The police were a problem for approximately thirty seconds. Iain's assistant, a man with the blandly efficient name of Alex, produced a wallet containing a badge that made the senior officer on the scene turn pale and start apologizing.
Jazmin was "invited" into the back of Iain's limousine, a custom-built, armored Lincoln that was more of a mobile bunker than a car. The doors closed with a heavy, final-sounding thud, sealing them in an bubble of absolute silence.
Iain sat across from her, his pale eyes scanning her from head to toe, as if trying to find the seams, the glitches, the lines of code that made her up.
Jazmin leaned back against the plush leather, completely at ease. She found the crystal decanter of whiskey and poured herself a glass.
"Why aren't you dead?" Iain asked, his voice a soft, dangerous purr.
Jazmin took a sip of the whiskey. It was smoky and expensive. She just shrugged.
"I have a proposition," she said, taking control of the conversation. "I need protection. Resources. A shield against the Garretts and their lawyers. They won't let me go that easily."
Iain let out a short, cold laugh. "And why would I help you? I have no interest in a madwoman who thinks she's indestructible."
Jazmin set her glass down. She leaned forward, the space between them shrinking, the air growing thick with tension.
"Because I know about your legs," she whispered. "I know the nerve damage isn't irreversible. It's a data problem. A complex coding issue that no doctor on earth can solve."
The amusement vanished from Iain's face. His expression turned glacial. This was his deepest secret, a vulnerability known to no one, not even his most trusted aide. His hands, resting on his lap, clenched into fists over his useless thighs. A flicker of pure, unadulterated killing intent flashed in his eyes.
Jazmin ignored it. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny, metallic object-a micro-USB drive. She dangled it between her thumb and forefinger.
"This," she said, "contains a prototype of a neural regeneration algorithm. A little something I... acquired from a secret R&D project at Garrett Industries."
It was a lie, of course. The drive contained a data fragment she'd pulled from the game's root files. But he didn't need to know that.
Iain's gaze was fixed on the drive. Greed, suspicion, and a desperate, burning hope warred in his eyes.
He reached out again, not for the drive, but for her hand. He needed to touch her. He needed to know.
His fingertips brushed against hers.
Again, nothing. White noise. A void. A black hole where a mind should be.
The inability to see inside her, to control her, was more intoxicating to him than any power he had ever wielded. This woman was the ultimate puzzle, the one mystery he couldn't solve.
He pulled his hand back, his decision made. "What's your price?"
Jazmin looked him straight in the eye. "An engagement."
Iain raised an eyebrow. Of all the things he had expected-money, power, revenge-this was the most absurdly, brilliantly direct.
"Only as Iain Mendez's fiancée will I be truly untouchable," Jazmin explained. "Legally. Socially. It puts me beyond the Garretts' reach. It's the perfect shield."
The car glided to a stop in front of a sleek, black skyscraper in SoHo that was Iain's personal fortress.
He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He was looking at her not as a woman, but as a priceless, impossibly dangerous artifact he had to possess.
Alex opened the door and prepared the ramp for his wheelchair. Iain paused at the door.
"One condition," he said, looking back at her. "I'll have my lab analyze the data on this drive. If it's real... if it has even a fraction of the potential you claim... you'll get your engagement."
Jazmin nodded and tossed him the USB drive. He caught it with a cat-like reflex.
As he was wheeled away, Jazmin let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
A system warning flashed in her vision.
`[WARNING: ALLIANCE FORGED WITH CORE ANTAGONIST. SERVER LOGIC STABILITY COMPROMISED.]`
Jazmin looked out at the city lights and smiled grimly.
"Good," she whispered to the empty car. "Let it crash. A crash is how I get home."
In the penthouse elevator, Alex was giving Iain a verbal report. "Jazmin Hancock. Adopted. Married Adrian Garrett four years ago. No criminal record. Reports of emotional instability, particularly in the last six months..."
Iain wasn't listening. He was rubbing the cool metal of the USB drive with his thumb.
"Dig deeper," he commanded, his voice low. "I want to know everything. I want to know what she had for breakfast every day for the last ten years. Most of all... I want to know what the hell is inside her head."
