Armando Chang didn’t look like a scientist, commando, or any special operative she’d ever seen. He had on a black cloak, the kind that flowed to the ground. His hair was long and a diamond stud glinted from his ear. His mixed heritage—high intelligent forehead, widow’s peak, slanted catlike brooding eyes over high cheekbones—gave him a very exotic air.
Every pair of eyes looked in his direction. The atmosphere in the room had gone considerably more apprehensive. Apparently, Armando Chang made everyone a bit nervous.
“You look like a damn vampire,” someone said.
Helen had to agree. The cloak covered him from neck to foot, and with that hair and those eyes…all he needed were red lips and fangs. He caught her looking at him and acknowledged her with something like a smile, but not quite. No fangs…yet. Helen raised her brows in greeting. With the cloak hiding his body, arms and legs, he definitely looked unworldly. Except that he had stubble. Vampires—not in any books or movies she’d ever read—rarely had five o’clock shadows.
“It’s cold out,” he said, as if that explained away the cloak, and with a swift motion, he had the front of it parted and it fell off his shoulders dramatically.
All Helen knew about Armando Chang was that he was the weapons expert of the V-Program commandos. But as she very well knew, words did not make a person. The man sauntering toward Dr. Kirkland and her, cloak draped over one arm now, walked with the air of a bad boy. Files with asterisks and notes didn’t tell her that. It was the all-black getup, the black biker T-shirt with the picture of a skull on the front, the worn and rumpled black jeans with the silver belt, legs tucked into black leather boots. Uncombed and unshaven, Armando Chang looked as if he had come to work after having tumbled some biker chick and had just thrown on the clothes by his bed. With T.’s words in mind, she wondered again how the serum had affected him.
“We meet at last,” he stated, his arresting eyes sweeping over her from the top of her head to her feet. “You don’t look anything like the picture in your file.”
“Nor do you,” countered Helen, not bothering to stand up. The one she saw showed him with a short haircut, combed to the side. Same arrogant look in those dark eyes, though, as if he thought he’d better things to do than to be there.
Or, right now, here, at the meeting. There was an air of impatience about him, even though he was standing still and acting strangely.
Acting.Her senses whispered as his gaze met hers.
He had the American accent down pat, but the file had told her he wasn’t an American. Right now, his voice held a tinge of mockery, as he subjected her to a head-to-toe inspection. “You were all glammed up in the file. Different color hair. In fact, I didn’t even think you could possibly be able to train with Special Forces, not with those pretty pink nails.”
“And you look like you’ve seen wilder days since your picture was taken, Mr. Chang,” she said coolly.
“T. has been a great teacher. I’m sure you’re just as good with deception.” He dropped the cloak on a nearby seat. “Hi there, Doc Kirkland. Didn’t mean to ignore ya.”
Dr. Kirkland gave a faint smile. “That cloak must be part of your new act.”
“Yes, I have a show later.”
Helen frowned. Act? That word had just crossed her mind moments before.
“Armando, darling.” T. appeared. “Helen, you haven’t met Armando yet. You have to see one of his shows in town one of these nights.”
“Sorry, lost me there…shows?” Maybe Bad Boy Armando played in a band.
“Armando is studying to be a part-time magician. He travels all over the world with his bag of tricks…useful for Center, of course. He’s building quite a reputation.”
“T., love, it’s illusionist.” Armando looked around. “Is Diamond around?”
“No, he isn’t.”
Armando smiled. “Good,” he said, and brought T.’s hand to his lips, his dark secretive eyes gleaming. “I have you all to myself at last…although it’s much more fun with him scowling at me across the room.”
T. laughed. “Don’t let this devil persuade you to assist him in his tricks, Hell. He has a way of making you disappear for hours.”
T. had her ways of warning her operatives. Helen didn’t need it, though. She could tell Armando Chang was a troublemaker. “Did you get into trouble?” she asked lightly.
Armando looked down at Helen. “T. always gets out of trouble. Would you like to magically disappear?”
Helen cocked her head. She should stand up. The man was issuing some kind of challenge, although she wasn’t sure what it was yet. “I didn’t mean T.,” she said softly. “I meant you. Did you get into trouble?”
Armando’s eyes didn’t leave hers as he pulled out the chair next to hers. “Assist me in my next illusion and you’ll find out.”
Helen shook her head. “I have other important things on my plate.”
“Ah, yes, you are the new anointed one, the ace up the sleeve, the fat in the fire.” His mockery was spoken in that same low tone, so that only their circle heard them.
Helen broke eye contact and turned to her operations chief, giving her an inquiring look. “Don’t tell me—he’s the poet of the V-group. You know, there’s always one in a story—the cynic with the acid tongue who throws out ambiguous lines.”
