Harry’s target, Miranda Mellons, passed out, which made his job easier. Assess the alleged gamma wave scanner and report back to PMS and Mr. Fritz. Why they couldn’t have sent him straight to Alamo, Nevada, when the precog on staff sensed Miranda’s invention, he had no idea. For whatever reason, the geeks in PMS—the Paranormal and Magical Security company—insisted that the inspection of the equipment’s functionality had to be in the hotel and in the presence of its creator. They’d gone to great and deceptive lengths to get her here, and now he had to evaluate the risk.
She was a tasty little thing. He wouldn’t have minded assessing more than her technology, but Fritz and PMS hadn’t hired him to seduce the human’s body, just her brain.
The towel had fallen off her head, revealing a rat’s nest of brown frizz. Harry lifted her off the floor and arranged her comfortably on her bed. If her robe sort of came open in the transfer, was it his fault? Her tits were small but succulent, all pink and white. Resisting the urge to see if they felt as soft as they looked, he closed the gaping neckline of her robe and debated trying to wake her. She looked younger than her reported twenty-nine years with the annoyance lines between her eyebrows smoothed out in sleep.
He was an expert in annoyance wrinkles. He could annoy a precog, and they could even see it coming.
Better tie her up first. He took the cloth restraint out of the serving tray and roped the little brunette to the bedpost. Not in a pervy way, just secured her wrists so she couldn’t go for that taser he’d smelled earlier. Or the phone. Or his balls. If she stayed konked, he could get his initial assessment of the machine out of the way before the Q&A portion.
Luckily there was no need to muffle her; the rooms on the wolf floor, among others, were quite soundproof.
Harry then directed his attention to the device beneath the comforter. It looked like an airplane dashboard minus the stick. Dials and screens everywhere, all with tiny needles bouncing back and forth. Printer off to the side with a long roll of paper. Folded up antennae of several types on the top. There was a long, thin screen that displayed jagged waves—must be the gamma readout. It was lit up like a Christmas tree.
Well, of course. Silly woman walked into a hotbed of paranormal activity with her infernal machine and threatened to bring everyone from the ghosts to the goblins out of the closet. Nobody—paranormals or humans—was ready for that yet.
Harry rubbed his hands together, inhaled the delightful scents of machine and woman—his two favorite things in the world—and got to work.