one-armed hold on the dangling rope was the only thing keeping them from crashing and splatting much like overripe fruit.
As they swung through the air, a pendulum without a clock, she tried to take in what happened around them. Over Adam’s shoulder, bedlam reigned. It didn’t take a genius to guess that the smoke billowing from a floor a few levels up and now a block away, given their movement, was her condo. It also didn’t take someone with a Mensa level IQ to realize that the figures dangling from rappelling ropes on her building had spotted them and now aimed weapons their way.
Not sure how announcing it would help them in any way, but feeling a need to let him know, she yelled, “Guns!”
“Fuck,” was his reply, which really didn’t reassure. “Crank us faster,” he hollered to someone above them. Had she neglected to mention the rope they dangled from was anchored to a helicopter, whose timing was impeccable?
Forget kissing the ground. She should kiss the chopper pilot first. The military had come to their rescue. So quickly? But how had they known? Who cared? Their arrival had saved them from painting the sidewalk red.
A jerk on the rope sent them spinning. She bit her tongue lest she scream again. They ascended more quickly and just in time, too, as cracks sounded behind them.
They’re shooting! At least she assumed that was what the sound meant, a hypothesis confirmed when a missile whistled way too close to her ear.
“Tuck your head into my shoulder,” Adam shouted, his words barely distinct over the roaring stutter of the chopper blades.
Face buried against his neck, she couldn’t help but note how Adam kept his body turned so that any more bullets would hit him first. Once again, he played the part of human shield.
Or did he?
With terror threatening to freeze her mind, she let it wander in a direction other than the danger they faced—why dwell on the possibility they could plummet to their deaths at any moment and force the medical examiner to turn to DNA for identification? Why worry about the possibility some determined shooters would turn them into the human equivalent of Swiss cheese when she had a more interesting thing to focus on?
Adam.
Sexy Adam, who kissed her and made a mockery of her dull existence with just one touch.
Gentlemanly Adam, who protected her, even though it caused him great injury.
Strong Adam, who carted her out of the danger zone and never even broke a sweat.
Crazy Adam, who jumped off a bloody balcony and, in a stroke of timing, caught a rescue rope.
Not human Adam, WHO WAS A FREAKING CYBORG!
Okay, so she shouted the last bit mentally. It didn’t make the revelation any less stunning.
All this time, she’d looked for evidence of cyborgs at CyberGlys, only to have one under her very nose. In her condo. Working for the military.
The traitor.
How could he knowingly work for the men who’d ordered the slaughter of hundreds of his kind? Or did he not have a choice? Was he a reprogrammed model who couldn’t think for himself? Had he gained freedom only to lose his humanity again as the military plugged holes in their cybernetic units? Did he willingly choose to align himself against the others in order to survive? Or was he a new model, an improved one that no one suspected existed?
She’d have to figure it out later. They’d reached the end of their journey. Reeled to the edge of a helicopter, Laura only had a second to note a set of hands reached out to haul her in. A really strong woman’s hands, while a male set yanked Adam into relative safety.
Laura, the shock of the past moments making her legs unresponsive, sat in an unladylike heap on the floor of the chopper and stared at her rescuers. A statuesque blonde, who could have modeled for any fashion magazine, as could have the stunning male at her side. If she hadn’t already met Adam—and kissed him—she might have found herself more in awe of his looks. Blond, built, with a chiseled face
As they swung through the air, a pendulum without a clock, she tried to take in what happened around them. Over Adam’s shoulder, bedlam reigned. It didn’t take a genius to guess that the smoke billowing from a floor a few levels up and now a block away, given their movement, was her condo. It also didn’t take someone with a Mensa level IQ to realize that the figures dangling from rappelling ropes on her building had spotted them and now aimed weapons their way.
Not sure how announcing it would help them in any way, but feeling a need to let him know, she yelled, “Guns!”
“Fuck,” was his reply, which really didn’t reassure. “Crank us faster,” he hollered to someone above them. Had she neglected to mention the rope they dangled from was anchored to a helicopter, whose timing was impeccable?
Forget kissing the ground. She should kiss the chopper pilot first. The military had come to their rescue. So quickly? But how had they known? Who cared? Their arrival had saved them from painting the sidewalk red.
A jerk on the rope sent them spinning. She bit her tongue lest she scream again. They ascended more quickly and just in time, too, as cracks sounded behind them.
They’re shooting! At least she assumed that was what the sound meant, a hypothesis confirmed when a missile whistled way too close to her ear.
“Tuck your head into my shoulder,” Adam shouted, his words barely distinct over the roaring stutter of the chopper blades.
Face buried against his neck, she couldn’t help but note how Adam kept his body turned so that any more bullets would hit him first. Once again, he played the part of human shield.
Or did he?
With terror threatening to freeze her mind, she let it wander in a direction other than the danger they faced—why dwell on the possibility they could plummet to their deaths at any moment and force the medical examiner to turn to DNA for identification? Why worry about the possibility some determined shooters would turn them into the human equivalent of Swiss cheese when she had a more interesting thing to focus on?
Adam.
Sexy Adam, who kissed her and made a mockery of her dull existence with just one touch.
Gentlemanly Adam, who protected her, even though it caused him great injury.
Strong Adam, who carted her out of the danger zone and never even broke a sweat.
Crazy Adam, who jumped off a bloody balcony and, in a stroke of timing, caught a rescue rope.
Not human Adam, WHO WAS A FREAKING CYBORG!
Okay, so she shouted the last bit mentally. It didn’t make the revelation any less stunning.
All this time, she’d looked for evidence of cyborgs at CyberGlys, only to have one under her very nose. In her condo. Working for the military.
The traitor.
How could he knowingly work for the men who’d ordered the slaughter of hundreds of his kind? Or did he not have a choice? Was he a reprogrammed model who couldn’t think for himself? Had he gained freedom only to lose his humanity again as the military plugged holes in their cybernetic units? Did he willingly choose to align himself against the others in order to survive? Or was he a new model, an improved one that no one suspected existed?
She’d have to figure it out later. They’d reached the end of their journey. Reeled to the edge of a helicopter, Laura only had a second to note a set of hands reached out to haul her in. A really strong woman’s hands, while a male set yanked Adam into relative safety.
Laura, the shock of the past moments making her legs unresponsive, sat in an unladylike heap on the floor of the chopper and stared at her rescuers. A statuesque blonde, who could have modeled for any fashion magazine, as could have the stunning male at her side. If she hadn’t already met Adam—and kissed him—she might have found herself more in awe of his looks. Blond, built, with a chiseled face
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