Nightshift Page 4

  “Yeah.” Mac interrupted Dink and grabbed Zianne’s hand. “This is Zianne. And this is Nils Dinkemann. Call him Dink.”

  Dink stared at Zianne for a moment and then flashed a bloody but approving smile at Mac.

  “Get your shirt off,” Mac said, ignoring his unspoken opinion. “I want to take a look.”

  “I’ve waited years to hear you ask me that.” Dink’s attempt at a cocky grin was more of a pained grimace.

  “Stuff it, Dinkemann.” Mac lowered his voice and asked, “How’re your ribs?”

  “They hurt like hell. Everything hurts, but nothin’ feels broken.”

  “You need a doctor? I can call a cab, get you to the ER.”

  “No. No doctor.” Emphatically, Dink shook his head.

  “Okay.” Mac nodded. They could always go later if he needed medical care. Mac carefully helped him out of his shirt. Bruises and bloody contusions covered his chest and back, but Dink’s attention was on Zianne, not the damage to his body. He stared at her first, and then at Mac, but he didn’t ask the obvious.

  He didn’t have to. How much, if anything, did Zianne know about the grant? It wasn’t a secret anymore. Bennett had announced Mac’s downfall loud and clear, according to Dink, but Zianne wouldn’t know that. She shouldn’t know anything.

  As if he’d asked her, Zianne rested her fingers on Mac’s shoulder. “I know Mac has been unjustly accused of a falsehood. This Bennett? The one who beat you? He is involved?”

  Mac couldn’t have hidden his surprise if he’d wanted to. His head felt as if it might explode with all the unanswered questions when he focused on Zianne. When he stared into those innocent violet eyes and dared her to tell him how she knew.

  Zianne smiled gently, but said nothing. Then she brushed her fingers across his forehead. Again, that unreal sense of connection. Somehow, with her touch, Mac knew she understood what was going on. But how? He felt dizzy from so many questions—more questions than he knew how to ask—but the most important ones wouldn’t leave him alone.

  Who, exactly, was Zianne? Had she heard about the scandal from Bennett? If not, then how? How could she be so certain of his innocence? He’d been ready to ask her about the notes when Dink arrived, but hadn’t had a chance.

  He frowned. Would it have done him any good? When he actually asked her things, she never really answered. Did it matter so much how she knew? Or did it merely matter that she believed his innocence?

  His questions spun so fast they made his head ache.

  Dink leaned back against the couch with the ice pack pressed to the side of his face. What if Mac were to tell him how he and Zianne met? How Zianne just appeared in his bed ... hell, in his fucking shower?

  Dink was hurting because of Mac’s problems with Phil Bennett. Somehow, Zianne knew about the scandal, yet she didn’t seem the least bit concerned Mac might be a liar and a thief.

  Which raised another question: Could he trust Zianne? He knew nothing about her. A weird thought flitted through his mind, and he wondered if he might be falling in love with her. Impossible. Why would he think that? How could you love someone you didn’t even know?

  He stared at her, his thoughts in turmoil, his heart as confused as his head. None of it made sense. No sense at all.

  5

  Zianne stood in front of the kitchen sink and rinsed Dink’s blood off her hands. She’d quite literally escaped to this room, though anywhere would have worked so long as it took her away from Mac’s probing questions. She wasn’t ready to answer them, but she couldn’t hold him off much longer.

  She and the elders had talked of this. They’d decided it was best Mac not know her true identity. Too often, other life forms had been unable to accept the fact they weren’t the only sentient beings living among the stars. Such egocentricity made no sense, but Zianne bowed to the greater wisdom.

  She wanted to think Mac would accept her, but she couldn’t take the risk. He had no idea what she would ask of him. She wasn’t ready to tell him that, either, though she had no doubt he could and would do what she needed. He was a good man with an inquisitive mind of immense power.

  Humans truly were exquisite creatures. She’d taken on shape and form before, using the mental energy of sentient beings, but nothing like this. She’d reached out and caught the stunning energy of his mind light-years beyond the far side of his world’s sun. He had drawn her here with his power—power he’d unknowingly shared with Zianne. When the ship had drawn close enough, MacArthur Dugan’s vivid sexual fantasies—complete with a startling visual of his ideal woman—had literally blasted her into being.

  And what a being it was. One never knew when assuming another creature’s form if the acts inherent to a particular species would be pleasing to her Nyrian sense of joy. She’d quickly discovered that pleasing Mac pleased her as well.

  Everything she and Mac did together gave her joy.

  Everything, except when he questioned her. She disliked pushing his thoughts in other directions, the sense of guilt she felt. She knew her evasiveness was no better than the lies of that one named Bennett, though she’d been as honest as she could when she said Mac had called her.

  The lie was merely in how one defined a call.

  And he had called her. She’d been searching for a powerful mind, and his compelling fantasy had been strong enough to pull her through both time and space. She’d never dreamed anyone like Mac existed in this quadrant of the endless, timeless universe.

  Had never imagined how she would begin to feel about him after so short a time. And she did feel. Strongly.

  “Zianne? Will you help me carry Dink into the bedroom? If you grab his feet ...”

  She went to help. The injured man was either sleeping or unconscious, though he groaned when Mac carefully lifted him beneath his arms and, with her help, carried him in and laid him on the bed.

  Mac raised his head and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Zianne. It’s the only bed, but I can’t leave him on the couch.” He gazed at his friend and then once again smiled at Zianne with definite interest in those gorgeous eyes of his. “Believe me, you have no idea how sorry I am.”

  She smiled to let him know she understood. She felt regret as well. “It’s okay. He’s badly hurt.” She moved closer to the bed and stroked Dink’s hair. His appearance pleased her as much as Mac’s, yet he was different. “This should not have happened. That other, the one called Bennett. His lies bring you trouble.”

  She felt Mac staring at her. Dear Nyria, this was so hard. She wanted to tell him everything. She’d tried to think of how she could help without giving herself away, but without honesty, she was no better than those who conspired against him.

  Even so, Mac wasn’t ready to accept the truth. He gazed at her now with those beautiful blue eyes of his, and she felt the questions circling in his mind. She closed her eyes and pushed.

  Amazingly, Mac’s mind pushed back even harder than before.

  Startled, she jerked, and then quickly composed herself. Did he even know what he was doing? What she was doing?

  Mac tilted his head, studying her much too closely. “How do you know so much, Zianne? We only met last night. Who are you?”

  Fighting a need to be honest, she faced him.

  And lied by omission. “I’m someone who wants very much for you to succeed.” She glanced away, well aware he followed her every move, her every word. She felt the need in him. He fought it now. Held it under iron control as he watched her.

  “That’s not enough,” he said. “I need to know more. I need answers.” He dared her. His focus on her was absolute.

  She took a deep breath and glanced away. Why was it so hard to meet his gaze? “It’s all I can give, Mac. For now.” Even as she said it, she knew this wasn’t enough. He demanded honesty.

  He wanted to trust her. She’d felt it last night when he took her, when he joined their bodies and made her feel things she’d never experienced in her long, long life. She wanted to feel those things again. Want
ed him to love her enough that when she finally admitted who she was—what she was—he would have no choice but to accept.

  Could he do that? Love her without knowing the truth? She’d pushed as much as she dared, but the future of the last of her kind depended on MacArthur Dugan and his brilliant mind—and on technology he hadn’t even begun to create.

  Once again she faced him, locked her gaze to his.

  The truth hit her like a shock out of the heavens. She quickly looked away. Lies. All lies. She was lying to herself even more than she lied to Mac. This wasn’t for her people. Not at all. She wanted Mac to love her—to know what she was and love her anyway. To love her, not as a creature from another world, but as a woman.

  To love her as she already loved him.

  Mac stared at her, at her perfect profile as she turned away. What the hell was going on? Damn, he wanted to trust her, but how? Why was she so damned evasive? And how could she look into his eyes with such truth and sincerity, and yet refuse to answer the simplest questions?

  She stood there gently stroking Dink’s bruised and battered face, and Mac’s anger with Zianne shifted. Damn. This was just wrong. Dink shouldn’t have had to fight to protect Mac’s honor. That was Mac’s job, and he’d failed miserably.

  “I need a beer.” He glanced at Zianne. She still watched Dink, still brushed his cheek with her fingertips, and Mac was unaccountably jealous, that she should be touching his friend and not him. “Do you want one?”

  “No, thank you.” She raised her head, frowning—probably at his tone of voice. “You go ahead. I’m fine.”

  He left her and stalked into the kitchen. They’d been as intimate as two people could be, but it was all physical. He knew nothing about her. She told him nothing, yet when he thought of sending her away, he couldn’t do it.

  “God damn it!” Mac slammed his palms down on the counter, trembling with rage and frustration. “Focus, Dugan.” Zianne wasn’t the issue. Dink getting beat up was. His future was.

  Tomorrow he’d go directly to the university’s chancellor. Screw the dean—if he didn’t clear his name, Mac’s success in the nascent yet already incestuous computer industry was screwed.

  The inertia that had gripped him was gone. In its place, anger surged—so much anger Mac struggled to contain his rage. Anger at Zianne and her damned secrets, anger that his friend had been a target for Mac’s problems. He grabbed a can of beer from the refrigerator and popped the top with shaking hands. He gulped a few swallows and then carefully set the beer down, took a few deep breaths, and forced a calm he really didn’t feel.

  Then he noticed the bloody towels and Dink’s torn and bloodstained shirt lying on the floor in the front room. Mac took another deep, calming breath, stalked out of the kitchen, and gathered up the bloody mess. He stuck the towels and shirt in the kitchen sink to soak and turned on the cold water.

  Taking one deep breath after another, he stared at the water as it turned from pale pink to deeper red with Dink’s blood. He finished off his beer while he waited for the sink to fill. Finally, he forced his anger under control, grabbed a second cold beer, and went back to the bedroom.

  Dink sat on the edge of the bed.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Dink’s face was still bruised, though not as swollen. He grinned at Mac and slowly shook his head. “I vaguely remember getting in a fight and coming here. I never expected to wake up in your bed. Please tell me we, uh ...”

  Mac laughed. “Shit, man. I thought you’d be out for hours. And don’t get your hopes up. Zianne and I carted your ugly carcass in here less than half an hour ago.” He handed Dink the beer he’d just opened. “Here. You need this more than I do.”

  Dink grabbed the can from him and took a swallow. Even his split lip looked better, though the bruises along his ribs were still a mottled purple and red. “Thanks.” He shook his head. “I was hurting like hell, but I feel a lot better now. Thanks for ...” He glanced at Zianne, returned her smile, and then shot a confused look at Mac. “For whatever.”

  Shoving himself to his feet, Dink stood beside the bed and rolled his shoulders, as if testing for injuries. “I actually feel pretty good.” He looked almost as surprised as Mac felt.

  Dink had been in bad shape not that long ago. Now he looked like he’d played a rough game of football or taken a fall, not like a guy who’d been beaten half to death by thugs.

  It made no sense. None at all. But neither did the reason he’d been beat up in the first place. “Dink, when you first got here, you said you thought more than Bennett was involved. What did you mean? What happened?”

  Dink shook his head. “I’m not sure. I was minding my own business, having a beer at Sloan’s. Bennett was drunk on his ass. He knows we’re friends and he got in my face with a bunch of crap about you. I called him on it. He said you never had a shot at the grant anyway. That he had an ‘inside line directly to the big bucks.’ His words, not mine.”

  “An inside line? What the hell could he mean by that? And how’d that lead to you getting beat up?”

  “A couple of older guys came over and told him to shut the fuck up. He said something to them I didn’t catch, called me a fag and then threw a sucker punch I really wasn’t expecting. I got up and flattened him with my first swing, but the other guys jumped in. They knew what they were doing. I don’t remember much after that.”

  Zianne’s light touch on Mac’s shoulder startled him. He jerked his head around and caught the quizzical expression in those amazing violet eyes. “Bennett’s uncle is the dean of the department. Could that be Mr. Bennett’s inside line?”

  “Dink and I talked about that, but what’s he got to gain?”

  “There is a lot of money in grants for postgraduate students. Am I correct?”

  Mac nodded.

  “Is there enough money that the dean of the department might want to manipulate its dispersal? If he had a willing student, someone to make the application ...” Her voice trailed off. In a stronger tone, she added, “The money is funneled through the head of each department.”

  Dink’s eyes flashed from Mac to Zianne and back to Mac. “She’s right. It makes sense, Mac. We’ve been assuming all along that Dean Johnson is honest. What if he’s in league with his nephew? If the money is awarded to that jerk, the dean is the one in charge of disbursing it. You’re only familiar with the one grant, and it’s a big one. What if they’re running a scam? What if they set it up so that Phil Bennett is awarded the money from numerous grants and they share the profits?”

  “It’s going to show up in audits, don’t you think?”

  Dink shrugged. “Depends on who’s in charge of the audit. This university has a huge budget. There’s a shitload of money going through the computer science department right now. I doubt they’ve got that tight a lock on who’s getting what.”

  “And if the applications are manipulated to show that Bennett’s the most deserving of the applicants, then it’s conceivable he could be raking in a lot of grant monies.”

  Zianne interrupted Mac. “You need to get your case before someone outside of the department. Even if it means replicating the project that got you into all this trouble, it would be worth it to prove your honesty, don’t you think?”

  Mac nodded. “Makes sense. But how do we go about this?”

  Smiling, Zianne leaned forward and kissed him. “Leave it to me. Dink? You stay here with Mac. I will return in the morning.”

  Still wearing nothing but Mac’s old robe, she left the bedroom and walked out into the front room. Mac shot a quick, confused glance at Dink and then followed her, still frustrated by the questions she’d not answered, the things she knew, and how she knew them.

  He needed answers. Now.

  The room was empty. His robe lay on the couch. “Zianne? Zianne, where the hell are you?” He checked the front door. It was still bolted. The kitchen was empty. So was the bathroom.

  Dink met him in the front room. “Gonna tell me
about her?”

  Mac sat on the arm of the sofa and shook his head. “I wish I could. She’s done it again.”

  “Done what?”

  “Disappeared. Not just as in leaving ... I mean, she’s literally disappeared. Gone without using a door or even a window, you get my drift? It’s not the first time, either.” He glanced at the robe lying on the couch and choked back a laugh. “Only this time she was naked.”

  “That’s impossible.” Dink sat down on the opposite end of the sofa from Mac. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “No,” Mac said. Laughing harder, he grabbed a pillow off the sofa and threw it at Dink. “I was just about to get laid when you showed up. Not only am I sober, I’m horny and I’ve lost my woman. Again.”

  He waited for Dink’s snort of laughter. When it didn’t come, Mac turned and looked at his friend. Dink stared back at him for a long, silent moment. Then he sighed, and the sound was unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He didn’t break the direct gaze he focused on Mac. “I’m not a woman, but I’m here for you, Mac. You know that, don’t you? You’ve always known that.”

  A shiver raced across Mac’s spine. Apprehension or desire? He wasn’t sure, but Mac knew how Dink felt about him, how he felt about Dink. Somehow, the feelings were stronger tonight than they’d ever been. Maybe it was the fact his friend had defended him and suffered for it. Maybe it was the way Zianne confused him, or his own convoluted needs and fucked-up desires.

  Whatever the reason, what had seemed uncomfortable in the past, what had felt like a line he shouldn’t cross, seemed to be the right thing to do now. Tonight. The right step to take.

  Zianne filled his mind, but ruthlessly he shoved her image away. He had no idea what they had, if anything. Without honesty there was no trust. Without trust, no relationship.

  Honesty and trust defined what he had with Dink. Their friendship was too strong, their ties too complex to turn away from the powerful need in his friend’s unspoken plea.