Man of her Dreams. Debra WebbЧитать онлайн книгу.
A kind of hush fell over the room. No one even wanted to think the man’s name, much less hear it out loud.
“It’s been months since we put him out of business,” O’Riley responded. “I don’t think we have to worry about him at this point. He lacks the power to strike, even if he were so inclined. There’s no reason to believe at this juncture that he has or will make the connection. Eve was a young child when Galen left the program.”
“But there is that risk,” Remington countered.
“That’s right,” O’Riley conceded. “There are a number of risks involved. Each is being evaluated and will be handled appropriately.”
“Fine.” Remington looked around the table. “Any other questions?”
The members of the committee declined further discussion on the matter. O’Riley hadn’t expected anything different. None of these men really wanted to know how he planned to handle the situation. They merely wanted it to go away.
So did he.
After the perfunctory handshakes were exchanged, the conference room emptied post haste. Remington loitered at the door, apparently having more on his mind.
“You have another question, Kyle?” O’Riley opened the discussion. No point beating around the bush.
Remington could be president, O’Riley considered with a mental chuckle. He had those all-American boy good looks, even at forty. Blond hair, blue eyes, broad smile that gained him trust and access wherever he needed it. Not for the first time since he’d assumed the leadership of the Collective, O’Riley wondered just what he hoped to do with his future. Whatever his plans, he was keeping quiet about those aspirations at the moment. The Collective was quite happy with President Caroline Winters. Perhaps when her second term was completed, Kyle would make a bid for the White House.
“I just want your personal assurance that this matter is going to go away without trouble. We’ve scarcely recovered from the whole Winslow-Marsh-Thurlo ordeal. With Galen still at large, I just don’t want any more ripples in the stream.”
Dr. Waylon Galen was the original creative mind behind the Enforcers. A difference of opinion nearly twenty years ago had formed a division amid the two lead scientific minds developing the project. When the Collective chose Dr. Daniel Archer’s assessment over Dr. Galen’s, he walked away. He was thought to have died shortly after that. They had since learned that he was not only alive and well, but he’d been plotting for years to overtake what he considered his project once more.
His attempts failed but cost the lives of several people involved with Center, including Dr. Daniel Archer. Though Galen’s operation had been disabled, he still represented a threat. One way or another, O’Riley intended to find him. He had no intention of admitting it to Remington but the situation with Darby Shepard had, to his way of thinking, presented an opportunity.
She might be the one final shot he had of luring Galen into a trap.
“You have nothing to worry about, Governor,” O’Riley assured Remington. “The situation will be resolved without further incident.”
Remington pursed his lips and nodded. “I just need to be sure you’ve learned something about loose ends in the past sixteen years.”
O’Riley’s gaze locked with the governor’s. “I understand what I have to do, sir. I never make the same mistake twice.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
O’Riley watched Remington hurry to catch up with his buddies. He shook his head, a smile tempting his lips. Would wonders never cease? Their new, fearless leader wasn’t just putting on the dog for his faithful followers after all. He actually did have the guts to follow through with a suggestion.
Be that as it may, this was still O’Riley’s show and he had every intention of doing it his way. Darby Shepard wouldn’t be sacrificed until he was certain the elimination was absolutely necessary.
He might be considered a hardcore bastard by most, but he still had a heart.
AIDAN WALKED the dark street, using the night as camouflage for getting the lay of the land. This was his first trip to New Orleans. Though he had studied the necessary maps and cultural background of the city, nothing took the place of firsthand knowledge.
His target had recently changed her place of residence. Apparently her new notoriety came with a price—her privacy. She’d taken a temporary furnished apartment in the Garden District. The school board had insisted she take a leave of absence from her teaching duties until the hoopla surrounding her recent celebrity status died down somewhat. According to Center’s intelligence, however, the board intended to let her go permanently. The school was a private institution; the wealthy parents whose children attended didn’t want a teacher who possessed such special talents, though it was her special talent that had saved the life of one of those very children.
Darby Shepard—Eve—would have little say in the matter of her future. If his assessment cleared her of being a threat to Center, it would take leaving New Orleans and changing her name for her to get back any semblance of a normal life, he concluded.
He thought about the woman he’d studied on paper before coming here. Her physical features were appealing. Long silky brown hair, pale brown eyes…the color of wet sand. Tall, slender. Yet she looked strong, athletic. Smart, judging by her university scores. But then, why wouldn’t she be? Like Aidan, she’d been genetically designed in a lab. Every possible advantage had been assured before the first cell division.
Eve represented the only female Enforcer. Some considered that to be the reason for failure. Perhaps the female of the species just wasn’t strong enough for the extent of the gene manipulation to take fully. A remote predisposition for frailty, some theorized. But Aidan didn’t think so. He’d watched Eve’s history at Center. She’d faked her failure. He was certain of it.
Something about the little girl she had been drew him on an unfamiliar level. He had no real memory of her. It had likely been removed years ago after she was eliminated from the program. But as he’d watched her development from toddler to preadolescent as electronically chronicled by Center, he’d felt a kind of bond with her. They had been educated together, side by side. The only two who possessed the full status of seer. To a degree, they had been separated from the others to protect their elevated ability to read human responses. They had, in effect, been trained and educated in a kind of solitary confinement most of the time. As children, they’d only had each other. Of course, Aidan had been mainstreamed with the others after the age of twelve, when it was deemed he could more readily handle all that he would sense in a multipopulated environment.
Now he and Eve were to be thrown together once more. Only this time, he would be the one judging her true ability. And she would not fool him. He wondered if she ever really had. Perhaps he had known and had simply chosen to keep the information to himself…to protect her.
In any event, things had changed. His assessment would not be influenced by childish delusions.
To a certain degree, she was now the enemy.
He would be her judge and her executioner, if necessary.
When he would have turned the corner from Broadway onto St. Charles, two men stepped out of an alley and blocked his path. The dim glow from the streetlight scarcely offered any real illumination, but his night vision rivaled any technology the military possessed. Light was not required.
“Gimme your wallet, man,” the taller of the two growled. He waved the knife in his hand for emphasis.
According to Aidan’s research, this area of the city had a much lower crime rate than certain others. That these men would attempt to mug him surprised him to some degree.
“Is this your usual territory?” he asked the man who’d spoken. Not that it mattered, really; he was merely curious.
“What the hell you talking about? Territory? Just gimme your