lover?”
She thought of the countless nights she’d
spent with her imaginary Mr. Sinclair and felt her cheeks heat.
Better late than never. “Yes. Now, call off your men.”
“Release him,” Bettencourt grumbled. “Secure
a perimeter outside.”
Marc scrambled to his feet, rolling his
shoulders and rubbing his wrists. “Give me back my pistol.”
“It will be returned to you in Baltimore if
you behave yourself.”
His condescending tone made Tuesday cringe.
Marc wasn’t foolish enough to attack an armed man, was he? The fury
burning in his gaze wasn’t reassuring.
“I thought Special Forces had us surrounded.
Why send your men outside?”
Ignoring the question, the general assessed
Marc’s features. “You’ve had your face altered.”
“It was part of the surprise. Tuesday didn’t
know I was having it done.”
“You were at our meeting, dressed as a
courtesy attendant. Do you often play these little games?”
“Why are you here?” Tuesday demanded.
“To rescue you.” He curved his thin lips in
a frigid excuse for a smile. “But now that I know you don’t need
rescuing—”
“You’ll get the hell off my property,” Marc
suggested.
“Shall we sit?” The general motioned toward
the table near the windows.
“You won’t be here that long.”
Hands clasped behind his back, Bettencourt
scowled at Marc and rocked subtly on the balls of his feet. “Fine.
I’ll come right to the point. You aren’t the only one capable of
recording conversations.”
“Meaning?” Tuesday prompted.
“Meaning, your recording of my conversation
with Ms. Lucero is nullified by my recording of your conversation
with Ms. Lucero.”
She hid her shock behind a forced laugh.
“Vonne needs an exterminator. Her office is just crawling with
bugs.”
“I’m glad you find it amusing. Although our
recordings negate one another, I happen to know the identity of
little Subject A, which gives me a slight—”
Marc flew at the general, tangled his fists
in the older man’s jacket and slammed him against the wall.
Bettencourt’s hat toppled to the floor and his gun remained in its
holster. Red dots suddenly identified Marc’s vital organs.
“Marc, I like your shirt.” No wonder
Bettencourt had wanted them near the windows.
With a parting shove, Marc stepped back. The
red dots blinked out.
Tuesday released a shaky breath. Were
threats the only strategy Bettencourt knew? If the general actually
went public with Elise’s identity, he’d no longer have any power
over them. Apparently, he wasn’t thinking that far ahead. “General
Bettencourt, CPT has been licensed to install the SP-65 in ten test
subjects. Subject A has nothing to do with you.”
The general remained near the wall, his
resentful gaze seldom straying from Marc. “Despite what you may
think, Ms. Fitzpatrick, I’m not a stupid man. I know you and Mr.
Sinclair had never been in the same room together before
yesterday.”
“Better check the accuracy of your sources.
We’ve known each other for years.” She crossed her arms, rubbing
her hands briskly against her bare skin.
“I’ve a sad story too, and a girl who needs
your help. Sound familiar?” He paused to pick up his hat. “I want
the same thing he wants, Ms. Fitzpatrick. I’m just not willing to
sleep with you to get it.”
Tuesday’s hand flew fast and hard, jerking
the general’s head to the side. She didn’t need to look down to
know she sported the red dots. “If President Rawsen needs my help,
he can ask for it. I find you completely objectionable!”
She turned and took one purposeful step
before the general grabbed her by the throat and jerked her back
against his chest. She heard Marc’s angry curse, but Bettencourt
held her immobilized against him. “Go ahead, Sinclair, try it. I’ll
crush her throat before you ever touch me, and if I don’t, the
snipers will take you out before I hit the floor.”
“You’re a fabulous negotiator,” Marc
snarled. “Must
She thought of the countless nights she’d
spent with her imaginary Mr. Sinclair and felt her cheeks heat.
Better late than never. “Yes. Now, call off your men.”
“Release him,” Bettencourt grumbled. “Secure
a perimeter outside.”
Marc scrambled to his feet, rolling his
shoulders and rubbing his wrists. “Give me back my pistol.”
“It will be returned to you in Baltimore if
you behave yourself.”
His condescending tone made Tuesday cringe.
Marc wasn’t foolish enough to attack an armed man, was he? The fury
burning in his gaze wasn’t reassuring.
“I thought Special Forces had us surrounded.
Why send your men outside?”
Ignoring the question, the general assessed
Marc’s features. “You’ve had your face altered.”
“It was part of the surprise. Tuesday didn’t
know I was having it done.”
“You were at our meeting, dressed as a
courtesy attendant. Do you often play these little games?”
“Why are you here?” Tuesday demanded.
“To rescue you.” He curved his thin lips in
a frigid excuse for a smile. “But now that I know you don’t need
rescuing—”
“You’ll get the hell off my property,” Marc
suggested.
“Shall we sit?” The general motioned toward
the table near the windows.
“You won’t be here that long.”
Hands clasped behind his back, Bettencourt
scowled at Marc and rocked subtly on the balls of his feet. “Fine.
I’ll come right to the point. You aren’t the only one capable of
recording conversations.”
“Meaning?” Tuesday prompted.
“Meaning, your recording of my conversation
with Ms. Lucero is nullified by my recording of your conversation
with Ms. Lucero.”
She hid her shock behind a forced laugh.
“Vonne needs an exterminator. Her office is just crawling with
bugs.”
“I’m glad you find it amusing. Although our
recordings negate one another, I happen to know the identity of
little Subject A, which gives me a slight—”
Marc flew at the general, tangled his fists
in the older man’s jacket and slammed him against the wall.
Bettencourt’s hat toppled to the floor and his gun remained in its
holster. Red dots suddenly identified Marc’s vital organs.
“Marc, I like your shirt.” No wonder
Bettencourt had wanted them near the windows.
With a parting shove, Marc stepped back. The
red dots blinked out.
Tuesday released a shaky breath. Were
threats the only strategy Bettencourt knew? If the general actually
went public with Elise’s identity, he’d no longer have any power
over them. Apparently, he wasn’t thinking that far ahead. “General
Bettencourt, CPT has been licensed to install the SP-65 in ten test
subjects. Subject A has nothing to do with you.”
The general remained near the wall, his
resentful gaze seldom straying from Marc. “Despite what you may
think, Ms. Fitzpatrick, I’m not a stupid man. I know you and Mr.
Sinclair had never been in the same room together before
yesterday.”
“Better check the accuracy of your sources.
We’ve known each other for years.” She crossed her arms, rubbing
her hands briskly against her bare skin.
“I’ve a sad story too, and a girl who needs
your help. Sound familiar?” He paused to pick up his hat. “I want
the same thing he wants, Ms. Fitzpatrick. I’m just not willing to
sleep with you to get it.”
Tuesday’s hand flew fast and hard, jerking
the general’s head to the side. She didn’t need to look down to
know she sported the red dots. “If President Rawsen needs my help,
he can ask for it. I find you completely objectionable!”
She turned and took one purposeful step
before the general grabbed her by the throat and jerked her back
against his chest. She heard Marc’s angry curse, but Bettencourt
held her immobilized against him. “Go ahead, Sinclair, try it. I’ll
crush her throat before you ever touch me, and if I don’t, the
snipers will take you out before I hit the floor.”
“You’re a fabulous negotiator,” Marc
snarled. “Must
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