Species II by Yvonne Navarro Page B

the words TETHER MECHANISM. “It’s an electronic tethering device,” Laura explained. “One step off the premises and a toxic capsule will explode in her brain. She’ll die instantly.”
    Press gaped at her, then looked over at the creature still gazing fixedly at them from the habitat. He didn’t like the look of . . . seductiveness painted across the Eve-thing’s features, but there was still the fact that she— it —seemed disturbingly human. “So what happened?” he asked finally. “I knew you were ambitious, but at least you used to have a little soul.”
    Beneath the shining strawberry blond hair, Laura’s face and her china-blue eyes blazed. “You thick-headed jerk—who the hell do you think you are, coming into my lab and questioning my motives? You—who have all the conscience of a rattlesnake!”
    Press opened his mouth, but Burgess stepped between them. “Both of you, knock it off,” he barked. “You know we have a national emergency on our hands, and you will work together—that’s a direct order from the Pentagon.” He stared at them, and both Press and Laura finally dropped their gazes. “You killed one of these aliens before,” Burgess continued. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion or concern for the female life-form still watching them avidly from across the laboratory and who could no doubt hear their every word. “Do it again.”
    The three of them automatically turned toward the glass enclosure. Press felt himself clenching his jaw and forced himself to relax, despite the awkward silence that followed Colonel Burgess’s brutally direct order. He pulled his gaze away from the habitat and made himself look at Laura again, who finally met his eyes. He gave her a sarcastic smile and allowed himself one final bit of derision.
    “You heard him, Laura. Piece of cake.”

7
    W histling along with the radio, Dennis Gamble pulled his Explorer into the private driveway of Patrick’s Georgetown townhouse. Bright red, loaded with enough extras to jack the price up to where no normal Joe Schmoe could afford it, the four-wheeler had less than two hundred miles on it and was a comp, courtesy of Ford Motor Company. No fools there; they’d jumped on a tie-in between space exploration and the name of their best-selling product immediately. Wait till Patrick sees this baby, he thought gleefully. Me and Air Mikey—this’ll teach Mr. Conservative what endorsements can do for a guy. After all, a fellow had to plan for his future.
    Dennis shut off the engine and climbed out, careful to set the car alarm even in this area—if this vehicle was a babe magnet, it would also draw attention from other not so desirables. It never hurt to take precautions.
    A quick glance at his watch and he knew he was right on schedule. When they weren’t flying around the universe together, he and Patrick always met at Patrick’s townhouse on Tuesday mornings, when they’d buzz off to their favorite health club for a game of racquetball. After working up a good sweat, they’d have a long, hot session in the sauna, complete with about half a dozen other regulars and at least an hour’s worth of guy talk, covering topics that ranged from cars—today Dennis planned on monopolizing that subject to which woman had been the hottest one on the exercise floor that particular day.
    That was always a heated discussion, and the memories brought a grin to Dennis’s face. He and Patrick made a great-looking pair on that racquetball court, which was on the lower level of the club and surrounded by an overhead glassed-in walkway. They were both in tip-top shape and competitive as hell; the walls shook with the energy of their games and their shouts of enthusiasm and verbal sparring were guaranteed to draw an audience—mostly female—to the windows. While Patrick had eyes only for Melissa, Dennis had no reservations about taking advantage of the hero worship that had surrounded both of them since their return from the Mars