Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“Vanguard should be joining us momentarily. He had an early morning engagement. You know how it is.” She laughs like this is an inside joke we’re all sharing. “Before we begin, I just want to go over a few ground rules.”
Of course there are ground rules.
“Vanguard is happy to discuss his abilities, his work with Global Dynamix, and his hopes for the future. However, certain topics are off-limits for security reasons. Anything classified, anything related to ongoing operations, anything that might compromise national safety.”
I raise my finger slightly. “Ongoing operations? You mean like governmental or military? Why would he be involved in those?”
Her smile tightens. “I never said he was. I’m talking about Global Dynamix.” She taps her tablet. “I’ll be here throughout the interview to help guide the conversation. Jason will be handling any technical questions about our programs.”
“Sure.” I pull out my own tablet, my recorder, and arrange them on the table like the good journalist I’m pretending to be. “I appreciate the access. I know you don’t give many in-depth interviews.”
“We don’t. But Dr. Van Veen was very impressed with your proposal.” Rachel’s cold eyes sharpen for just a moment. “She felt you might bring a fresh perspective.”
I file that away for later. What exactly does Van Veen want from this?
Before I can dig further, the door opens.
And there’s the man of the century.
Vanguard steps into the room, and suddenly, it feels about three sizes smaller. He’s in his full uniform, the black, high-tech fabric that sculpts every muscle from his combat boots to his gloves, the V symbol standing out on his chest. He moves with the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly how much space he takes up and doesn’t apologize for it. His dark hair is neatly styled today, his beard groomed, and when his cold blue eyes land on me, there’s a flicker of recognition, bordering on amusement.
“Ms. Baxter.” His voice is deeper than I remembered, warm and rough around the edges. “So we meet again,” he says as he removes his gloves and slides them into a hidden pocket at his waist.
“Vanguard.” I rise, extending my hand. His skin is cool, grip firm but careful, like he’s very aware of how easily he could crush my bones if he wanted to. A tiny thrill seems to run along my nerves from the point of contact all the way to my spine. I do my best to ignore it. “Thank you for making time for this.”
“Thank you for not calling me a weapon this time.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “At least, not yet.”
Rachel clears her throat. I ignore her.
“The day is young,” I say. “Shall we get started?”
We sit, him on one side of the table, me on the other, Rachel and Jason hovering at the periphery like anxious chaperones at a school dance. I tap my recorder, make a show of settling in, and remind myself this is a job. Don’t forget that he’s a target. He’s the mark. A person of great interest. The fact that he smells like something expensive and woodsy and masculine and my stupid lizard brain is responding to his proximity is completely irrelevant.
“Let’s start with the basics,” I say. “For readers who might not be familiar with your abilities—”
“Everyone’s familiar with my abilities,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “I’m on about forty billboards between here and Times Square.”
He’s a bloody arrogant one, isn’t he?
“Humor me, then. I’d like to hear it in your own words about what you can do, not the marketing copy.”
That earns me a real smile—small, private and quick. It’s enough that my chest warms, and I feel like I’ve won the lottery.
“Fair enough.” He leans back in his chair, arms folded across that massive chest. “As you should know, I can fly. Top speed is…classified.” He glances at Rachel, who nods. “But let’s say I can get across the city faster than any helicopter. I’m strong. Also classified, but I can lift things most machinery can’t. I’m durable—bullets, explosions, that sort of thing won’t take me down easily. Enhanced senses. Faster reflexes. I heal quickly.” He pauses, smacking his lips together. “What else…oh, I can turn invisible. Bend light around myself so I don’t register on the visual spectrum. Useful for reconnaissance.”
“How long can you maintain invisibility?” I ask.
“Couple of hours, depending on what else I’m doing. It’s taxing physically.”
Rachel clears her throat loudly, and he shoots her an apologetic look.
Meanwhile, I’m jotting notes, playing the journalist, but inside, I’m cataloging everything. These match SOE’s intel…mostly. The vagueness around specific numbers is frustrating, but that’s also to be expected.
“And the limits? Everyone has limits.”
His brows knit together, looking irritated for a moment.
“I’m not Superman, if that’s what you’re asking. I can be hurt. I just heal faster than most.” He shifts in his seat. “My weaknesses can be sustained assault, overwhelming force, plus some other factors I’m not at liberty to say. I’m not technically invincible, just very, very hard to kill.”