"Lover At Last" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ward, J.R.)

Back to the glass.

Inhaling deep, she held the oxygen in her lungs and balanced against the nearest birch trunk to give her body extra stability.

Something continued to be off. The frames of those sliding glass doors and the lines of the porches and everything about the house? Static and solid. The interiors, however, seemedтАжpixilated somehow, like a composite image had been created to make things appear as if there were furnitureтАжand that image had been superimposed on something like a curtainтАжthat happened to be subjected to a soft current of air.

This was going to be a more interesting project than sheтАЩd assumed. Reporting on the activities of this business associate of a тАЬfriendтАЭ of hers had not exactly lit a fire under her ass. She much preferred greater challenges.

But maybe there was more to this than first appeared.

After all, camouflage meant you were hiding somethingтАФand sheтАЩd made a career out of taking things from people that they wanted to keep: Secrets. Items of value. Information. Documents.

The vocabulary used to define the nouns was irrelevant to her. The act of penetrating a locked house or car or safe or briefcase and extracting what she was after was what mattered.

She was a hunter.

And the man in that house, whoever he was, was her prey.





TEN


Blay had no business getting near a hand weight, much less the kind of iron that was down in the training centerтАЩs gym. Hammering back that port on an empty stomach had made him fuzzy and uncoordinated. But he had to have some kind of a directionтАжa plan, a destination to drag his sorry ass to. Anything other than going up to his room, sitting on that bed again, and starting the day in the same way heтАЩd started the nightтАФsmoking and staring off into space.

Probably with a lot more port added in.

Stepping out of the underground tunnel, he walked through the office and pushed the glass door open.

As he went along, still drinking from a half-full glass, his mind was circling itself, wondering when all this bullcrap between him and Qhuinn was going to end. On his deathbed? God, he didnтАЩt think he could last that long, assuming he had a normal life span ahead of him.

Maybe he needed to move out of the mansion. Before Wellsie had been killed, she and Tohr had been able to live in a house of their own. Hell, if he did that, he wouldnтАЩt have to see Qhuinn except during meetingsтАФand with so many people in and around the Brotherhood, it was easy to get out of eyeshot.

HeтАЩd been doing that for a while now, actually.

In fact, under that construct, the pair of them wouldnтАЩt have to cross paths at allтАФJohn was always partnered with the guy because of the whole ahstrux nohtrum thing, and between the rotation schedule, and the way territory was divided up, he and Qhuinn never fought together except in an emergency.

Saxton could go back and forth to workтАФ

Blay stopped dead at the entrance to the weight room. Through the glass window he saw a set of weights going up and down on the reclining squat machine, and he knew by the Nikes who it was.

Goddamn it, he couldnтАЩt get a break.

Leaning in, he hit his head once. Twice. ThreeтАФ

тАЬYouтАЩre supposed to do reps on the machinesтАФnot on the door.тАЭ