guarantee of your good conduct. Once Master Delaren is dead, we will release him to you, and you both may be on your way.”

They’d release us all right. Into death. “You will spend tonight as my guest. In the morning Oren will drive you back to the city. I expect to hear of our esteemed president’s death within the month. Otherwise, I fear your young friend will meet an unfortunate end.” Skinny Sorrellian picked Jak up and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He drew his weapon and motioned for me to leave the room ahead of him, passing Jak off to a man standing guard outside the door. A nudge in the back with his blaster told me he expected me to precede him down the hallway. I glanced back in time to see the other guard carry Jak through a doorway at the end of the corridor. Fuck. I knew I shouldn’t have come back here.

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