Trisk bent over one of the ripening fruits, examining it for any hint of cracking to find only a perfect red skin. The tiny little hairs that helped retain moisture were a soft fuzz on her fingers. Her feelings were decidedly mixed. It would be wonderful to leave the clunky, labor-intensive techniques that a human-run facility was saddled with to work directly on developing her donor virus, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave the comfort of where she was, fighting only the expectation that she should be cooking in a kitchen, not at a Bunsen burner. Her reputation was here, and to leave it, even to help her people, would be hard.
“Dr. Cambri?” Angie’s voice came across the intercom, shouting to be heard over the massive fans. “Mr. Rales wants to talk to you.”
Trisk turned to the observation window with a grimace. She’d skipped the man’s first staff meeting this morning, and he probably wanted to nip that in the bud. “Sure!” she exclaimed, hoping the mic could pick her up from here. “Can you take a message? I’m busy.”
“Uh, he’s in your office?” Angie said apologetically, and Trisk winced.
“I guess I’d better get my ass in there, then, eh?” she said softly, and then louder, “Got it! Thanks!” Making her way back, Trisk plucked a tomato to take home for supper. It wouldn’t hurt to remind Rick that her work paid some of the bills when he made whatever lame-ass request he had buzzing around in his vampire-infested brain.
Wanting to make him wait, she carefully knocked the growth substrate off her field boots before slipping into her office shoes. She took the time to wash the tomato in the decontamination sink. The minimal procedures were nothing compared to Daniel’s elaborate precautions, but seeing as the Angel tomato was on the market, they were all she needed.
Rick’s shadow loomed close to the observation window. He was smiling, but Trisk didn’t like the way he was looking at Angie, and she hustled to the door.
“Dr. Cambri,” the man said as the air lock hissed open. His disapproving glance at her slacks rankled, and she held up a hand to shut him up for a moment and maintain control of the situation.
“Angie, I want the field to go another three days without water. Could you adjust the irrigator for me?”
“Certainly, Dr. Cambri.” The young woman gave Rick a lovelorn look. “Have a great weekend, Mr. Rales.”
“You too,” the living vampire said with a closed-lipped smile. “See you Monday.”
Never taking her eyes off him, Angie stumbled out the door Trisk had come in through and into the field. Eyebrows high, Trisk shifted to stand between the closing door and Rick. She didn’t like him watching her lab assistant. “What brings you down to the basement, Rick?”
Rick’s attention went to her, Angie clearly forgotten. “You,” he said, and Trisk blanched as his smile widened to show his capped teeth. “You weren’t at my meeting this morning.”
He looked better than good in the lab coat he’d begun to wear lately over his tailored slacks and crisp white shirts. He smelled good, too, sort of a dusty-book-and-wine scent. Knowing the man had made a game out of learning what turned on each of the female staff—not to mention that he’d pegged her correctly in two days flat—Trisk cocked her hip belligerently. “That’s right,” she said, offering no explanation. The monthly staff meeting had been a waste of time under Hartsford, and probably would be doubly so under Rick.
Making a small noise, Rick turned to a shelf of reference books stacked beside her terminal. “I’m sure you heard everything through the grapevine,” he said, and she stiffened as he ran a finger sensuously over the spine of the most worn.
“No,” she said, feeling her pulse quicken. Daniel had been in a sour mood—the little she’d seen of him. “What can I do for you?” she said, wanting him to stop touching her things.
“Me?” He turned, shoe squeaking. “Nothing. But I need you to clear out the office next to yours by Monday morning for an incoming researcher.”
Trisk’s lips parted. “That office connects directly to mine, Mr. Rales, and I’m using it.” Damn it, why did new management always think there was a better way to do things?
“Your assistant is using it, not you,” he said, going still.
The barest widening of his eyes was a clear warning at her argumentative attitude. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, but that he did. The sun must be down. It would be harder for him to keep a lid on his instincts. “Yes,” she said, eyes down to give him space to collect himself. “But it’s connected to mine. My work is proprietary, and the security risk alone—”
“Your work has been on the shelves and in every third-world field for over a year,” Rick interrupted. “There’s no security risk. Perhaps next time you can make a product that doesn’t self-seed.”
She’d taken a lot of flack for that from Hartsford as well. “Species that don’t reproduce on their own shouldn’t be taking up resources in the field,” she said, her face warming at the hypocrisy. Two-thirds of the elven population was alive due to genetic tampering.
Rick turned away, clearly struggling to maintain an even temperament as she argued with him. “We can put in a lock between your offices if you like,” he said, voice low, “but he needs a terminal linked to the mainframe, and your assistant’s is the only one available.”
“Mr. Rales,” she protested, and he spun, shocking her to silence with how fast it had been. His shoulders were hunched and his lips parted. His eyes held the need to dominate. Trisk’s mouth went dry. Quen said to never argue with a vampire . . .