"She is sexy to you," Dimitri said. "Not to them. They are no longer interested in sex."
Petrov made the sound that meant he was neither convinced nor willing to fight it.
Mattie took another sip of the coffee, and Dimitri took a slow breath through his nose and concentrated on the smell of the brew and not on the line of Mattie's neck.
"The Eight are not like other immortals," Petrov said. "They are a unit, and sometimes units do things individuals wouldn't."
The guy was looking for reasons for the discomfort he felt, not realizing that he just missed Anita and wanted to be with her, and it bothered him that the Eight were enjoying what he couldn't.
"These enhanced soldiers have not acted out of character since the day we met them," Dimitri said.
"Oh really?" Petrov asked. "Did you predict that they would ask you to merge with them so they could experience love through you?"
Dimitri winced.
Petrov was right. That had been totally unexpected.
"You are worrying for the sake of worrying," Mattie said.
"Maybe," Petrov admitted, reaching for his bottle of vodka and taking a swig from the little that was left. "But I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight. I have no way of finding out what happened in that hotel room until they come to the lab tomorrow."
Dimitri picked up his mug and took a sip.
"You trust Dave to get us off this island," he said to Petrov. "You have trusted them with your notebook. You are trusting them with our necks. You can trust them with Anita."
7
DAVE
The hotel suite was the second largest the establishment offered, occupying the corner of the second floor with two bedrooms behind matching doors and a living room that opened onto a balcony with a view of the harbor. The only suite fancier than this one was currently being used by Losham as his command center while the mansion was undergoing restoration.
The Eight had asked for an arrangement where they could stay together, and the suite was a good solution. The two bedrooms had originally been outfitted with one large bed per room, but now both had two beds, so four could occupy each room. It wasn't as comfortable as their rooms in Navuh's mansion, of which there were four, but the view here was better. Over there, their rooms faced the backyard, which now had a big hole in it, and a crane that hauled debris straight from the basement.
Number Four was sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, a deck of cards he had bought from the gift shop downstairs in his hands. He was shuffling them over and over again but failing to reach the perfect performance he was striving for.
"It looks easier than it is," he muttered, gathering the cards.
You don't need to master it, Number Two thought.You only need to deal them.
I want to master it.
The cards squared up, fanned, attempted the bridge, and exploded across the table. Two of them slid onto the floor.
Number Six picked them up and handed them back without comment.
The room was warm with the smell of the food they had ordered. The service cart was parked beside the sofa, and on it were three tiers of small cakes, a platter with fruits that the kitchen had carved into shapes suggesting tropical flowers, two bottles of wine in an ice bucket, a tray of olives, a selection of cheeses and small biscuits, and a pitcher of water.
They had ordered everything they thought a woman might like, but none of them actually knew what women wanted and enjoyed, and the absence of data had translated into ordering one of everything they thought was appropriate for the occasion and the late hour.
"We ordered too many cakes," Number Eight said. "What if she doesn't like cake?"
He was sitting on the arm of the sofa with his feet on the cushion, which Number One had asked him not to do, and which Number Eight kept doing anyway.
"Everyone likes cake," Number Three murmured under his breath.
Number Eight grimaced. "I don't. Sweet things make me nauseous."
"We know," Number Three said. "When you are nauseous, we all are."
