Malcolm and Ives 02 - Trouble With Air and Magic Read Online Free Page A

have the highest government security clearance available to a civilian,” he retorted, typing the keyboard with the speed of familiarity. “Your father did his research when he hired me.”
    “I’m supposed to trust you, just like that?” she asked.
    Every once in a while, she had a voice filled with flowers, and then she pulled this Miss Frost bit. Conan rubbed his nose and wondered if his headaches meant his brain was cracking.
    “Why not be a little more blunt?” Disregarding etiquette, he appropriated the desk chair she’d abandoned and began digging through the computer server’s guts. “If you can’t trust the government, who can you trust?”
    “Since I’m not believing their report that my brother died in a helicopter crash, that might be a clue,” she retorted sarcastically.
    “Point taken. Is there something in these files that tells me your reason for not believing an official report?”
    “Instinct,” she replied. “Their bodies were never recovered. They were on a top-secret project. Do you even know what you’re looking for?” she said, diverting the topic. She was damned good at diversion, he’d noticed.
    “If it’s got anything to do with computer security, I can tell you the problem without asking. But helicopters are out of my bailiwick. I need to follow up your notes. Until now, I haven’t been looking into the crash. We need to talk more about why you are, but right now, you need dinner. I could be here a while and your stomach growling is a distraction.”
    Conan knew he ruffled feathers. But he’d never quite learned how to play social games. If Daddy’s girl could accuse him of theft, he saw no reason to be polite in return—unless there was a possibility of sex. As much as he admired her black curls and exotic eyes, he didn’t have time or patience for women with split personalities.
    When she didn’t smack him upside the head or rip out his hair, Conan glanced sideways in suspicion. She was punching numbers into her cell phone, probably calling police. He admired the determined set of her rounded jaw. Most of all, he admired her silence. He returned to work.
    He was deeply immersed in tracking her brother’s last emails when she murmured into the phone. He was completely lost to his surroundings by the time the pungent scent of black beans and garlic roused him from his search. The dog trotted obediently at the lady’s heels, not even barking at the delivery person—another breach in security if she allowed unsecured personnel access to the floor. She should have met the delivery guy downstairs in the secured foyer.
    To his surprise, looking through her glass office wall, he realized the place had emptied while he was absorbed in the computer. Nice. Less distraction.
    Continuing to work, he tried not to watch as she unpacked cartons of scrumptious-smelling Chinese food on a desk outside her cubicle. His nose could detect fresh garlic and tell the difference from cheap soy. Surely she didn’t intend to eat all that herself? Women ate like birds, and she wasn’t much bigger than a sparrow. His own stomach was reminding him that he probably had forgotten to eat since breakfast…or maybe since last night’s pizza.
    He could scarcely concentrate on the reports scrolling before his eyes. She had produced heavy cardboard plates while he wasn’t looking and was now loading one with Chinese broccoli and noodles. One of them. There was a second plate sitting there. But she didn’t invite him to share.
    Was this his punishment for mentioning her stomach? Passive-aggressive, much?
    She unpackaged chopsticks and calmly began picking at broccoli leaves while he attempted to dig through files of computer history. He could swear he smelled Lychee tea. No one had the ability to distract him as this woman did. Why the devil was he doing this to himself?
    Because she had bones in her garden and thought it odd that the bodies of their brothers hadn’t washed up on shore. And because