Defenseless (Somerton Security #1) Page 3

  Shame. Wasn’t like he offered to share with just anyone.

  “Look, Ethan sent me to do a job. So until that’s done, you’re going to have to suck it up and work with me.”

  Oh, he was, was he? “I’m sure I seem harmless enough to you.” He took a long sip of his coffee and shot her a look over his glasses. “The intellectually evolved usually do . . . to you Neanderthal types.”

  “Ne-Neanderthal?”

  It was fun winding her up. Almost a shame she couldn’t stay.

  “But let’s get one thing straight. You’re in my home. You don’t get to dictate my schedule, eating habits, or what color underwear I’m wearing.” Her mouth dropped open as if she were just dying to set him straight. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re thinking to yourself, ‘God, what an ass.’ But before you let the next thought that flits through your brain fly out your mouth, you might want to ask yourself if you really want to irritate an ass with an IQ of 162 who could level your credit report, repossess your car, declare you dead, and hack your phone so it plays the theme from Super Mario Bros. every hour on the hour for the next decade.

  “You do not attempt to tell me what to do, Coffee-less Woman.” He scratched his balls and savored the shocked look on her face almost as much as his next hit of caffeine. “I don’t take orders from anyone.”

  Her eyes narrowed, all the things she wanted to say scrolling across her face like a teleprompter. Finally, she settled on, “Relax, Princess Peach. No one’s raiding your castle.”

  Parker couldn’t help it—he snorted coffee out his nose. Laughing through the burn, he wiped at the edge of his mouth with his shirt. So she had a sense of humor and a knowledge of vintage video games. He’d have to watch himself, or he might find himself liking this one.

  “Ethan sent me to fill in on your rotation until the weather clears.”

  She didn’t look impressed, but her mouth had softened from stern disapproval into something full and pouty and more than a little bit tempting.

  “Are you paying attention, Mr. Livingston?”

  “Parker,” he corrected. “And my ADD diagnosis would say no, I’m not.” For once, it was a lie. Normally his thoughts raced a thousand miles an hour in a hundred different directions until something caught his eye—usually a problem or a puzzle to manipulate and solve. No question, the woman standing in front of him, an odd mix of aggression and unguarded softness, was a mystery. Maybe it was the way her freckles peeked out from beneath a thin layer of makeup or the way her cheeks flushed rosy, he wasn’t sure. What he was certain of was that despite how Georgia Bennett carried herself—alert, competent, in charge—there was a great deal more swimming just beneath the surface.

  “As I was saying, Ethan sent me to fill in temporarily. Seventy-two hours max and I’m out of your hair.”

  Parker snorted. “And you believed him?” He flopped onto his sofa and grabbed his iPad off the coffee table. He flicked on the television and began channel surfing.

  She sighed and sat. “Something like that.”

  “Errrrrr! Wrong, but thanks for playing. Please try again.” He grinned as an irritated scowl settled over her face.

  “What?”

  Parker rolled his eyes. “Ethan only assigns me assets who’ve pissed him off, so regardless of what line of bullshit he fed you, you landed here ’cause you done fucked up.” Parker turned his head and smiled. “What did you do? Get frisky in a broom closet?”

  “I’m typically assigned to women.”

  “Oh, so pillow fights and sleepovers—do tell!”

  “You’re twelve.”

  “Only at heart.” The warmth of her body rolled over him in waves—everything about her was heat and fire. Part of him, no doubt the stupid part that liked puzzles and explosions in equal measure, wanted to know what it would take to set her off. He might not survive it, but damn, he’d die with caffeine in his veins, a smile on his face.

  “What’s your point, Mr. Livingston?” she snapped.

  “Parker.” He peered at her out of the corner of his eye, barely restraining a smile. “My point is, I know Ethan, and if he assigned you to me, you screwed up. So spill. What was it?”

  “Airborne paint and pretentious politicians,” she grunted.

  Parker choked down a mouthful of coffee and laughed between wheezes. “Congressman Dickinson’s wife? That clip’s gone viral on YouTube.”

  She groaned and sank back into the cushions of the sofa.

  “No wonder Ethan saddled you with me.”

  Georgia tilted her head, staring at him with interest. He could practically hear the cogs turning.

  “Question is, why did he saddle me with you?” Georgia asked.

  “Is this Groundhog Day? I just explained—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Done fucked up, I got it. What I meant was, why you? I mean, sure, you’ve got a rep for being difficult—there’s usually a rock-paper-scissors war in the office when your name comes up—but so do a lot of other clients.”

  He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he turned back to the television, flipping through channels for something to kill time.

  The grin that eventually split her face was wicked. “I’m not the only one he’s punishing, am I?” She laughed.

  “No idea what you’re talking about,” Parker replied, his eyes glued to his tablet.

  “Like hell.” Georgia snorted. “What did you do? Build a death ray? Blackmail Ethan into paying ninety-nine cents for five more chances to clear a level?”

  “Level 127 stump you, too?” Parker smiled as a flush crawled up her neck. “Don’t worry about it. Lots of people get stuck there. Of course, most of them are under the age of ten . . .” Parker lifted an arm to scratch at the back of his neck. The fact Georgia eyed the upward trek of the hem of his T-shirt both surprised and pleased him. “There’s a great tutorial by a nine-year-old from South Korea on YouTube.”

  “I carry a gun.”

  “And apparently you want to keep your job, otherwise you wouldn’t be pouting on my sofa.” Parker watched, fascinated by her expression as she wrestled with the smart retort he knew she wanted to launch. “And anyway, in answer to your question, it irritates Ethan when I hack government databases.” Ethan just didn’t get that Parker needed that information in order to do his job. Those classified field reports, the details behind negative outcomes, were gold in terms of evolving his program.

  Georgia lost whatever internal struggle she was waging and dropped her head into her hands. Her sigh was long and had several four-letter words in it.

  “Oh relax, it was only barely classified information—most of which I already knew—but every time I do it, Ethan punishes me with a security detail he knows I don’t want and definitely don’t need—regardless of whatever reasons he gave you.” Though maybe Ethan was finally, finally looking into Parker’s concerns. There were too many inconsistencies, too many ops Parker either hadn’t been involved in or had flat-out advised against. If accessing those files without permission had finally motivated Ethan, well, Parker wasn’t going to complain.

  “I have no idea why you’re considered a high-value government asset.” Georgia turned to the TV, crossing her arms over her chest. “Or why they don’t just toss you in a cell somewhere for safekeeping.”

  “Because I bring up the group average—without me, no one’s solving the Jeopardy! questions.” He turned off the TV—there was nothing worth watching during the day—and started scrolling through his e-mails for updates from his software development team. “And they don’t toss me in jail because I bring the good doughnuts to the staff meetings. You know Fat Al’s, few blocks from here? You could make yourself useful and fetch. No jelly filled, ’kay?”

  “Look,” Georgia said on a huff that ruffled her bangs, “I get it. You don’t want me here, and I’d rather babysit a rabid pack of poodles, but that’s life. I need my job, so for the next three days you need to not die.” She sighed, then muttered, “Though I’m beginning to think you’re y
our own worst enemy.”

  Ouch. Was he really that bad? So he’d worked for seventy-two hours straight finessing his latest project. Could he be faulted for falling comatose into bed after? It was how he worked, and despite Georgia’s criticism—which sounded disturbingly like Ethan’s—he got the job done. So what if he did it on a nontraditional timetable? Parker took a careful sniff of his armpit. Fabric softener, as far as he could smell. So what was she even complaining about?

  “I don’t like people in my space.” Parker returned to rapidly flicking the buttons on his tablet to keep the urge to explore Georgia at bay. He was naturally tactile, and everything about her was interesting. Would the curl tucked behind her ear spring back if he ran it through his fingers? If he pressed his thumb to the bottom of her lip, would her mouth drop and a sigh escape? There was so much to explore, so much to touch—the temptation was almost too strong to resist. “And I definitely don’t like hulking specters who linger in corners and grunt one-word answers as if they’re not allowed to feed the animals. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “Yes, yes. More brains than balls. Ethan told me.” The corner of her lip turned up, amusement and professional distance waging an interesting war on her face. “But it’s not your call. It’s Ethan’s.”

  Yeah, it was. He’d tried objecting, but that hadn’t gone over well in the past. And the few times Parker had actually managed to run off a detail? Well, Ethan had an uncanny knack for sending someone even worse. Someone who pushed him to keep “normal” hours. To sleep at night and work a standard nine-to-five. It was always awful. His anxiety would return, slamming against him as vicious and unexpected as a tsunami. The revolving door of caffeine and Xanax it usually took to maintain any sort of balance drove him to the brink of exhaustion. Parker took a sidelong glance at Georgia. He couldn’t quite peg her. She certainly had a personality—one she was quashing for some certainly misguided reason, but it was there. And it was interesting.

  “Look, you want to stay?” he asked, pulling up his pet project on his iPad. “I’ll make you a deal.” He stood from the sofa and gestured for her to follow him. “I’ve been working on a virtual reality simulator for use in training law enforcement and military teams. It’s been in production for ages, and the hardware is amazing.” God, was that the truth. He’d been dying to take the tech he’d bankrolled for a spin. And as of this morning, his software development team had cleared the first simulation for testing. He placed his palm against the security access panel to what used to be the loft next to his. The door swung open, and Parker gestured inside with his half-full cup of coffee. “Go ahead, take a look.”

  Georgia took a few brazen steps into the room. The unknown didn’t seem to faze her. Parker watched as she glanced around the empty space. There wasn’t much to see. The same synthetic material covered the floor, ceiling, and walls. Even the windows had shades to match. It was a sea of stark, industrial gray. DMV boring, even. Except Parker knew that unlike the DMV, this place was live-action Call of Duty. Man, the cyber warfare unit—colleagues and teammates when they weren’t abandoning him to Ethan’s whims and random protection details—was going to be pissed. They’d been angling for time in this room for months now. And instead, some busty brunette with an attitude that damn well shouldn’t be sexy was going to get to take the maiden run.

  “What is this place?” Georgia asked as she ran a fingertip over the wall, tracing the grooves that connected each embedded laser to the next. The entire room was full of them, each exactly eighteen inches apart.

  “My lab.” Parker leaned against the open door sipping his coffee while Georgia moved to the only furniture in the room. A small tactical locker stood next to the door, and safety glasses and vests hung from several pegs. “Wanna give it a run?” Parker tapped his personal code into the touch screen on the wall; the file should have been automatically uploaded to his secure network, so all he needed to do was key in the security sequence. The system came on with a low hum. He watched Georgia’s face, open curiosity readily displayed, as the ceiling tiles tilted and deployed the grid of lasers. In less than thirty seconds, with little more than a quiet hum of electricity and the motorized whir of tiny gears, what was once a huge, empty space rearranged itself into organized rows of office cubicles. A standard corporate environment, down to the watercooler by the elevator and the halogen light that wouldn’t stop flickering, had been Parker’s idea. The thought of being trapped in cube hell had always chased his IQ into mediocrity—it was only fair that it should torment everyone else as well.

  Georgia stepped forward, running her fingers through the nearly opaque hologram of boring beige wall. “You created all this?”

  Astonishment, Parker had expected. Wonder and confusion would have been predictable. But the sheer awe? The way Georgia passed her fingers through the play of light coupled with her face as open hunger took hold and turned her expression fierce? It shouldn’t have, but the combination took his breath away.

  “Not all of it,” he admitted. “The programming is mine, and I helped develop the layout of the grid. I bankrolled the guy who created the synthetic coating on the floors, walls, and ceilings a few years ago. But the simulator? That’s all mine.” His baby. A chance to send teams into the field better equipped to handle anything and everything. A chance to tilt the ledger of life and death back into Parker’s favor. “Bet you thought I only designed mind-numbing apps for attention-challenged adults.”

  “And yet here you are, a regular Professor X.”

  Comic-book references from that full, feisty mouth? He was so screwed.

  Her gaze turned calculating as she assessed him. “You said something about a deal?”

  “I need a guinea pig.” Parker grinned. It was almost a shame to break that ego into tiny pieces; he sorta liked the woman. “Let’s see how you think on your feet, shall we?” He set his coffee down on top of the tactical rack and pulled out two pairs of headsets and two vests. He handed one of each to her.

  Georgia tested the weight of a vest, then slipped it over her head without complaint. “Same weight as standard-issue body armor,” she noted. “Intentional, I assume?”

  Impressed despite himself, Parker nodded. Observant, this one. He’d worry, but . . . nah. He had no doubt she could bark orders, clear bathrooms, and otherwise make a nuisance of herself. All bodyguards excelled in those areas. But get him through an unfamiliar layout with active shooters on the loose? Please. He’d be lucky if he were shot only once.

  She slid on her glasses, then pulled the gun from the front pocket of the vest. She hefted it, testing the weight, then inspected the grip, trigger, and checked the sights. “Beretta M9. But the weight feels a bit off.”

  Parker scowled. It was a ten-gram difference! How the hell had she noticed? “Yeah, it’s the prototype; we’re still working on getting the balance right. No bullets, though, just blanks. All the kick, none of the pow. But every time you fire, a pulse is emitted. If it makes contact with one of the simulator’s aggressors, you’ll see a red ripple spread from the point of contact.” Parker took the weapon from her. “Run demo!”

  A disgruntled employee in his midtwenties appeared three cubes up and two to the right. Gun in hand, he rose in Georgia’s direction. Without hesitation, Parker fired two shots, both to the head. He hadn’t always been good with a gun—something Ethan had taken issue with. Parker had spent the better part of a year at the range, practicing until Ethan was satisfied he’d neither shoot himself nor be left defenseless. Parker turned back to Georgia, a smug grin pulling at his lips. “Don’t strain yourself. Torso shots’ll do the job. But hit a limb and the guy goes down for ten seconds, then reappears in play.”

  Georgia took the gun from him. “Anyone can be lethal from twenty feet.” As Parker fastened his vest at the shoulders, Georgia snagged the gun strapped to the front and tucked it into her waistband. “You won’t be needing this.”

  “Hey!”

  “Bodyguard gets the gun; damsel gets the re
scue.” She gestured between them. “Me bodyguard, you damsel.”

  “I am not a—”

  “All right,” she said, completely ignoring him, “give me the rules, Private Ryan.”

  “Rules are simple. You get me from here to the elevator. Fail and you lose. Die and you lose. Take a shortcut through a wall—”

  “And I lose,” Georgia said. “Then what?”

  “You leave. Sit in the hallway for all I care, but you’re done and out of my hair.” And he needed her out of his life if he was going to get back to work. Ethan could bitch and moan all he wanted about the definition of classified, but something was off. And people were dying because of it.

  She scowled. “And if I win?”

  “Then not only do you get to hang out with me”—he flashed his most charming grin—“I’ll actually cooperate. I won’t try to ditch you; I won’t intentionally annoy you.” He ignored her incredulous huff. “I’ll be the model protectee.” He crossed his heart with his index finger.

  “How many shooters?” she asked, all business.

  “Three.” Fact was, she was making him a little nervous. If Ethan had sent a dossier ahead of her, Parker hadn’t seen it yet. But she wasn’t handling herself like some fresh-off-the-bus recruit.

  “Piece of cake.” She stepped in front of him and glanced over her shoulder. “Stay close, don’t wander toward something shiny, and do what I say.”

  Parker slid in behind her and splayed a hand against her hip. He snuck his fingers up beneath her T-shirt, brushed warm skin, and settled into the sharp groove beneath her hip. And because he was feeling stupid and just a tiny bit worried she might actually be competent, he let his thumb trace the curve of her ass through her jeans. He got as far as the seam on her pocket before she spun, gun leveled at his chest. He slunk back, hands in the air, unrepentant grin on his face. “You said stay close; I didn’t want to get lost.”

  “Let’s get something straight, Poindexter,” she snarled. “You only said I had to get you to the elevator; you didn’t say anything about alive. If you’d prefer that I shoot you, then heft you over my shoulders like the useless sack of potatoes you are, by all means, continue to live dangerously.”