“Prompt for a changeling. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon for a briefing. Good night.”
“Good night, Mother.” She was talking to dead air. Regardless of the fact that Nikita had been no more a mother to her than the computer that controlled this apartment, it hurt. But tonight that hurt was buried under far more dangerous emotions.
She’d barely started to relax when the console chimed an incoming call. Since the caller identification function had been disabled along with the screen, she had no way of knowing who it was. “Sascha Duncan,” she said, trying not to panic that Nikita had changed her mind.
“Hello, Sascha.”
Her knees almost buckled at the sound of that honey-smooth voice, more purr than growl now. “Mr. Hunter.”
“Lucas. We’re colleagues, after all.”
“Why are you calling?” Harsh practicality was the only way she could deal with her roller-coaster emotions.
“I can’t see you, Sascha.”
“It’s a screen malfunction.”
“Not very efficient.” Was that amusement she could hear?
“I assume you didn’t call to chat.”
“I wanted to invite you to a breakfast meeting with the design team tomorrow.” His tone was pure silk.
Sascha didn’t know if Lucas always sounded like an invitation to sin or whether he was doing it to unsettle her. That thought unsettled her. If he even suspected that there was something not quite right about her, then she might as well sign her death warrant. Internment at the Center was nothing less than a living death anyway.
“Time?” She wrapped her arms tight around her ribs and forced her voice to even out. The Psy were very, very careful that the world never saw their mistakes, their flawed ones. No one had ever successfully fought the Council after being slated for rehabilitation.
“Seven thirty. Is that good for you?”
How could he make the most businesslike of invitations sound like purest temptation? Maybe it was all in her mind—she was finally cracking. “Location?”
“My office. You know where that is?”
“Of course.” DarkRiver had set up business camp near the chaotic bustle of Chinatown, taking over a medium-sized office building. “I’ll be there.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
To her heightened senses, that sounded more like a threat than a promise.