Free Cuff Lynx by Fiona Quinn Page A

turn of phrase? So he knew this woman was in love with him. “And you don’t think that my feelings for you change our work?”
    “I hope they don’t. If they do, we need to talk about it.”
    “No. We don’t.” Just then the alarm clock chimed. Striker reached out and tapped the button to silence it. I stood and moved toward his closet, re-emerging with a pair of slacks and a blouse.
    “What are you working on?” Striker asked.
    “Right now I’m going to see Dr. Jasper. After lunch, I have a meeting.”
    Striker climbed out of bed and moved toward me. So damned distracting. I wish he’d pull some clothes on – or I’d end up cancelling my appointment.
    “Is this a routine follow up?” he asked with his hand on the dresser as I pulled out a pair of panties and a bra.
    “I wanted to talk to him about some new sensations I’ve been experiencing.” I tried to sound nonchalant as I moved toward the bathroom for my shower.
    Striker followed behind. “What new sensations?”
    “Oh, you know. . .it’s hard to describe. My electrical circuitry is buzzing.” I stopped at the door so he wouldn’t follow me in. I didn’t have enough time to shower with Striker this morning. When I turned to him, I saw concern tighten the muscles under his eyes. “We’ll talk about it tonight.” I stood on my tiptoes, stretching up to plant a kiss on his lips. Striker didn’t look too happy when I closed the bathroom door.
    I was glad he didn’t ask me about my meeting this afternoon.

 
     
    Eight
     
    W ith boxed lunches from Lemon Grass Thai Cuisine, I pushed my way through the industrial gray door and into Spyder’s off-campus apartment. I wanted him to explain his situation. Why didn’t he work out of the Iniquus Headquarters? And why did he insist that no one beyond Mr. Spencer and me know he was in town?
    I found Spyder sitting in meditation in front of a beautiful orchid, amid a swirl of incense smoke. I locked the door quietly and set the bags on the tabletop.
    Without opening his eyes, Spyder called to me. “Lexicon, it is good that you are here. Did you take time this morning to center yourself?” He pointed to the deep violet cushion that nestled beneath his makeshift altar.
    “No sir,” I said, moving to retrieve it and positioning myself next to him, folding my legs into lotus position.
    “You have been taught this lesson by many of your mentors — Master Wang and your martial arts, Biji and your yoga, and myself, certainly. It is the same admonishment that they offer on all flights. ‘If you are travelling with someone who requires assistance, secure your oxygen mask first, and then give aid to the other person.’ If you are to help others find their equilibrium, then first you must stabilize your body and mind.” With that, he returned to his meditative state, and I followed his lead.
    As always, when I meditated next to Spyder, I descended into a deep state of relaxation where full breaths weren’t necessary, and I lost the boundary between my body and the atmosphere. I chanted a mantra that Master Wang taught me from the Buddhist tradition, Om ah ra pa tsa na dhi but soon even that trickled away, and I was left floating in nothingness. After some time, I heard the strike of a bell calling an end to the meditation.
    “I see that we must focus on some fundamentals, Lexicon. Remember that ‘the noble-minded are calm and steady.’ How can you hope to decapitate a Hydra if you exhaust your energy with the tornado of emotions you are dancing through?”
    Huh. That was a good way to describe how I felt. Like life events buffeted me in one direction and then the next by the winds of change, and I was doing the quick-step to keep from toppling over. “Is that what I need to do, behead the Hydra?”
    “You are not alone. But yes, when all is said and done, it will be you and I who resolve this problem. Come, the food grows cold; we can talk this through over lunch.”
    “Not Strike Force?”
    “At