at her, sweating in the heat of the clinic. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." She took a step back from him, uncomfortable. "You did a good job with Mariu."
Gregg laughed. He held out his hands, and Sara saw angry red scratches scattered over them. "Mariu gave me lots of problems until you showed up. I'm strictly amateur help here. We made a good team, though. Tachyon wanted me to unload supplies; want to give me a hand with that?"
There wasn't a graceful way to say no. They worked in silence for a time, restocking shelves. "I didn't expect to find you here," Sara commented as they wrestled a packing crate into a storage room.
Sara saw that he noted her unspoken words and hadn't taken offense. "Without making sure a video camera was recording my good works, you mean?" he said, smiling.
"Ellen was out shopping with Peregrine. John and Amy had a stack of paperwork this big they wanted me to tackle." Gregg held his hands two feet apart. "Coming here seemed a lot more useful. Besides, Tachyon's dedication can give you a guilt complex. I left a note for Security saying I was `going out.' I imagine Billy Ray's probably having a fit by now. Promise not to tell on me?"
His face was so innocently mischievous that she had to laugh with him. With the laughter a little more of the brittle hatred flaked away. "You're a constant surprise, Senator."
"Gregg, remember?" Softly.
"Sorry" Her smile faded. For a moment she felt a strong pull to him. She forced the feeling down, denied it. It's not what you want to feel. It's not real. If anything, it's a backlash reaction for having detested him for so long. She looked around at the barren, dusty shelves of the storeroom and viciously tore open the carton.
She could feel his eyes watching her. "You still don't believe what I said about Andrea." His voice wavered halfway between statement and question. His words, so close to what she'd been thinking, brought sudden heat to her face.
"I'm not sure about anything."
"And you still hate me."
"No," she said. She pulled Styrofoam packing from the box. And then, with sudden, impulsive honesty: "To me that's probably more scary."
The admission left her feeling vulnerable and open. Sara was glad that she couldn't see his face. She cursed herself for the confession. It implied attraction for Gregg; it suggested that, far from hating him, she'd come nearly full circle in her feelings, and that was simply something she didn't want him to know. Not yet. Not until she was certain.
The atmosphere between them was charged with tension. She searched for some way to blunt the effect. Gregg could wound her with a word, could make her bleed with a look.
What Gregg did then made Sara wish that she'd never seen Andrea's face on Succubus, that she hadn't spent years loathing the man.
He did nothing.
He reached over her shoulder and handed her a box of sterile bandages. "I think they go on the top shelf," he said. " I think they go on the top shelf."
Puppetman was screaming inside him, battering at the mindbars that held him in. The power ached to be loose, to tear into Sara's opened mind and feed there. The hatred that had rebuffed him in New York was gone, and he could see Sara's affection; he tasted it, like blood-salt. Radiant, warm vermilion.
So easy, Puppetman moaned. It would be easy. It's rich, full. We could make that an overwhelming tide. You could take her here. She would beg you for release, she would give you whatever you asked of her-pain, submission, anything, Please ...
Gregg could barely hold back the power. He'd never felt it so needy, so frantic. He'd known this would be the danger of the trip. Puppetman, that power inside him, would have to feed, and Puppetman only fed on torment and suffering, all the black-red and angry emotions. In New York and Washington it was easy. There were always puppets there, minds he'd found and opened so that he could use them later. Cattle, fodder for the power. There it was easy to slip away unseen, to stalk carefully and then pounce.
Not here. Not on this trip. Absences were conspicuous and needed explanations. He had to be cautious; he had to let the power go hungry. He was used to feeding weekly; since the plane had left New York, he'd managed to feed only once: in Guatemala. Too long ago.