Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Why had she decided to trust him? She asked herself that question for the millionth time.
Instead of researching, as she'd intended, she kept thinking about her new handler.
From the masculine sound of his voice—so different from the light and cultured tones used by employees of OutLink—to the size of his shoulders, everything about the priest distracted her. Especially his face.
Rissa slowed her heart again before it rose above acceptable levels.
His face was so different from the men she'd seen before.
Most of them were round and doughy, with thick lids and thin lips.
Sin was made of hard angles and rough edges, except his mouth.
That was thick and full, the corners designed to turn up instead of down.
He looked like one of those people featured on the billboards, the ones used to advertise anything from perfumes to clothing.
She wondered if his hands were callused.
She'd read about such things, but had never seen it before.
The skin thickened from physical use to protect itself, making a form of armor, often encouraged through repetition.
He wore gloves when he was with her, but did he always?
Did the gloves prevent his guns from causing calluses?
She closed her eyes again and tried to relax, the monitors beeping softly in the background.
She was supposed to be sleeping, but her thoughts refused to stop.
If she didn't control her body, her heart rate climbed, her stomach clenched, and her face wanted to smile.
She couldn't allow that to happen, but her body was trying to override her mental commands.
When she researched the symptoms, she got answers ranging from allergies to cancer, but nothing explained the strange feeling she was experiencing.
It was irrational, illogical, and dangerous.
Just like her decision to trust him.
Maybe she'd given up all hope? Perhaps she secretly wanted to be wiped again, to have nothing to worry about and even less to desire?
She didn't know anything anymore—except that she was excited for her next assignment because it meant another chance to see him.
With her mental fingers in the web, she began looking for more information on her priest.
It wasn't hard to find. At least three different places were set up to list his accomplishments, most of them frequented by women discussing his looks.
Evidently, Rissa wasn't the only woman to like his appearance.
She scanned the comments and had to slow her heart again.
They spoke of ripping off his armor—something the Ingénue thought he wouldn't appreciate, not with its functionality to protect him—and placing their mouths across his body.
They also lamented his vow of celibacy, some wondering if it made him even more appealing.
Moving from there, she researched the sexual acts the women had described, amazed at the unsanitary nature of it all.
Exchanging saliva and other body fluids did not seem like something beautiful.
It sounded like a good way to get diseases!
No wonder the priests were required to abstain.
Strangely, the more she read, the more Rissa thought some of it sounded appealing.
The thought of touching her mouth to his made warmth spread through her abdomen, but thinking of his tongue in her mouth doused the flames.
So why did she trust him, and what made her mind even contemplate such behavior?
Was it because of his looks? Was she attracted to him?
If she was, would it matter? The only answer she had was no, none of it mattered.
He was a priest; she was an Ingénue. Both of them were prohibited from personal relationships.
Their time together would be strictly professional and nothing else.
Buried among the many comments about him was a list of his past assignments and notable deeds.
It was a very long list with acts ranging from talking a man down from the DataTech tower to saving a child who fell from the train platform.
Everything was courageous, and much of it was dangerous.
He'd killed seven men, on his own, to protect an accused criminal.
The woman was later found to be innocent.
He'd shielded the renowned human rights activist, George Stephanson, from a bomb intended to halt his speech on the basic rights of humanity.
He'd also removed three prostitutes from the control of their pimp, taking two gunshot wounds in the process while shielding the girls with his body.
Luckily, his armor had prevented any penetration, even though the medical report showed two cracked ribs and internal bruising.
Consistently, throughout all of it, there were comments about Sinclair Cassis's loyalty and devotion to protect his clients. It wasn't much, but it made her feel a little better about opening her mouth and telling him what went on inside the OutLink Enclave walls.
Of course, that led to her thinking about Pharmacon.
Sinclair had said both of the men following them were highly ranked in their private security force.
Had they known she'd tampered with the file on DCB's system?
If so, how? Were they just guessing? Were they the ones who'd sent it?
She let her mind drift across the web, seeking any information tying Pharmacon to the Ingénue Project.
Finally, she found it. Tucked in a controversial scientific journal was a whistleblower article written by a former employee.
He claimed Pharmacon had developed a second and much more effective drug, one which would cure any resistance to cybernetic enhancements and prevent any possible toxicity from the devices.
He claimed it was a single-dose cure, and it had been clinically tested.
According to the disgruntled scientist, he said OutLink had volunteered the Ingénue as test subjects.
Rissa paused, thinking about it. Her records listed a dose of Stabiltrol every day, but she had no way of knowing if it was given.
Everything that entered her body, from nourishment to vitamin supplements, went through ports along her back, most of them down her spine.
If the article was right, there would be no need for her to get any rejection medication. She should be cured.
None of it made sense, but it was probably the most complex problem she'd ever faced.
There was too little information and not enough correlation in the data.
All Rissa knew was that something wasn't right, and no one else seemed to care.
New Cincinnati was riddled with poverty, and a partial chemical molecule in her mind was only one part of the puzzle.
Slowly, she withdrew from the interface and released the grip on her vital organs. She wouldn't be able to solve this one in a few minutes. She needed to learn more, and the only person who could help was Sinclair. She pushed her body to sleep, daring to pray he believed her.