BlindHeat (6 page)

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Attachments. Allie’s life was full of them despite the fact
she’d done everything she could to avoid them. That’s what made leaving hard.
She’d carved a life for herself here and was starting to believe she’d be okay.
In time she might have even learned to be one of the “good” people.

The next bus out of town left at two. It gave her time to
get her things. She’d already decided to forgo goodbyes. If they knew she was
leaving, they’d insist on knowing where she went. Allie hadn’t decided anything
beyond which town to escape to and plan her next move. That and that she should
try to coax a letter of reference from her boss. Any connection back to Greyville
was dangerous, but finding a newspaper job in this economy was hard. With the
publishing business undecided as to whether newspapers would exist in the
future and what form they’d take, it could be impossible. Yet Allie knew her
particular skill set fit the newspaper business as it was now and in what it
could become.

She drained the last coffee from her mug, the liquid cold
and bitter against her tongue. But not as unpleasant as what she had to do
next. She put her shoulders back and stood, working out what she had to say as
she went. She wished she could take this up with her boss, but the strongest
reference would come from the chief editor.

Elaine’s office door was open. She liked the feeling of
being able to watch over the newsroom activity.

Not that there was a whole lot of activity. This was a
weekly in a small town. Three reporters and an editor each for the A and B
sections made up the writing staff. The advertising department consisted of
Allie, two ad sales reps and Cliff, the department head. Allie didn’t know if
it was a plus or minus that the newsroom staff was so small. Fewer people meant
fewer people to keep track of, but in a larger company or a larger city, it’d
be more acceptable when she failed to recognize someone. Here people took it personally
when she couldn’t call them by name the instant they turned up at her desk.
She’d learned tricks to help her keep track of most of the staff, but Elaine
had the generic blonde shoulder-length cut, average size and professional
business suit wardrobe that made her tough to identify. The only time Allie was
certain of her identity was when she was at her desk. Allie was searching for
some feature of today’s outfit to glom on to for later reference when Elaine
looked up.

Allie’s shadow had barely crossed the threshold. The boss’s
attire inventory had gotten no further than pearl stud earrings and pearl
necklace.

“Could we talk privately?” Allie asked, her inventory
continuing. Mocha-colored skirt suit, cream blouse. In the back of her mind she
pictured Elaine sitting in a coffee cup to help her remember the outfit should
she need the info later.

Elaine pursed her lips, scanned Allie as if she were
deciding whether the nature of her demand might be something Elaine could skim
through quickly or would require an in-depth read. Apparently she decided
in-depth because she rose to pull the blinds on the windows that served as the
front walls of her office and shut the door herself. “Have a seat,” she said,
waving Allie toward a chair as she returned to her desk. Allie sat knees
together, palms smoothing her skirt. Elaine leaned back in her chair and took
off her reading glasses.

“I need to leave the paper. Something’s come up.”

Elaine folded her hands on the desk blotter. Allie’s gaze
drifted to the boxes, dates and appointments jotted in the black squares
marking the days of the month. Elaine was waiting for more.

“It’s a personal situation.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Um…” Allie kept smoothing her skirt, as if that might
somehow unscramble her thoughts. The speech Allie had planned on the way in was
gone. Lost as completely, under Elaine’s scalpel-like stare, as a dream upon
waking. No new words lined up to take their place. This had been a bad idea,
she decided, no way was Elaine going to want to give her a reference,
especially when she learned Allie was leaving today.

Elaine was watching her, waiting.

Allie gave her head a little shake. It didn’t loosen her
tongue.

Elaine held up a hand. “Let’s put this on hold a minute. I
have something I want to show you first.”

Allie looked up, completely thrown off track. “Show me?”

Elaine stood, crooked a finger, and Allie followed.

She led her away from the newsroom, down the corridor past
the break room to a storage area on the other side. Or storage was what the plate
on the door said, but when Elaine closed the door behind them and turned, she
said, “This is our old paste-up room. In the days before photo and word
processing we did the task of laying out the paper by hand.”

Allie wasn’t sure what that had to do with her. She walked
around, ran her fingers over the dusty surface of a drafting table that had
been positioned to catch the light from a bank of windows behind. There were
light boxes and cutting tools, cans of drawing pencils and T-squares set out on
a long worktable. A row of file cabinets along one wall.

Elaine followed Allie’s gaze. “Those are our old stock photo
files.” There were broken chairs and abandoned electric typewriters—a typical
collection of accumulating office junk, mostly useless.

“Every time I stop and watch you working on a project, I
think to myself that you belong back here. You work by hand when you begin a
new ad, sketching ideas, cutting up the pieces and moving them around on your
desk. I love the way you print a finished design and study it upside down to
check the composition’s balance. Those are artist’s instincts they don’t teach
in design school.”

How fast would Elaine get rid of her if she knew Allie had
trained with an old-school forger? By the time Allie was twelve she could produce
a full packet of counterfeit identity documents and of a quality that allowed
her to replace her mentor when his failing eyesight and arthritic hands forced
his retirement. She offered the best excuse she could for her composition
methods.

“I know most designers do the entire process from thumbnails
to final design on the computer. For me, I get my best ideas with a pencil in
hand.”

Elaine smiled and leaned a hip against the table. “This is
where I started, ad layout, when I was about your age.” There was a far-off
look in her eyes, a whisper of nostalgia in her tone. She turned and picked up
a pencil from the desk, a 4B. She rolled it slowly between her fingers, as if
she were tuning over a memory. “I liked doing those first sketches in bold,
dark lines that rooted themselves in the paper.”

Allie picked up a 2H. “I like lines that are barely there at
the start.”

Elaine nodded. “Light and quick, easy to pick up and
replace.”

You never make a permanent mark until the image is
perfect.
There was no erasing in her training. Mistakes meant trashing what
you’d done and starting fresh. Mistakes wasted expensive materials.

Elaine turned back to Allie and looked her in the eye. “You
are not easily replaceable, Allison. Not replaceable at all, to be honest. You have
a gift and I enjoy watching it develop. I have plans for you.”

Allie struggled to hold the gaze. Where she came from,
staring someone in the eye was asking for a fight. Being stared at made it
difficult for her to think and speak at the same time. “I have—”

Elaine held up a hand. “Hear me out.”

She swept her arm out wide as she turned around the room.
“Your new office. I want to give you a raise, a new title, and launch a new
project that demands all of your talents and a few new ones besides.”

“What project?”

“A gardening magazine, it will include a digital version, of
course. I’ve been talking with a fellow who has an app that feeds magazine
content to a variety of tablet-style readers and phones.”

“You’d be talking about making something look good on a
variety of screen sizes and shapes.”

“Exactly. And a high-quality print version, dripping with
exquisite photographs, images that will send gardeners into bouts of orgasmic
delight.”

Allie smiled, her mind already walking through possibilities
and solutions.

“And not just flowers,” Elaine said. “People are fed up with
the low quality and chemical content of supermarket food. They want fresh,
flavorful, chemical-free food. They want to garden, but the old
till-a-huge-plot style of gardening won’t work. They need low maintenance and
small space.”

“So the garden club is working with you on this project.”

Elaine beamed. “All professional women with busy lives and a
love for gardening. Also fat purses and a desire to pour money into something
they believe in. But there’s more. They want the theme of each issue built
around a nostalgic, centerfold-quality garden. We would work through a
breakdown of how to re-create that masterpiece in a modern and manageable way.”

Allie turned around, looked at opportunity with a sinking
heart. There was just no way. As much as she wanted to stay, she could feel
trouble on her trail, nipping at her heels. It must have shown on her face.

Elaine gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t know what’s up.
I have my ideas, but I don’t want to pry into your personal life. Running away,
starting over gets old quick, kiddo. I’d planned to talk this job over with you
in a couple of weeks, but it looks like now or never. When the pot is big
enough, it’s worth staying in the game rather than fold. You’re a good worker
and you’ve been an asset to the paper.” Elaine glanced at her watch. “Take an
early lunch and let it run as late as you want. Give this some thought. I’ll
have a contract and some project materials for you to look over when you get back.”

Allie wanted to say yes. The palms of her hands itched,
stung with something similar to the craving she’d had when confronting the dark
fantasy she’d stumbled into that morning. She wanted to grab this chance, snap
up a fantasy job that would allow her to explore all she could do with graphic
design. She wanted this almost as much as she’d wanted that fantasy prince in
the park. But this fairy tale came with a dragon.

Did she dare stay and wait for Eddie to play his hand? Or
should she go and give up the pile of chips Elaine had just dropped in her lap?

Chapter Three

The rain had stopped, but lingering clouds and mist
suggested the break was temporary. Marcus could have walked around the town or
gone back to the park to kill time before he met Allie again. The park was out.
There amid dripping oaks and drenched grass he’d be at her mercy again. Filled
with cravings. For her slick, satiny skin sliding against his. For the taste of
rain on her lips, on her breasts. Filled with the craving to lick every inch of
her. His primal urges would quicken, with the pace of her heart—a rapid thrum
just under her rib cage, as he took a nipple between his teeth. What was it
about that one small human female that could carry his mind off, unleash a
version of himself he’d thought he tamed centuries ago? If not tamed at least
contained. Yet now, in the strange, humming emptiness of her mind, he lost his
mind.

He turned away from the park and headed for Franny’s Diner.
The one predictable thing about Allie was her schedule, an unvarying list of
arrivals and departures at half a dozen destinations located within a few
blocks of each other. It was as if she moved within the walls of an invisible
cage.

An hour before noon and the diner was packed. Only two empty
tables remained and those were near the back of the café. Marcus grabbed the
one closest to the window, glad he’d come early. It gave him time to gather
himself, use the chatter, both mental and verbal, of those around him as white
noise to drown thoughts of Allie.

Franny looked his way, held up the coffee pot and he nodded.
A moment later, she breezed by with a tray full of sandwiches and fries,
pausing briefly to set a clean, white mug in front of him and fill it. A
corkscrew lock of red hair, threaded with silver, had fallen from her ponytail
and dangled just at the shoulder where her white shirt collar wilted against
the edge of a black vest. A green order pad, rumpled and coffee-stained,
dangled at the edge of her apron pocket.

“I’m waiting for a friend so there’s no rush on looking
after me,” Marcus said. “She’ll be awhile yet. Take care of your other
customers.”

“Okay, sugar. I’ll warm your coffee when I’m passing by. I
swear, I’m going to have to buy me a robot to serve folks if I don’t find some
help soon.”

“I know someone looking for a job, but she has zero
experience.”

“Honey, I’ll take what I can get. You send her by and she’ll
be experienced by the end of a day.” Someone called and Franny went.

The last empty table went to a group from the research lab,
Hella’s former prison. Marcus had never met any of the men, but he recognized
the company name, X.T.Gen R.U.S. Inc. on the photo IDs clipped to their suit
jackets.

He turned toward the window, not that anyone could recognize
him. He’d taken care to hide his human face. Jake had hacked in and erased the
tapes as soon as Marcus had gathered the strength to contact him, so there was
no incriminating evidence against human or leopard. From what Jake gleaned in
internal memos and email, researchers assumed a caregiver had left the cage
door unlatched and the cat had wandered out, eventually finding her way out of
the building—cats being clever at getting out of tight spots, especially when
their brains had been augmented with neurons from a human brain.

Allie came in at half past the hour. Marcus glanced at the
clock and then back again, startled by her uncharacteristic change in routine.
Had she thought to avoid him by arriving early?

He watched her looking around. When she made eye contact
with someone she’d fix them with a half-smile, a sort of silent,
you-react-first-and-then-I-will-acknowledge-you stance. She sent him the same
half-smile and when he didn’t react, her eyes went to the next table.

Was she serious? She still didn’t know him? After everything
they’d done? One of the researchers called to her. “Why so early today, Allie?”

He could see her agitation in the stiffening of her
shoulders, see the faintest tightening at the corners of her mouth as her gaze
slid to the man at the other table. Agitation gave way to a smile with all the
warmth of a fluorescent bulb.

“I like to mix things up every now and then,” she said with
a laugh.

Was the laugh a little hollow or did his personal annoyance
insert emotional highlights that weren’t there? No one else acted as if they
noticed the edge behind the smile. If he could just touch her, he could glean
some clues to her true emotions.

“It’s full up in here today,” the lab guy said. “We’ll make
room for you here with us.” There were six of them around the little table, but
they were already shifting to open space. One turned to grab a chair from
Marcus’ table.

Marcus’ stomach tightened around a cold awareness that there
was a familiarity, possibly a friendship with this group. Had he missed
something? Had she given Hella back to them? He stood.

“Sorry, gentlemen, but I believe the lady is here to meet
me.”

It was a risk. She’d been firm on the phone about not
wanting anything more to do with him. She could make a scene now and gather the
men around her as a defense against any advances from him. Instinct cautioned
that he didn’t want to give the researchers any reason to pay him notice. His
need to keep Allie away from them was stronger.

Marcus pulled out a chair and Allie leapt for it like a
drowning woman for a life preserver. The smile Marcus flashed at the men was
genuine. He suspected she saw fending off one man a better option than fending
off the attention of six. Still, it felt good to best the other guys in a small
way. The guy who’d been most aggressively pursuing her, Bert—according to the
name tag—didn’t smile back.

“You look different all dressed up and dried out,” she said
as Marcus settled in the chair across her. “I didn’t recognize you.”

Humans had uncanny recognition skills considering their
pathetic abilities in the scent and sound department. Again, he wondered if
Allie had refined her ability to block unpleasant memories so well that her
subconscious filtered out people in the present that she thought of as
unpleasant company.

He’d just have to work harder at earning pleasant company
status.

Franny interrupted them. She set a glass of iced tea in
front of Allie. “You’re here early, baby. You have troubles at work?”

“No, it’s all good,” Allie said.

Marcus casually let his knee connect with Allie’s under the
table. Tension rippled through her. Something was definitely wrong. Point of
fact, she appeared oblivious of his knee.

A look passed between the women. If he didn’t know better
Marcus would swear there was such a thing as human telepathy. If they’d just
swap a thought or two he could eavesdrop. Normally he could dip into Franny’s
mind, but it had gone silent with the look.

“I’ll call you later,” Allie said. Franny got back to
business.

“I already put an order back for your usual, baby.” She
turned to Marcus.

“I’ll have the same thing.” Both women frowned at him.

Franny put a hand on her hip. “You want a veggie burger?”

He tried to play it off as if he didn’t know what Allie’s
usual was. He pursed his lips a moment, and then sent Franny a halfhearted
smile. “Sure. Why not?”

Pantherians didn’t eat meat—aside from the fact their
digestive systems didn’t tolerate it, it was too close to cannibalism. Still,
carnivorous humans were suspicious of their vegetarian counterparts, especially
vegetarian males. Marcus did his best not to draw attention to his
nonconformist eating habits.

Franny looked from him to Allie and back to him. He could
see the wheels turning, assessments being made, her smile dimming. She left
without warming his coffee.

Allie picked up her straw and fiddled with the wrapper, not
looking at him. Something like sadness weighed on her.

He tried to turn her attention outward. “So the geek crowd
over there…friends of yours?”

She slid a glance their direction then back to him, lifted
one shoulder in a shrug. “I used to work here at the diner when I first moved
to town, and now at the paper taking ads. A lot of people know me.”

Curious that she’d put it that way—not that she’d gotten to
know a lot of people, but that they knew her. Maybe he was splitting hairs.
Still, her description didn’t sound like a relationship that might have
resulted in her turning Hella over to the researchers. At least he hoped she
hadn’t. The possibility kept him focused on why he was there. Unfortunately,
his concern about the researchers and their proximity ruined his plan to say
he’d lost his cat in the park. What now? He decided to pick up the thread of
conversation and see where it went.

“A lot of people know your schedule. Do they all set their
watches by you?”

Her smile, like sun breaking through clouds, caught him off
balance.

“What?”

“Watches? Look around. Who is wearing a watch?”

On the wrists he could see, not one watch was evident. He
didn’t wear one himself because his energies messed with the mechanisms and it
was just one more thing to lose if you forgot to take it off before shifting.
But humans lived by the clock. And the white-collar crowd who took over the
diner at lunchtime planned every minute of their days out months and even years
in advance. Working people without watches?

“What happened to watches?”

“They went out of fashion while you were incarcerated,” she
said, tearing the wrapper off the straw and stabbing at an ice cube.
“Apparently I’m being stalked by an ex-con and everyone else in town can tell
him where I should be just by looking at their cell. Do you even have a cell
phone?”

He didn’t need one. He didn’t think it would be wise to
admit he didn’t. Instead he gave her his best wise-counselor look. “I’m not a
criminal. Trust your instincts. You wouldn’t be here now if you felt I was a
threat.”

“So, you’re just a stalker who hasn’t been locked up…yet?
You normally keep to your cave?”

“You are so married to your routines that it turns anyone
who lives along the path between your office and home into a stalker. Didn’t
anyone teach you that a woman living alone should vary her routes and
schedules?”

Now they were hissing and scratching at each other, trying
to get below the surface to something authentic. But there were better ways to
learn about each other. Scratching and hissing were best saved for when they
were naked and ready for play.

He wanted her to look at him, meet his eyes, but she stared
past him, gazing at a point over his left shoulder. Avoiding eye contact was
another mysterious habit of hers, a feline habit. He recalled his first visit
to the paper. She had never looked up into his face during their entire
conversation.

She sipped tea. He leaned down, tipping his head sideways,
forcing her to notice him, and was rewarded by her finally meeting his eyes.
She held his gaze for a few seconds before she asked, “How do you know I live
alone?”

He blinked. The conversation refused to head anywhere he
wanted to take it. Reason wasn’t getting him anywhere. He’d have to go back to
seduction. Seduction was good. He could use his eyes and hands rather than his
mouth. If he employed the first two well, he might get to use his tongue for
something other than words later.

“I have ESP,” he said.

“Of course.”

To reach her he needed to touch, connect. His hand covered
hers on the glass, fingers tightening as he moved the glass back and forth. He
kept his gaze on the table and her gaze followed his. He watched a comet trail
of liquid form an arc across the Formica top.

“Let me show you. I’ll pull a picture from your mind. Give
me your other hand, and hold your fingers like you are pointing at something,”
Marcus said in the same tone he might use to request a pencil. Allie did as he
asked. Her hand trembled under his. She let him use her finger as a pencil,
watching as together they drew a cartoonlike image in the moisture—a circle
with triangle ears, dots for eyes and nose.

“A cat?”

He nodded and let the drawing hand go.

“It needs whiskers.” She added them.

He watched. Intensity lit her face and she seemed unaware
that her left hand was still captive under his on the glass. For a moment he
thought he felt the mental barrier between them dissolving. He leaned in to sip
tea from her straw as she drew in the last whisker. Sure enough, he saw the
faint contraction of her throat muscles as the cold liquid slid down his
throat. She looked over to catch him in the act. Marcus sucked and swallowed
again, watching desire flicker in her eyes.

“This morning you trusted your instincts. I’m the same man I
was then. If I meant you harm, I had my chance.”

She put her damp fingertips to her right temple, winced as
if she felt his presence there, looked from him to the fading cat image. The
memory was right there, a flash in his consciousness, a leopard in the snow.
His memory or hers?

Franny slapped plates of steaming food on the table, jarring
them both. The cat face was obliterated by a basket of fries. Marcus scooted
his empty coffee cup closer to the edge of the table. Franny glared at him and
flounced off. Allie gave her head a quick shake, like a dreamer coming awake.
The spell was broken.

She leaned in to whisper, glancing nervously at the next
table as she did. “We’re not having sex again. I don’t want to play this game
you’re playing.”

Was it that she didn’t want the guys hearing, or didn’t want
a particular one hearing? All his possessive instincts rose, would have lifted
the fur on his back if he’d been in his true form. The need to snarl and back
them in the corner had him take another long draw on the straw to quell the
urge before he responded.

“I warned you this morning, gave you the chance to walk
away. I said I wouldn’t let go until I was ready. I’m not ready.”