on her emotions. “You clearly have a conflict of interest. It’s not professional. And I refuse to have anyone on the team who might interfere with or compromise my work.”
“Your
work
? What about the fact that the man is a raving loon, and he wants you to give him carte blanche to wander the halls of Olympus, not to mention the rest of the world?”
She took a step toward him, obviously seething. She was a head shorter, and now she tilted her head back as she faced him. “My
job
does not mandate me to rubberstamp candidates, as you seem to believe. I’ll analyze his sincerity on a number of different levels. I am an empath, after all. I’m uniquely skilled in determining your father’s motives.”
Mordi blanched.
An empath
? What exactly did that mean? And—more importantly—did it mean that she’d picked up on how attracted he was to her earlier in the day? The possibility mortified him. His father had spent a lifetime messing with his head; Mordi really didn’t need this woman poking around inside it, too.
“If—and only if—I find that Hieronymous Black is both sincere and psychologically cut out to be a law-abiding productive member of the Council, will I enter a recommendation that he be reinstated.”
She started in on the specifics of the tests and Mordi tuned her out, schooling his features into an expression of interest while he examined her face, alight now with fury. He realized
that
he’d been
wrong about her
looks. He’d thought she had a patrician nose. Instead, it was slightly rounded at the end and just a little too small for her face.
It was a damn cute nose, though, he thought, then immediately quelled the thought. He wasn’t here to think about Isole Frost’s nose, or any other part of her anatomy. He was here to—
What the hell
was
he here to do?
He must have frowned, because Isole cut off her diatribe, propped a hand on her hip, and said, “What?”
He shrugged, lifting his hands in silent surrender. “Nothing. Just listening to you.”
He didn’t think she believed him—considering her powers, she probably
knew
he was lying—but he gave her points for not calling him on it.
“At any rate,” she said, “all I’m saying is that this isn’t the case for you. Conflict of interest and all that.”
“Sorry. Not buying it. Zephron knew damn well who you were working with, and he assigned me to you.” Even as he spoke the words he knew he had to be right.
This
was what he was here to do.
He stood a little taller, bolstered now with purpose. “I’d say it’s pretty clear Zephron wants me on
this
case. Probably figured the Council needed someone to play devil’s advocate to your Pollyanna certainty that Hieronymous is nothing more than a high-strung guy who took a wrong turn in life.”
Her jaw worked, as if she was grinding her teeth, and a little muscle near her eye twitched. Clearly, Isole Frost was doing her damnedest not to explode right then and there. “I do not need a babysitter,” she said, her voice too calm for comfort. “And I am not a Pollyanna. I’ll have you know that I’ve entered a recommendation against re-assimilation at least as many times as I’ve—oh, blast it all!”
He started. “What?”
“Why in Hera’s name am I explaining myself to you? You spend your days hunting down traitors.”
Mordi blinked. “I didn’t realize you knew what I did.”
“You’re serious?” She seemed genuinely perplexed. “How could anyone not know? Every time you nail a new Outcast, they splash your picture up on the Council website—not to mention running some article with a major photo op on the front page of the
Daily Protector
. And on top of that, you happen to be the formerly loyal son of one very notorious Outcast.”
“So you admit he’s notorious.”
“I admit he was. Yes.” She stared pointedly at him. “So were you.”
Well, hell
. He couldn’t argue with that. Or rather, he could. He could say he’d reformed. And she’d
“Your
work
? What about the fact that the man is a raving loon, and he wants you to give him carte blanche to wander the halls of Olympus, not to mention the rest of the world?”
She took a step toward him, obviously seething. She was a head shorter, and now she tilted her head back as she faced him. “My
job
does not mandate me to rubberstamp candidates, as you seem to believe. I’ll analyze his sincerity on a number of different levels. I am an empath, after all. I’m uniquely skilled in determining your father’s motives.”
Mordi blanched.
An empath
? What exactly did that mean? And—more importantly—did it mean that she’d picked up on how attracted he was to her earlier in the day? The possibility mortified him. His father had spent a lifetime messing with his head; Mordi really didn’t need this woman poking around inside it, too.
“If—and only if—I find that Hieronymous Black is both sincere and psychologically cut out to be a law-abiding productive member of the Council, will I enter a recommendation that he be reinstated.”
She started in on the specifics of the tests and Mordi tuned her out, schooling his features into an expression of interest while he examined her face, alight now with fury. He realized
that
he’d been
wrong about her
looks. He’d thought she had a patrician nose. Instead, it was slightly rounded at the end and just a little too small for her face.
It was a damn cute nose, though, he thought, then immediately quelled the thought. He wasn’t here to think about Isole Frost’s nose, or any other part of her anatomy. He was here to—
What the hell
was
he here to do?
He must have frowned, because Isole cut off her diatribe, propped a hand on her hip, and said, “What?”
He shrugged, lifting his hands in silent surrender. “Nothing. Just listening to you.”
He didn’t think she believed him—considering her powers, she probably
knew
he was lying—but he gave her points for not calling him on it.
“At any rate,” she said, “all I’m saying is that this isn’t the case for you. Conflict of interest and all that.”
“Sorry. Not buying it. Zephron knew damn well who you were working with, and he assigned me to you.” Even as he spoke the words he knew he had to be right.
This
was what he was here to do.
He stood a little taller, bolstered now with purpose. “I’d say it’s pretty clear Zephron wants me on
this
case. Probably figured the Council needed someone to play devil’s advocate to your Pollyanna certainty that Hieronymous is nothing more than a high-strung guy who took a wrong turn in life.”
Her jaw worked, as if she was grinding her teeth, and a little muscle near her eye twitched. Clearly, Isole Frost was doing her damnedest not to explode right then and there. “I do not need a babysitter,” she said, her voice too calm for comfort. “And I am not a Pollyanna. I’ll have you know that I’ve entered a recommendation against re-assimilation at least as many times as I’ve—oh, blast it all!”
He started. “What?”
“Why in Hera’s name am I explaining myself to you? You spend your days hunting down traitors.”
Mordi blinked. “I didn’t realize you knew what I did.”
“You’re serious?” She seemed genuinely perplexed. “How could anyone not know? Every time you nail a new Outcast, they splash your picture up on the Council website—not to mention running some article with a major photo op on the front page of the
Daily Protector
. And on top of that, you happen to be the formerly loyal son of one very notorious Outcast.”
“So you admit he’s notorious.”
“I admit he was. Yes.” She stared pointedly at him. “So were you.”
Well, hell
. He couldn’t argue with that. Or rather, he could. He could say he’d reformed. And she’d
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