Page 3 of Silent Comrade
Nothing about Al seemed comfortable.
A muscle in his tight cheek popped. Nothingabout Al seemed happy, either.
A few fine lines next to his hazel eyeshinted that his age was closer to Britt’s and he wasn’t the typicaleighteen- to twenty-two-year-old student.
Sure, she liked thedoesn’t-realize-he’s-hot-introvert-intellectual-in-a-beanie look,same as any gal. But the way he scanned the hallway and whipped hishead over at a noise down the hall, like a Doberman on suddenalert? Out of place.
The denim over his sturdy legs? Toodistressed. Too symmetrical. Faux shabby. He was trying toohard.
Using her teeth to toy with the silver hoopon her lip, she sighed. She could judge him, or she could cut theguy a break. His grandma was ill, and he had picked up and movedfrom Savannah to Atlanta. That situation would make anyoneuncomfortable. He probably didn’t even have all his clothesunpacked yet. She glanced again. That made the most sense. No freshclothes. Because if this was a deliberate choice? Phew. He’d needremedial studies before he was allowed to graduate.
“Here we are, Al.” She pointed at the numbernext to the classroom door.
Murmurs and chair scrapes from herclassmates taking their seats in Fashion Design: ConceptDevelopment filtered out into the hallway.
His big hand spread out on the door, holdingit open for her to enter. She had to step way too close to hisbroad chest to pass by him. A hint of pine and aftershave temptedher to inhale again.
Murmuring stopped. All eyes shot up.
Britt’s cheeks heated as she motioned to getProfessor Durban’s attention. “New guy,” she mumbled, then hurriedto an open seat on the far side of the room.
Professor Durban batted their eyelashes andfawned over Al, right along with half the class. The top of Al’sneck turned red as he stood with his shoulders hunched. He stilltook up a ton of physical space.
Even several rows over, Britt fielded theusual nasty glances from Jenna and her crew of fashionista clones.Jenna had on a denim jumper cinched with a metal belt. Hey, justbecause someone could afford Nordstrom’s clothes straight off therack didn’t automatically make them a trendsetter. Anyway, it waseasy to be cutting edge when your daddy was the mayor of thewealthiest Atlanta suburb, Alpharetta. Jenna probably hadname-brand toilet paper for her 24-karat gold hiney that shedemanded everyone kiss.
One of the clones looked over at Britt, thenrolled her eyes as the squad tittered and whispered. Good grief.Just like high school, only now Britt was in sixteenth grade.Didn’t matter that Britt was a good four years older than Jenna andher friends. Mean girls didn’t appear or disappear at a certainage. At least Britt’s anxiety was well-treated nowadays. ThankGod.
Jenna’s ruby-red Revlon snarl turned into acome-hither simper when Al slunk into a seat next to her. Jackpotfor Jenna.
Only he didn’t slink. Not really. Britttapped the edge of her scratched laptop. Maybe he did slink, butsomehow it was a deliberate action. Which made no sense. A tall guywith broad shoulders like that shouldn’t be lacking in confidence.He glanced back and over at Britt, his dark-orange eyebrows risingas a quick, wry grin curled one corner of his generous mouth. Herheart flopped.
Yep. He was confident enough.
Nope. Time machine back to high school ornot, Britt had no time for men, dating, or anythingextracurricular. Time to concentrate on school, because no waywould shenotgraduate this time. Not after years ofwandering, trying out colleges and majors, taking semesters off towork and figure out what the heck she wanted to do, all whiletrying to bolster the crumbling life around her. Britt had finallygotten mental health assistance, and then decided on adestination.
Britt had promised Mom a year ago, thatshe’d finish her degree. Now Britt had a senior project to finishand a graduation to accomplish. No fashion misfit, hazel-eyedhottie who couldn’t make junior sales associate at Banana Republicwould prevent her from finally reaching this goal.
Jenna could go right ahead and sink her gelnails into him. Britt snorted. If Entitled Barbie’s lip-lickingforeshadowed the future, Jennawouldhave Al … for lunch.Soon. Poor guy, he would never know what steamrolled him. For asecond, Britt felt bad for the guy.
Not my problem.
Britt rested a hand on her temple, blockingout her line of sight to Al. It helped.
Some.
Chapter Three
At the age of twenty-five, Red was alreadyway too old for this shit.
He tried to concentrate on the professor’slecture while the unnaturally natural blonde next to him keptturning her head and flipping her hair. Then she moved to coylytapping her pen on her glossy upper lip, the sound bursting like acold, damp bubble on his face. Based on her progressive flirtation,he’d bet money on her giving up her digits, or outright asking himon a date. Great. He groaned inwardly.
Red might be the so-called baby of theMorpheus Squad. Didn’t mean he had missed out on his fair share oflife experience, including some fun and games. He rubbed his ear.If anyone could call a life-changing experimental virus “fun.”
No, the fun part was how Uncle Sam hadtested the team members like lab rats, all in the name of God andcountry. Those testing facilities came complete with nice, locked,luxury cells with a daily dose of pain and suffering. Even now, aspart of Morpheus Squad, operating in the shadows, Red riskedrecapture if he blew his cover. The government hadn’t finishedtheir experiments. Freedom and his work as a team member came at aprice.
His extra abilities meant that he could usehis skills to help others or he could hide forever.
The only way he could pull off any missionwas to remain undetected.
