out for us and celebrate getting as far as we have."
Carl turned on his charm for the rest of the evening. He entertained Danielle with amusing stories about the problems they'd had in their research—about a mob of vampires who had tunneled under the lab and raided the blood samples, a white mouse who had been given the virus—and had turned into a zombie stalking and murdering the other mice, and about the dwarves who, hearing of a coffee shipment, had turned one of their own number into a battering ram, using the dwarf's head to break into the storeroom and secure the forbidden stimulant.
Danielle found herself laughing, relaxing, and even telling Carl stories about her own experiences—about teaching martial arts to trolls, and about life as the only normal in the zone.
Only when Carl's gentle probing touched truly sensitive areas did she realize she'd opened up to him more than she'd ever opened to any male, normal or impaired.
"What about your family,” he inquired gently. “How did they feel about your career choice?"
"I'm not going to talk about my mother,” she told him, her voice rising despite herself.
"Ooookay. Note to self. Don't talk about family.” When she didn't even smile at his attempt at humor, Carl turned serious. “I'm interested in you, that's all. Well, fascinated might be a better description."
Danielle wasn't sure she wanted to fascinate a man—or an impaired.
After dinner, they walked along the swollen Trinity River.
Strands of barbed wire, new in the three months since they'd first entered the zone, and continual probing of searchlights added a sense of danger and adventure to the evening. Hooting alarms and a flurry of tracer shells briefly disturbed the peace of their walk.
"I don't know how we can go on like this,” she admitted to Carl. “Keeping the impaired under control is absorbing so many of society's resources."
He nodded grimly. “That's why my work is important. Sooner or later, some politician is going to get the brilliant idea that normals would be better off without the magical."
It was a curious statement. “They already have. That's why we have the zones."
He shook his head. “The zones just contain the problem. They're not a solution."
She shuddered as she caught his meaning. Before this assignment, she hadn't really seen the impaired as human. But living with Carl, seeing the magical struggle for life, made her wish for a solution other than death.
"It's getting late,” Carl said. “I'd better get you home."
An alarm almost drowned out Carl's words and Danielle's memory flashed on the vampire she'd killed in L.A. Dallas didn't need an escape.
"Get your head down,” Carl hissed.
A searchlight blinked past them, then returned, joined by others.
"Warder Business,” she shouted, raising her badge.
Carl tackled her just before a ricochet threw shards of concrete in her face. The crack of a high-powered sniper rifle sounded a fraction of a second later.
"They're after us,” Carl hissed.
Walking near the barrier had been a bad idea, Danielle realized. An idea that just might get them killed.
She let herself blur, sending her senses out to be sure that no warders were on this side of the river before leading Carl on a long crawl back to safety.
By the time they made it back to his car, Danielle was a mess, but she was also filled with adrenaline and wound up like a spring.
After the short drive, home Carl walked her to her door.
She decided she'd shake his hand, thank him for a wonderful evening, and go inside.
His lips descended on hers before she could get the first word out.
The combination of Carl's potent male sensuality, the adrenaline rush from being shot at, and the romantic evening swamped any vestiges of common sense. For weeks she'd kept her libido under control by continual workouts, by sparing with vampires and fast-moving elves, and by resolutely refusing to think of Carl's lips, or Carl's body.
None of those tricks worked
Carl turned on his charm for the rest of the evening. He entertained Danielle with amusing stories about the problems they'd had in their research—about a mob of vampires who had tunneled under the lab and raided the blood samples, a white mouse who had been given the virus—and had turned into a zombie stalking and murdering the other mice, and about the dwarves who, hearing of a coffee shipment, had turned one of their own number into a battering ram, using the dwarf's head to break into the storeroom and secure the forbidden stimulant.
Danielle found herself laughing, relaxing, and even telling Carl stories about her own experiences—about teaching martial arts to trolls, and about life as the only normal in the zone.
Only when Carl's gentle probing touched truly sensitive areas did she realize she'd opened up to him more than she'd ever opened to any male, normal or impaired.
"What about your family,” he inquired gently. “How did they feel about your career choice?"
"I'm not going to talk about my mother,” she told him, her voice rising despite herself.
"Ooookay. Note to self. Don't talk about family.” When she didn't even smile at his attempt at humor, Carl turned serious. “I'm interested in you, that's all. Well, fascinated might be a better description."
Danielle wasn't sure she wanted to fascinate a man—or an impaired.
After dinner, they walked along the swollen Trinity River.
Strands of barbed wire, new in the three months since they'd first entered the zone, and continual probing of searchlights added a sense of danger and adventure to the evening. Hooting alarms and a flurry of tracer shells briefly disturbed the peace of their walk.
"I don't know how we can go on like this,” she admitted to Carl. “Keeping the impaired under control is absorbing so many of society's resources."
He nodded grimly. “That's why my work is important. Sooner or later, some politician is going to get the brilliant idea that normals would be better off without the magical."
It was a curious statement. “They already have. That's why we have the zones."
He shook his head. “The zones just contain the problem. They're not a solution."
She shuddered as she caught his meaning. Before this assignment, she hadn't really seen the impaired as human. But living with Carl, seeing the magical struggle for life, made her wish for a solution other than death.
"It's getting late,” Carl said. “I'd better get you home."
An alarm almost drowned out Carl's words and Danielle's memory flashed on the vampire she'd killed in L.A. Dallas didn't need an escape.
"Get your head down,” Carl hissed.
A searchlight blinked past them, then returned, joined by others.
"Warder Business,” she shouted, raising her badge.
Carl tackled her just before a ricochet threw shards of concrete in her face. The crack of a high-powered sniper rifle sounded a fraction of a second later.
"They're after us,” Carl hissed.
Walking near the barrier had been a bad idea, Danielle realized. An idea that just might get them killed.
She let herself blur, sending her senses out to be sure that no warders were on this side of the river before leading Carl on a long crawl back to safety.
By the time they made it back to his car, Danielle was a mess, but she was also filled with adrenaline and wound up like a spring.
After the short drive, home Carl walked her to her door.
She decided she'd shake his hand, thank him for a wonderful evening, and go inside.
His lips descended on hers before she could get the first word out.
The combination of Carl's potent male sensuality, the adrenaline rush from being shot at, and the romantic evening swamped any vestiges of common sense. For weeks she'd kept her libido under control by continual workouts, by sparing with vampires and fast-moving elves, and by resolutely refusing to think of Carl's lips, or Carl's body.
None of those tricks worked
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