Teaser
Moss stopped outside the door to Dr. Jacobs’ office and let me enter. Jacobs was a picture perfect doctor, with an impressive mane of gray hair and a spotless lab coat. That would explain how he had risen to the rank of major despite being a complete quack.
But it was the woman in the room with him that made me catch my breath. Miranda. Her hair was blonde now, almost gold, and pulled back in a way that practically begged a man to pull the pins from her hair. She carried herself differently, her posture loose with easy confidence. Whoever she was pretending to be had nothing to prove to anyone. But I would know that intelligent, measuring gaze anywhere. Heat sprang over me as memory flooded my senses.
Miranda was irritated, but not angry. She didn't tap her foot like that when she was angry. "Do you actually plan to accomplish something by awakening the geth, or were you also born with the desire to poke hornet’s nests and press the big red buttons?"
"So says the only woman who can put resurrections on her resume. A talking geth, Lawson! This could be the greatest scientific discovery since we found the Archives, and I want in on it. Don't tell me you don't."
Lightning fired through her eyes as curiosity warred with caution. It was lightning, not her body, that made her so damn close to irresistible: that desire to see, do, and experience the impossible. And it didn't get much more impossible than a talking geth. "I suppose someone should be on hand in case you botch the interrogation." She smiled, and I suddenly wanted to punch Jacob for ever being a big enough idiot to let her slip away. "I'll meet you in the AI core in five minutes."
But also…
Wilson had called Miranda an ice queen when we first met, but her mouth was hot and soft under mine. My shoulders scraped the metal of the bulkhead. We’d barely escaped being blown up on Heretic Station we doing the most alive thing we could think of to celebrate. Blood flowed southward, and my pants were suddenly way too tight. I reached for the zipper at the front of her jumpsuit.
But she put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me away, gently but firmly. "No."
"No?" I repeated incredulously, trying not to think about how good she looked with her hair mussed.
She started pacing the length of the captain's quarters. "We know how dangerous this is, how likely it is that the Collectors will kill one or both of us. Now’s not the time to let our hormones compromise the mission."
Her words somehow managed to penetrate the fog of lust, and my brain started working again. Cerberus didn't have fraternization regs, but the reason those regs existed was so that commanders could do what was necessary and not have to worry about sending the woman they were sleeping with to certain death. That went double when the enemy was a Reaper pawn. "No, it isn't." The words tasted like sawdust. "I hate the Reapers.”
"Getting killed doesn't motivate you, but the desire to sleep with me does? I'll have to remember that."
And suddenly it was all too much. I closed the distance between us and seized her hands in mine. Her hands were mostly gloved, but the knuckles were tantalizingly exposed. I brushed my lips against them like the knights in the stories I used to read. "After the war is over…”
But then Jacob had gotten killed and Miranda had gotten reassigned, and there had been no after. I hadn't even known whether she was alive or dead. Until today.
"And here he is now," Jacobs said. "Mr. Shepard is suffering from severe posttraumatic stress disorder. Hardly worth your time, Dr. Solheim."
"On the contrary." She’d adopted a slight Norwegian accent, just enough to be exotic. "Mr. Shepard's implants alone makes this a fascinating case study.”
I heard the message as clearly as if she had spoken aloud: the cause of my headaches had something to do with my implants and Lazarus Project director was here to fix it.