"We don't need to find them all, we only need to find Jorran. The rest will come voluntarily to us if we have him, and we'll take the lot of them back to where they belong. We happen to have a lot more manpower available to send in, but they would just alert Jorran to our presence, which we don't want to happen. If he suspects at all that we're here looking for him, he'll relocate and then we'll be reduced to zero chance of finding him."
"Won't he suspect something is wrong when the guy you entranced doesn't report in?"
"Not to worry, doll. You'll find I'm always one step ahead in any situation. Now, we really don't want to send any more people rushing off to visit their eye doctors, so point the big guy to a place where he can be assured of some privacy to deal with our 'slave.'
"Deal with him how?"
A chuckle came out of the box. "That's rich. You don't really think we're here to kill anyone, do you?"
Brittany blushed profusely. She had sounded a bit horrified there, and had been thinking the worst. But what else did they suddenly need privacy for, if not to dispose of this fellow they'd managed to capture?
"Interrogation," Martha continued, as if she'd been able to read Brittany's mind "And then he'll be sent back to the enemy camp with no memory of us, but minus his rod, of course, which he'll assume he lost. But he'll be given a link to me, and once a day IT get a report in about Jorran's progress‑an added bonus for our side.
"You make it sound so easy."
"That is the easy part," Martha told her. "The hard part is still in your court. We'd like to stop Jorran before he alters too many personalities or causes too much irreparable grief."
"You don't think you'll find out from this fellow where Jorran is now?"
"Highly improbable. Jorran will surround himself with only a select few. The rest of his people will have been turned loose to do his bidding without question. They'll have means of communication in case directives get changed, but not with Jorran himself. It would be beneath him to speak directly with mere underlings."
"Like a crime boss?"
"Like an autocratic king."
"Not much difference there."
"An excellent observation, though the two might disagree just on principle, of course. Now if we're done with the jokes, that place of privacy?"
Brittany sighed. She would have preferred to continue the discussion. The new piece of the puzzle was still missing some of its edges. But she supposed it was pointless to keep at it, once Martha was done with a subject.
"The bathroom around the corner over there would afford some brief privacy, but being public, that won't last long. My car would probably work," and she tossed the keys at Dalden. "Just turn on the air conditioner and keep the windows rolled up, and no one should be able to hear you."
"I was more concerned with sight," Martha said. "But I suppose that will do. And how about having a chat with your mayor while we're gone? We do need to make sure he hasn't been tampered with yet."
"You don't just get to have 'chats' with the mayor around here. I need an appointment first, then a good reason for it. He's a busy man. His secretary would object to taking up his time just shooting the breeze."
"His secretary a woman?"
"No, a man, actually."
"Dalden, get the little gal an immediate appointment before we adjourn to the parking lot with your slave."
Brittany's mouth dropped open when Dalden nodded, left to enter the mayor's inner realm with the Altering Rod, came back out moments later, collected the "slave," then left the building completely. She stared at the door leading to Mayor Sullivan's offices. Dalden hadn't really managed to get her an appointment with him, just like that. She'd make a fool of herself, telling the secretary she had one. Yet wouldn't Dalden have come back to tell her it was a no go?
Chapter Eighteen
BEFORE BRITTANY COULD TALK HERSELF OUT OF IT, SHE marched into the mayor's waiting room. She was expecting the worst, still not really believing what that Altering Rod was capable of. Yet the worst that might happen would be her getting laughed at and pointed to the door.
"Brittany Callaghan to see the mayor.,,
"Go right in, miss," the secretary said, barely even looking up at her. "He's expecting you."
He wasn't, of course. Dalden hadn't included in his suggestion to the secretary warning the mayor of his next visitor, which was probably standard procedure. A mayor would want to know who he would be dealing with, so he'd know which political face to wear. And Sullivan was quite upset that she just waltzed unannounced into his office while he was eating a quick lunch there between appointments.
Security was about to be called. Brittany was about to panic. A double‑talker she was not. And while there were a number of excuses she could have come up with for being there which she thought of later, nothing came to mind in that moment of staring at a very annoyed mayor.
And then Dalden was there, back much sooner than expected, and merely remarked as he passed her on the way to Sullivan, "It did not require a return to your rust bucket. The Centurian has been sent to Martha, who has pointed out that I may not have cleared a proper path for you here."
The mayor was so surprised by this new presence barging into his office that Dalden was able to reach him before he managed to get out, "Who‑?"
The rod touched him, and Dalden's voice was calmness itself. "You were expecting the woman," he told the politician. "You will answer her questions truthfully and forget them when she leaves. You will ignore me."
He then ‑dropped into a chair on the side, which broke. He growled, tried the one next to it more cautiously, and, settling there, grinned at her. The mayor didn't give him another glance, even when the chair broke, and Brittany had just enough time to pick her jaw up off the floor before Sullivan came around his desk, hand extended in greeting, all similes now, and asked what he could do for her.
It was now alarmingly clear to her just how powerful those rods were and how much damage they could cause in the wrong hands. Which was probably why she was a bit ruthless in her "interrogation" of the mayor. Backed with the assurance that he probably wouldn't remember her and certainly not what they talked about, there was no need for dancing around a subject or leading into it.
Directly, she asked Sullivan if he'd noticed an influx of foreigners in their town, if he had made any recent policy changes, if there were any differences in his routines that he'd found strange for any reason. She covered every subject she could think of, and a few others that Dalden thought to mention.
By the time they left him, it was pretty obvious that Jorran's people had started tampering with Sullivan, though not to any alarming extent yet. Yes, he knew Jorran. They were best friends. No, he couldn't recall where they'd met; no, he had no idea what Jorran looked like and didn't find that strange. He'd apparently been prepped for a meeting between them soon, but it hadn't actually happened yet.
But Dalden put a monkey wrench in Jorran's immediate plans by leaving Sullivan with some opposing facts, including that Jorran was his enemy and to be avoided at all costs. It was a temporary measure and could be got around with new suggestions. But it should buy them a little time, which hopefully was all they needed.
"Jorran will want the entire building neutralized before he involves himself, to minimize his own risk," Martha explained when they were out in the hall again. "But that could already have been done."
"Then where does that leave us?"
"Sticking around to make sure we spot him before he gets near the mayor. And continuing to pick up his men and send them to me."
Brittany assumed that the fellow they had found earlier had been put in a taxi, since Dalden had returned so quickly without him, and while under the influence of the rod he would go exactly where he was told. Which had to be to Martha. But that meant Martha had to be close by.
"How about having dinner with us tonight, Martha?" Laughter greeted that suggestion, which had Brittany demanding, "Now why is that amusing?"
Martha
wasn't going to answer her, if the prolonged silence was any indication, so Dalden did. "She does not eat."
"What he means is, I don't socialize," Martha put in now, exasperation clear. "But you know how that is, don't cha, doll. Never enough time to see to all that needs seeing to, etcetera, etcetera.
Brittany sighed. "Yes, indeed. Perhaps, then, when this is over?" "No," Martha replied curtly.
"Yes," Dalden countered, and Brittany's face was lifted in his hand, his eyes consuming her. "When this is over, kerima, I will take you home with me. It will mean leaving all that is known to you behind. But in return, I give to you my life, yours to keep until the day I die."
"You call that asking?" came Martha's complaint in bitter tones.
Dalden's smile was brilliant, unrepentant. "It was decided when she slept in my arms without fear."
Chapter Nineteen
IT WAS DECIDED?
" WHAT WAS DECIDED?"
Brittany was asking Dalden to explain his cryptic remark, but it was Martha who answered in derisive tones, "The big guy just joined you at the hip. He was supposed to ask your permission first, said he understood that's how it's done around here, but he arbitrarily went ahead and did it his way rather than yours.
"Did what? I still don't get it."
"Does shackled ring a bell? Ball and chain? Hooked up? No? How about married?"
Brittany started chuckling. "Get real. It takes more than a few words to perform a marriage."
"Wanna bet?"
Brittany stared at Dalden, but he wasn't laughing. He was looking back at her as if he'd just bought her and was quite pleased with the purchase price. She started to get annoyed.
She'd tried to go along with their joke and treat it as such, but it wasn't the least bit amusing when her feelings for this man were so new and fragile. She couldn't deny that the thought of being able to keep him was thrilling, but it was also unrealistic. For crying out loud, she'd just met him yesterday and still knew next to nothing about him. So for him to want to, or even think about, marrying her at this stage was so far‑fetched, it was beyond imagining.
"Okay, chuckle‑time is over," she said tersely, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. "Shall we get back to business, or do we go off on a honeymoon first?"
For an answer, Dalden took her hand and started to drag her out of the building. She heard Martha's alarmed voice from some distance away, since there was over six feet of stretched arms between them now.
"Stop right there, warrior. She was kidding! She didn't mean it. And you are not going to run off and have some fun now just because you gave yourself permission to do so‑not when Jorran could walk in here at any moment."
Dalden stopped. He looked utterly chagrined until his gaze fell on Brittany, then he just looked inflamed. She caught her breath. Dalden in the throes of passion was an incredible turn‑on. And he must have sensed that she felt so, because he closed the space between them, clasped her face in both hands, and kissed her right there in the center of City Hall.
Nothing like being taken out of mind and place. They could have been up on a cloud for all she knew, she was so consumed with him and nothing but him. But it wasn't Martha's voice that brought her jarringly back to earth this time, it was one she could have wished to never hear again.
"Into exhibitionism these days, Britt?"
It was absolutely the worst interruption Brittany could think of Thomas Johnson, ex‑boyfriend, the one guy she'd actually thought about marrying‑‑‑and having sex with‑because she'd
mistakenly thought there was more between them than there was. They hadn't exactly parted ami cably, after she'd kicked him out of her apartment that night and told him to drop dead on the way out. It was a small town and she'd known they would run into each other eventually, but she'd managed to avoid doing so up till now.
"Still breathing, Tom?" she said, hoping he'd take the hint and just leave. "What a shame."
"Aren't we bitchy these days."
She smiled tightly. "Only around you."
He chuckled, though it was forced. They both knew she wasn't kidding around, that her animosity was quite real. She'd invested three months of emotions in this guy. Then for him to admit he had a problem with her height after all that time, even though she was a good half a foot shorter than him. Not short enough for him to feel like a giant, apparently, which had to be what he was looking for.
Dressed in a well‑tailored pinstriped business suit today, Thomas made her feel tacky in her blue jeans, white T‑shirt, and sneakers, which she'd felt adequate for playing the tourist in City Hall. Come to think of it, though, he'd always made her feel inferior in one way or another. Blue eyes, wavy black hair, sexy, extremely handsome‑at least she'd thought so until she met Dalden.
"I tried to call you a number of times," Thomas informed her, like she might actually believe it when he knew her schedule, knew exactly when he could find her at home to receive any calls.
She let that pass, though, and attacked his motive instead. "Whatever for? Wasn't I clear enough that I didn't want to see you again?"
"Because you misunderstood that remark I made about your height. I wanted to explain."
"Oh, really? So you don't really think I'm too tall for you?"
"Well, for anything permanent, yes, but not for‑"
"Get lost," she cut in, feeling some of the same acute embarrassment she'd felt that night. "I swear, you should get JERK tattooed to your forehead, just in case some poor fool doesn't figure it out right off."
"Britt‑"
"My woman has suggested you leave her presence. Do so now before I assist you in the doing."
Thomas stared up at Dalden for a moment. He'd only glanced briefly at him before, then dismissed him as some dim‑witted jock who got unevenly divided‑lots of body, little mind. And even now, Dalden didn't seem all that threatening, standing behind Brittany with his hands on her shoulders, his expression calm despite what he'd just said.
Which prompted Thomas to remark snidely to Brittany, "Where'd you find this Neanderthal?"
"You can consider yourself really fortunate that he probably doesn't have a translation for that word," Brittany guessed aloud. "He's new to our country and doesn't have a full grasp of the language yet. Should I translate for him? You think he might appreciate derision coming from a shrimp like you?"
Tom finally got the point that his physical well‑being might be in danger. There was a smidgen of alarm, but it was quickly dismissed. They were in a public place, after all, and one that usually had a few policemen roaming around it. So he felt absolutely safe in the assumption that Dalden wouldn't start anything there.
Brittany was sure of that as well; she'd just hoped Tom wouldn't be and would back off. So they were both somewhat surprised when Dalden set Brittany to the side of him, then completely behind him, where she didn't have a chance of seeing what he was going to do.
What he did was pointless, though, when Martha was in interfering mode. Dalden had no sooner wrapped his large hand around the man's neck than his fingers were grasping thin air instead.
A low rumble of annoyance came out of him while Martha was saying in Sha‑Ka'ani, "So the eye doctors around here are really going to make a killing this week, but better that than you splattering his blood all over this pretty white floor."
"Where did you put him?" Dalden demanded in the same language.
"Back outside. He'll think he was so scared of you, he ran really fast. And lucky for you. Starting a physical brawl in a building devoted to politicians is a sure trip to a local Jail. Remember our discussion of their jails? Places to be avoided at all costs?"
Brittany had heard enough that she didn't understand. "You guys are doing it again," she complained as she moved back around Dalden to find the space in front of him empty now. "And where did Tom go?"
"Who cares?" Martha countered. "We've had too many distractions as it is, when you're both supposed to be working toward our common goal Jorran‑hunting.
Our friendly Centurian has volunteered that there are two more of his good buddies in there doing what he was doing, which was prepping everyone in the building for Jorran's arrival so that he's greeted by one and all with open arms. Find the other two and send them to me for new programming. Then we can get back to discussing Dalden's lack of warrior restraint in his dealings with foes and lifemates."
"Huh?"
Brittany didn't get any further explanation, which was becoming an annoying habit with these two. She almost preferred hearing the no‑make‑sense stuff that fell into the "classified info" realm than these cryptic remarks she thought she might understand if she could get past the disbelief stage. And this "warrior" label? Once mentioned‑and Martha hadn't wanted it mentioned‑it was now being mentioned much too often. Hardly indicative of a national guard type of part‑time soldiers; more like a full‑time career.
Well, he had the body for it, and he certainly had the reflexes. So he was a soldier, and they called themselves warriors where he came from. She could deal with that. Why did they try to fluff it off and downplay the fact that he was a military man?
Just more of the little oddities that didn't add up. And the main source of answers went off on Dalden's hip as he began covering all the offices in the building, getting to ask questions now without worry of causing alarm, because he took that rod with him. While Brittany was left with the foot‑traffic crowd again and two hours remaining before City Hall closed shop for the day.
But she would get some answers, and pretty soon. She was working for them, helping them to round up this ring of thieves. Though lunatics might be a better word for people who thought they could just pop in and become an instant politician. She deserved better than double‑talk, tasteless jokes, and when that failed, simply being ignored.
Chapter Twenty
BRITTANY HAD NEVER REALIZED HOW EROTIC A MAN could be in tight jeans until she saw Dalden in the pair that had been made especially for him. Or maybe it was just him. Actually, it probably was just him, because the sight of him when he came out of the dressing room, with the long‑sleeved white cotton shirt tucked into those dark blue jeans was such a turn‑on that she almost dragged him back into the dressing room.