Mind Killer: Underground: Mole, #2

By Esther Mitchell

Nobody ever had to tell Tamia Kuan the past came with a price tag. She's always known she'd pay for her mistakes, one day. What she never expected was to have to pay for them with another's life. But when a reconnaissance mission leaves her reeling, she'll discover she's broken a Code punishable by death, if her secret is ever revealed. To keep her secret, and a life she loves, she'll have to conceal the truth from everyone -- especially the man she loves.

*** TRIGGER WARNING THIS NOVEL CONTAINS SCENES DEPICTING / DISCUSSIONS OF VIOLENCE, DRUG ABUSE, SEXUAL ASSAULT, AND TORTURE. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
There are NO depictions of any of the above warning items as part of the main romance. Rather, they are depictions of past trauma and/or situations necessary to plot evolution.***

• Language: English
• Publisher: Esther Mitchell
• Release date: Apr 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781955301176

Book preview

Other Books by ESTHER MITCHELL

UNDERGROUND: MOLE

Book One: Tamia

Book Two: Mind Killer

COMING SOON

Book Three: Terminal Hunter

LEGENDS OF TIRUM

Book One: Daughter of Ashes

Book Two: Phoenix Rising

Book Three: Spirit Mage

Book Four: Mistress of Cats

COMING SOON

Book Five: Sister of Dragons

PROJECT PROMETHEUS

Book One: In Her Name

Book Two: Hope of Heaven

Book Three: Shadow Walker

Book Four: Blood Debt

Book Five: Between Worlds

COMING SOON

Book Six: Crimson Rose

GUARDIANS, INC: WITCH HOLLOW

Book One: Sight Unseen

Book Two: Up In Flames

COMING SOON

Book Three: Nick of Time

GUARDIANS, INC: WYCHWARD

Book One: Tempting Fate

COMING SOON

Book Two: Pyramora

HANOVER INVESTIGATIONS

Book One: Burden of Proof

COMING SOON

Book Two: Silent Night

FyrRose Productions

637 S. Cynthia Avenue

Tucson AZ 85710

http://www.esthermitchell.com

Copyright © 1993 by ESTHER MITCHELL

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-955301-17-6

PRINT ISBN: 978-1-955301-18-3

Published in the United States of America

Publication Date: February 5, 2004

Edition: 3rd

Editor: FyrRose Productions

Cover Artist: FyrRose Productions

Cover Art Copyright by FyrRose Productions © 2018

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher.

Ebooks are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this ebook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting or uploading is illegal and violates United States Copyright laws.

Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are drawn from the author's own life and have been accepted and approved by the involved parties. Any resemblances to non-associated parties are purely coincidental and outside of the author's intent.

Dedication and Acknowledgment

To my best friend, soulmate, and love of my life, for being my sounding board, my inspiration for the character of Richard Carinson, and my biggest fan. You showed me what love is truly about. I will always love you. I miss you every day.

To my boys, who provided technical and mechanical expertise where mine was lacking. I can never thank you enough. Stay safe out there.

To my friends, Philip and Tina Huang, who answered my questions about China, Tibet, and Buddhism. Thank you for all your help.

To my critique partner, beta reader, and friend, Gail Delaney, for so many reasons. Thank you for your friendship, and for your enthusiastic enjoyment of my work.

TRIGGER WARNING FROM AUTHOR

THIS NOVEL CONTAINS SCENES OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE,

AND GRAPHIC REFERENCE TO

SEXUAL ASSAULT AND DOMESTIC VIOLENCE.

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

If you are a survivor of sexual assault or domestic violence, references and events in this work may be triggering for you. It is not my intention to cause anyone distress or to trigger anyone's traumatic memories, so please do not read if you feel descriptions/references of these events may trigger you.

Chapter One

Command Center, Underground Command Post, Manhattan

6 October 2118 -- 0045 Hours

Damn, this blows.

The woman heaved a sigh of impatient annoyance as she shoved a fall of midnight hair from her face with one hand before lowering it to the small, silver rose pendant around her throat in a familiar, comforting motion.

Tamia Blade Kuan, former Captain of the Commonwealth of Euro-American Developed States Marine Corps' pride and joy, the 103rd Mobile Armored Flight Tank Division, hated only one thing more than being tied to a desk, and that was seeing the word inactive attached to her mission status. Now, she sat at the Underground's round conference table, cursing her luck for ending up with the two things she hated most in the world.

The fingers of her free hand drummed a restless cadence on the waxed wooden tabletop as she scrolled through the contents of yet another of the infochips scattered haphazardly beside her datareader. Every now and then, she stiffened as a twinge of pain in her left side reminded her why she was still on the inactive duty roster.

She just had her six-month post-regenerative therapy assessment at Mount Sinai Medical Center. She was waiting to hear whether or not Doctor Matnes cleared her to return to the field.

Tamia rolled her eyes at all the precautions and assessments. It wasn't like she'd never been hurt in the line of duty before. Scars littered her body -- some war wounds, and some wounds of her own making. At least this time, she'd been saving the world from another war.

She winced again, but not from any physical pain.

Yeah, right. Saving lives. By taking five.

She was point man on the last mission back in March -- the literal assassin in the rafters. She sustained life-threatening wounds when the building exploded seconds after she made her final kill. Over a month in the hospital and five separate surgical procedures gave her back enough strength to get back to the Underground -- with strict no field work until medically cleared orders from her surgeon.

As if! A self-depreciating smile tugged at her lips as she pushed another silky fall of hair from her eyes and considered the irony of the doctor's order. Going straight back to her training and normal work routine was Tamia's idea of easy, but not one shared by her commander. Rick belabored the point of bed rest to breaking, until she snapped at him that she didn't need him to be her damned nanny.

Tamia winced as she remembered the hurt in his eyes when she snapped at him. At the time, she'd been too angry to care. Now, she wished she could take the words back. She, of all people, should have understood the worry behind his actions.

Richard Carinson had two things of any importance left in his life -- his unit, and the woman he loved. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, those two things couldn't be separated, and both involved Tamia. She'd been a Commando for a little more than nine months and Rick's lover for seven of those. Nearly losing her at Porto Alegre tore him to pieces, and there were times she still wondered if he'd ever be the same again.

Tamia fought back the sigh twisting around in her chest. She worried constantly about Rick. She worried if either of them were really ready for their relationship, despite eight years of them each working up to it, before she came to the Commandos. Then she'd look into his cobalt blue eyes and know she wouldn't have survived Porto Alegre if they'd just stayed friends. Their relationship kept her fighting when she might have given in to her injuries.

With a sharp shake of her head, Tamia turned her attention back to the pale blue light of her datareader's screen. She had too much work to do to waste time borrowing trouble, as her grandfather called it. The whole team was busy with this damned mole hunt. If it wasn't for that, she was certain her inactive status would have kept her from even being in the Command Center.

She'd give up the job, though, if it meant putting this nightmare behind them. The Commandos were neck deep in a scramble to catch a mole with claws in the Military and Intelligence communities before he or she succeeded in starting a war. Part of their job at the moment was tracking down the remaining two stolen munitions shipments that went AWOL at the end of last year, only to end up confiscated in an Equatorial Patrol contraband sweep of the ruined South American Council of States compound in Porto Alegre, Brazil, after the Commandos leveled it. They recovered some of the stolen weapons on that mission, but there were still more missing, and more were still going missing. Two days ago, they got a Red Code informing them McIntyre Marine Camp, near Boca de Cupe, Panama, somehow misplaced four Mobile Armored Flight Tanks and two helos.

Sighing, Tamia glanced at her watch and wondered for the tenth time what was taking Rick so long at the Science and Research Department. It was 0045 hours. He left shortly past 2300 hours, and she'd expected him back for the past twenty minutes.

She looked up as the door to the Command Center slid open, then sighed again when she saw it wasn't Rick.

You're sure burning midnight oil, Frank Harlin noted as the door slid shut behind him. Any idea where Rick is?

Tamia nodded, looking back to the infochips spread out on the table beside her. He went over to S'n'R. They said they had something he had to see.

Harlin's steel gray eyes widened. Science and Research? Tamia, it's past midnight.

The corner of her mouth ticked up in a half-smile as she lifted one eyebrow at the brawny, redheaded ex-DEA agent. Scientists keep as crazy hours as we do, Frank. I don't think they know the meaning of the word 'sleep'. She gave him a once-over, taking in his mud-spattered clothes. "Where the hell've you been?"

He heaved a tired sigh and plopped down in his chair, ignoring the state of his clothes.

Went to check that lead in Jersey.

Tamia nodded. She knew Rick sent Frank -- callsign Red -- out to tail Commerce Department executive Ivan Kroynosva after Internal Affairs tagged him as a possible arms dealer two days ago. Her gaze slid over him again. Looks messy.

A weary chuckle slid from Frank as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes with a sigh. Caught the tail-end of that massive storm system moving through Jersey. Biggest mess of mudslides I've ever seen. But most of this, he gestured to his clothes, was from stopping to help a soccer mom with a van full of amped up kids out of a muddy culvert.

How'd the tail go?

The redheaded giant snorted, his eyes opening as he tilted his head forward enough to meet her gaze. How'd it go? Nowhere, and no how, that's how. I spent twelve hours feeling like a damned stalker, once again, only to confirm I didn't have a fucking lead.

But IA...

He shook his head. "Someone's pissin' in the wind and hopin' it sticks to something over there. I followed Kroynosva all damn afternoon. Might as well've been following the Mormons around. He didn't do a single damn thing suspicious. No underhanded business. When I wasn't getting anywhere on his ass by last night, I looked up his address, searched his house, his office, his car, everything I could find. Came up with nada. He's as clean as snow."

She focused on him, confused. But we were told that was a solid--

Mess, Rick's voice drawled from the doorway, and both Tamia and Frank looked his way in surprise. A hard, cold lump settled in the pit of Tamia's stomach as she took in her lover's grim expression. Ladies and gentlemen, we've been had.

Tamia's hands gripped the cool wood of the table. She couldn't breathe. Something about the tone of his voice and the look on his face...

Had? She finally managed, in a whisper. Rick, what're you...?

He dropped his armload of plastifilms, papers, and infochips on the table at his seat before shrugging out of his battered leather jacket and tossing it over the back of his chair. Most recent mission orders say we're supposed to be following leads on possible guerrilla activity in Peru, right?

Yeah. She looked back to the list she just spent the past hour compiling. I've just about got the list of leads divvied up...

Delete it.

He paced to the far side of the room and back, and his restless motion kicked up an uneasy feeling in Tamia's gut. Rick only paced this way when he was either very worried, or very pissed off. Just what the hell had he learned at S'n'R?

"Delete it? Rick..."

He shook his head, scowling. Okay, so a big, fat check in the pissed off column, then. It's useless.

She heaved an exasperated sigh, narrowing her gaze on him in confusion. Would you care to elaborate?

His glare snapped to her, and the worry she found there sent fresh bolts of trepidation through Tamia. Then, without a word, he pulled an old paper magazine from the stack of stuff he brought in and dropped it in front of her. She glanced at the yellowed cover, and her blood congealed. It was an issue of Newsweek, from the late 20th Century. On the cover, splashed in big black and white letters, were the words Can We Clone Humans?

Her attention jerked back up to Rick. Oh, God. She didn't want to ask... "So what're we really doing?"

He shook his head again. Not sure. CIA says the Banhauste Regiment's behind this, and S'n'R thinks someone got their hands on pre-Reaver cloning formulas.

Frank's brows shot up. That's not the Regiment's style. Besides, weren't all the formulas destroyed after the Reaver War?

Rick shook his head. Not all of them. No one thought the old formulas were worth anything. The results were too unpredictable.

Perfect for terrorists. Tamia winced. Soldier-clones -- commonly referred to as Reavers, since the terrible massacres leading up to the Reaver War -- were a subject she much preferred dead and buried. She never let herself even imagine those formulas still existed. Now, it looked like the shit hit the fan, and everywhere else.

Damn it. So, where does that leave us?

With a heavy sigh, Rick sank into his seat, and plowed his hands through his short, dark hair in a clear sign of agitation. "Hell, I don't know, Tamia. I'm going to give Military Intelligence a call first thing in the morning and see if I can find out exactly what they expect us to do. Too much of this sounds like the CIA fell on its ass again. If that's the case, this shit show's theirs to clean up."

Harlin yawned as he stood. "Well, I'm gonna hit the shower, then get some sack time. Gonna go spend some time with Calli tomorrow."

Rick nodded to the other man. Thanks for going down there, Frank. I realize it was a waste of time, but we didn't know...

Harlin shrugged as he turned toward the door. All part of the job.

Tamia barely registered Frank's departure, or the gentle squeeze of Rick's hand on her thigh. Her attention remained fixed on the magazine cover as panic ran wild through her. She wanted to scream, or vomit. Something -- anything -- to relieve the pressure squeezing away her ability to breathe.

Sorry about this, babe. Wish we were looking at something else.

A wan smile touched her lips, but she still couldn't tear her gaze from the mocking words on the magazine cover. You didn't know. I'll survive.

The gentle pressure of his hand against her thigh soothed some of her fear. She wasn't alone or helpless anymore. When she glanced up, his soft smile told her he saw a survivor. That alone bolstered her resolve, even before his voice broke through the shock in her brain. Go get some rest, babe. We won't even have a plan before morning muster.

With a nod, Tamia rose to her feet and made her way out of the Command Center and down the corridor toward her quarters. Every step was a torture of its own as icy numbness spread through her.

Reavers. God, this was like all of her worst nightmares coming back to haunt her in the waking world.

The Chinese Army was a Reaver army -- the only one left in the world after the Reaver War. Reaver nations cloned their Reavers in identical batches and were, by nature of sharing one hundred percent of their donor's DNA, laboratory-grown, soulless creatures -- every 20th and 21st Century horror film maker's zombie apocalypse wet dream. To make matters worse, the constant reprocessing of the same genetic material caused structural instabilities in the chromosome. For reasons science still couldn't explain, the process of creating Reavers caused mutations in the chromosomes responsible for creation of the emotional centers of the brain. Clones -- and especially Reavers -- suffered from mental and emotional instabilities science couldn't explain. Yet, for some reason, they kept cloning people, the entire scientific community obsessed with the supposed Holy Grail of cloning -- the Metahuman. Problem was, they created Reavers, instead. Apart from being profoundly sterile, Reavers were freakishly strong and physically resilient, most often because of the drugs needed to keep an emotional instability called Reaver Rage under check. In the end, it became a moot point, when the Reavers became impossible to control.

That was how the Reaver War started. World-wide, the soldier-clones decided they were superior beings, and revolted. Natural-born people were pressed into service to fight against the renegade clones originally created to take natural-born people out of harm's way -- the ultimate irony of scientific and military hubris at work.

Only one Reaver Nation in the entire world was spared conflict with its cloned soldiers: Socialist China. The Chinese military -- all Reavers with the exception of the upper command -- already had control of most of the country. After all, Reavers were twice as susceptible to brainwashing and post-hypnotic suggestion as naturally born and raised children, and China succeeded with the latter as far back as the mid-20th Century. Cloned children, raised from birth in state-run institutions, never realized they lacked parents. They never learned individuality. When all of the children in your wing of the orphanage looked exactly like you, Tamia supposed it would be easy to succumb to hive mentality. China did what it always did best -- it manipulated the outcome. Rather than creating full adult subjects like everyone else, they were patient, methodical, and ultimately sadistic. They adapted their formulas to stop the process in early childhood development, then funneled the cloned children into special soldier camps where they were isolated and raised under strict controls, which turned them into perfectly-calibrated puppets.

Since with psychoactive drugs to control their emotional outbursts, Reavers were a lethal force with no conscience, the Chinese Army found a perfect excuse through the Reaver War to crush any rebellion inside its borders and execute all revolutionaries. Including the Kuan family.

Tamia leaned heavily against the wall just inside her door as grief and a fresh wave of nausea washed over her. As much as she loathed the Socialist regime, her fear and hatred of Reavers far eclipsed her hatred of the Chinese system of government and suppression.

God, how would she cope if they had to go up against Reavers? She wasn't sure she could cope. She drew an uneven breath and shuddered. She couldn't think about this right now. No way was she opening the lid on those memories. The girl she'd been back then was dead and gone within hours of setting foot in Old 'Frisco.

Chapter Two

Housing Sector, Underground Command Post, Manhattan

6 October 2118 -- 0200 Hours

It took her thirty minutes and a scalding hot shower to get her muscles to loosen enough and her racing brain to calm enough she could finally turn off the overhead lights in her bedroom and crawl into bed, hopeful of getting some sleep.

She should have known better.

After an hour of tossing and turning, she realized the futility of her own determination. Her body ached with exhaustion and lack of a comfortable position, but her restless mind wouldn't quiet. She couldn't halt the parade of frightened questions and terrible scenarios marching through her brain.

Reavers.

Her throat burned with memory and the bile of fear and disgust. She didn't fear what they could do to her -- the most ruthless Reavers in the world already had their shot at her, and she not only escaped, but survived. She was far more afraid of how they could destroy everything she loved. She would do anything to protect Rick, and her life here at the Underground.

Whatever happened, she couldn't lose Rick. Losing him would cost whatever was left of her soul.

Unwelcome tears blurred her tired eyes as anger rose hard and fast to engulf her. Damn it, she would not cry for what she already lost. She did her grieving over two decades ago.

An exasperated sigh pushed from her lips as she closed her eyes and began whispering a monotonous chant in Tibetan, falling back on her earliest instruction from Kuron, to empty her mind and tuck her emotions safely away.

Slowly, her body relaxed, and the dark oblivion of sleep settled over her. If only sleep wasn't haunted by ghosts...

She watched in horror as the man stopped before eleven-year-old Suyin. He meant to hurt her sister. That was all her young mind could latch onto. That man down there meant to hurt Suyin.

She cast a frightened glance at the guard who watched her and sealed her lips over a cry of distress as the other man with his face dragged Suyin from the floor and ripped open her blouse. A cruel leer spread across his face as he looked up toward the small, glass-encased room where Tamiasa sat. His image burned into her young mind, but she couldn't make sense of it. He looked just like all the others.

Let me go! Please, let me go! Suyin's cries of terror cut through to her soul, and her small fists clenched as she shook with the effort it took to not scream at the men to let her sister go. A film of tears covered her eyes and blurred her vision. She blinked to clear them.

She wasn't allowed to cry.

They told her that -- the men with the identical faces. If she cried, they would hurt her sister even more. They would hurt her, too.

Fear held her motionless as her breath huffed in and out in short, angry bursts at Suyin's sobs.

No. Please, don't... Suyin clutched her hands over her chest and backed away, her dark hair whipping about as she shook her head. Tamia wasn't sure what she feared but knowing adventurous Suyin was scared meant it must be bad. An involuntary cry pierced her lips as one of the men below grabbed Suyin from behind and held her, struggling, as the first drew his survival knife and sliced open Suyin's bra and skirt.

Suyin screamed in her desperate struggle to break away. Tamiasa wanted to scream as well, wanted to cry and rush to her older sister's aid.

She couldn't.

She had to sit still, they said, and learn what happened to naughty girls. If she moved, they would punish Suyin.

The man in front of Suyin dropped his knife on the floor and tore away the rest of Suyin's clothes. Then, the two men carried the girl, kicking and screaming, to a table and strapped her down to it, spread-eagle. Her screams echoed through the room as more men entered the room, taking turns climbing on top of Suyin, their pants undone and their hips pumping furiously.

Tamiasa wanted to squeeze her eyes closed and cover her ears as she heard her sister's screams amplified in the small room and saw her sister thrashing against the restraints. Tamiasa shuddered, and a tear traced down her cheek. She hoped no one saw, but she didn't care if they did. Her tears were angry tears.

Someday, she would kill them all.

Tamiasa covered her ears, drew up her knees, and scrunched her eyes closed, screaming...

Tamia bolted upright in bed, dragged into awareness by the sound of her own scream.

Suyin! Her gaze cast about wildly in the dim light, and the darkness closed in with familiar terror as she searched for the sister who wasn't there, before reality settled over her. She was hunting for ghosts again. Suyin was dead. Just like Zhilan, and Malun. Just like her parents. They were all gone.

Pain and panic still clutched her chest and throat. Wrapping her arms around her upraised knees, she rocked back and forth in a self-soothing motion until the last of the fear leeched from her tensed body. She didn't have any phobias about the dark except when the nightmares came back. Then, every shadow was a threat, an enemy capable of destroying everything she loved.

When she was on the streets, she convinced herself the shadows were no longer a threat because she loved nothing and no one. She convinced herself love was for suckers and hardened herself against it, pushing away her only living relative with a savageness she could never take back.

Then Rick stepped into her life, his cobalt eyes a beacon pulling her home against her will and she learned she was stronger than her fear. He made her stronger. Loving Rick broke down the wall of thorns around her heart and re-forged them into armor capable of protecting not just her, but him as well. Unconsciously, her fingers lifted to the necklace she hadn't taken off in eight years -- the small, silver rose Rick pressed into her palm at Rio Bantos.

His mother's charm. A symbol of everything he saw in her she was incapable of seeing in herself at the time.

After a moment, her harsh, erratic pulse settled, and she could again draw breaths around the clutching panic in her chest. As the adrenaline of fear drained away, Tamia sobbed and buried her face against her knees. She wasn't ready to face her nightmares again.

With an indrawn breath, she dragged a hand across her face, and noticed it still trembled. She had no idea what to do now. In 'Frisco, when the nightmares came back, she just drowned them out with whatever drug was available, until she was so strung out the pain went away.

This was the first time she ever had one post-Detox. The Divide created its own host of nightmares to keep her company, so she didn’t have time to relive the death of her childhood.

Her heart beat like a trip-hammer with the need to drown out the voices of the dead, and she couldn't think. Her overwrought mind craved a fix like she hadn't in years, and her body shook with the ghost of remembered withdrawal.

Like amputees, detoxees had phantom pains, too. Only a detoxee's pain burned their gut and turned their emotions inside out. Tamia found a way to suppress her pains. While she was in Detox, she learned a trick of her own. If she imagined the feel of the high, she didn't need the drug to make the craving go away. She didn't need anything to calm her tremors. The power of her mind kept her sane through the worst of Detox. Maybe it could keep her sane, now, too.

With a deep breath, Tamia closed her eyes and tried to imagine the sting of the needle sliding through her skin, followed by the rush of oblivion. Her brow furrowed as, for the first time ever, her entire being fought the attempt to even consider drugs.

Instead, the soft, cobalt-to-midnight of Rick's eyes filled her mind, the soft smile he reserved for her alone bathing her in warmth no drug could ever give her. The remembered Christmas-morning scent of him, like pine, mint, and smoke wrapped together, spread through her, and safety pulsed around her like a living entity.

Holy shit.

Tamia's eyes sprang open on a gasp, her fingers closing over the charm around her neck. Never in her life had the thought of another person been able to break into her thoughts or wipe away her panic attack. No one -- not even her grandfather, when she was a child -- ever made her feel safe the way just the thought of Rick did.

Her breath caught and she slid her feet to the floor, reaching for her robe as she rose from the bed. She needed Rick.

There was nothing sexual in her need right now. She just needed to be in his space, to look into his eyes, feel the safety of his arms around her, to know she could sleep. No way could her nightmares touch her as long as he was near. She didn't even question it. She just knew it in her soul. Still trembling, she made her way down the short stretch of corridor between their units, until she came to a stop outside the door to Rick's quarters. She wasn't even sure if he was there -- Rick spent a lot more time in the Command Center or working graveyard Comms shifts than was healthy -- but it didn't matter, right now. Just being in his space, in his bed, would be enough.

Rick always kept his door locked, but he'd programmed her handprint into his system right after he brought her home from the hospital, after Porto Alegre. He'd kept her close for the first couple of weeks, his worry palpable.

Now, with a soft smile, Tamia touched the door pad, mild surprise flowing through her as the door opened into semi-darkness.

She frowned.

His quarters were dark, except for the lighted floor strips along the walls. Rick always left the living room lamp on -- for her, he told her, when she once questioned him about it. He didn't want her stumbling around in the dark and hurting herself if she decided to come over when he wasn't there. She didn't bother to argue that the floor strips were more than enough light, at the time. She just let herself enjoy the feeling of being cared for.

Now, the lack of light worried her. Where was Rick?

Probably on Comms. He probably didn't expect her over tonight.

Making her way through the living room by the light of the floor strips, she paused at the door to his bedroom. As the door slid open, Tamia stopped in surprise at the murmur of Rick's breathing, even before she saw the dark silhouette of him against the dim light of the floor strips. A trembling smile touched her lips.

He sleeps.

She moved to the bed, slipped out of her robe and under the covers, and curled against Rick. Her breath rushed out in a soft sigh as she relaxed into his breathing warmth, her fingers sliding over the white rose tattooed on the left side of his chest. She needed to be near him, to chase away her demons. She needed him in her life.

She felt him startle awake against her, and then heard him mutter, Wha' th'...

She snuggled closer, sliding her free arm across his waist. The warmth of his arms settled around her, pulling her even closer, and she lifted her head to find his sleepy blue eyes fixed on her.

Thought you might end up here, babe. I should have left the light on.

She brushed her lips over his skin, drinking in his scent. Didn't need it.

His hands slid along her body, and she watched him frown, his expression alert and intense. You're trembling.

Bad dream, she mumbled as she looked away. Suddenly, she didn't want to show him her weakness. She didn't want his pity. That's all.

He tilted her face toward his with a gentle hand. She saw his concerned expression, shadowed by the dim light of the floor strips. What can I do?

Just hold me. Even as the whispered request spilled out, Tamia tensed against the words. The streets taught her being needy was weak, and she despised weakness. Tamia Kuan didn't need anyone. Yet the clench of fear in her chest at the mere thought of not having Rick in her life had her biting her lip against tears.

She was very much afraid Rick might be necessary to her survival.

Her eyes stung and she blinked to clear the moisture filming them as she turned her face away and burrowed into his warmth. She wasn't going to think about being alone again. It only made her want to burn down the world against the mere chance someone out there wanted to hurt this man. He was hers, damn it. She'd protect him and what he meant to her with her life.

She knew only one way to quiet the dangerous thoughts swirling like a maelstrom inside her. As Rick's lips brushed her forehead, she turned her face up to him in silent demand.

He dropped his mouth to hers, one hand cupped against the side of her neck, his thumb brushing the underside of her chin. Electricity buzzed through Tamia at the contact of his lips, and hunger pulsed through her. She shifted closer as her body went up in flames from the mere brush of his lips against hers.

His touch was the only one in the world capable of simultaneously setting her on fire and calming her. With Rick touching her, she was no longer afraid.

They lingered over the kiss, and Tamia sighed against his lips. Rick appeared in no hurry to intensify the contact, with one hand against her neck, and the other resting on her bare hip. They lay there, bare skin brushing, as his lips explored her face and mouth in light touches. When, at last, she sank into his touch in contentment, he broke their kiss to smile at her.