Firestorm by Iris Johansen Page B

them with his power and coordination. He almost knocked me down when I was filling his water bowl.”
    “He's a little clumsy.”
    “And he dripped water all over the kitchen.”
    “And a little messy.” She stuck out her chin. “If you don't like it, bring him up to me.”
    “I don't mind him. And the cook is already enamored with the beast.” He smiled. “He's just a surprise. Brad told me that he's an arson dog.”
    “You don't call Silver by his surname. Doesn't that strike you as improper too?”
    “Certainly. But he won the match, so I gave in gracefully.”
    “Match?”
    “Karate. He became annoyed with my politeness and told me to stop. When I expressed my displeasure, he told me that if I could put him down two out of three times, he'd drop the matter.” He shook his head. “I only managed to put him down once. But I'm already preparing for the next encounter.”
    “He said you were a black belt.”
    He flinched. “Must you remind me of my humiliation? Yes, I should have been able to put him down. He took me by surprise. Mr. Cam told me Brad worked at a university think tank. Something to do with hydrostatics. Whatever that is.” He grimaced. “He didn't learn those moves in college. He's a street fighter and a good one, and he's not above fighting dirty if it means that he'll come out on top.”
    “He told me he'd batted around the world and was something of a black sheep.”
    “He's certainly not like Mr. Cam.” He held out the chair for her. “Mr. Cam would never have objected to me doing the right thing. He always allowed people to set their own code and live by it.”
    “Even his brother?”
    He shook his head. “There was too much love there. It's hard to see someone wandering down a path that you think may lead to disaster.”
    “A think tank is disaster?”
    “I don't know. All I can say is that Mr. Cam was always worried about Brad.”
    She smiled. “You say that name as if it's bitter on your tongue.”
    “Oh, it is.” He moved toward the door. “But soon I'll be ready to make sure I no longer have to say it. Until then, there's always ‘sir.' I never agreed to stop substituting ‘sir.'” He opened the door. “I'll be back in forty-five minutes for the tray. I do hope you'll eat. It must take a lot of energy to handle that Lab.”
    “He keeps me on my toes. You can bring him with you when you come.”
    “I was planning on it. The cook may be fond of your Sam, but I'll bet she's not going to appreciate what he's going to do to her kitchen.”
    Kerry found herself smiling as the door closed behind him. George was a very strange individual, but she liked him. There were enough conventional people in the world, dammit. It was refreshing to run into someone who walked his own path and set his own rules.
    Like Brad Silver.
    The thought jumped into her mind but she immediately rejected it. Silver might walk his own path and certainly set his own rules, but there was nothing refreshing or likable about the path he'd chosen.
    Or that had chosen him. He'd really had no more choice than Kerry, and his experience had been even more traumatic. He'd had to live with episodes every day, not just spasmodically. Could she really blame him for trying to find a way to survive?
    Jesus, she was softening toward him.
    The realization sent a ripple of shock through her. That mustn't happen. She could find a way to coexist, but she mustn't let herself feel sympathy. He was too powerful, and it wasn't a power she could trust.
    But George was no threat. His strangeness was odd and amusing, not dangerous. She sat down at the desk and lifted the silver-domed lid. The steak did look good. And she was sure she'd hear from George if she didn't eat some of it.
    Besides, maybe the food would make her lethargic. She wanted to give herself every chance to sleep deeply tonight.
    Deeply and, pray God, with no