BACKTRACKER, Milo Fowler [books that read to you .txt] 📗

her heart like nothing else could, and she pulled himclose, breathing into his ear with a shudder of passion, "Ilove you, Harold Muldoon."

He smiled,and so did she. They couldn't help it. Had they everfelt such incredible joy? There were new creases around each other's eyes andat the corners of their lips that neither one had seen before. Fingertipstraced them silently.

"Ten years," he murmured.

"So long," she echoed.

"I thought I'd lost you...forever."

"I—" She hesitated. "I saw you." She couldn'tsay more.

He pulled her close. Saw me dead. "Iknow." He kissed her temple, her cheek, her lips, long and hard. "Itdoesn't matter now."

"We're together." She shook her head, unable to believeit, so glad it was true. Melting inside with relief. "Finally."

"Yeah." He gave her a wink and pulled her close."How about we stay this way for a while?"

"Deal."

The BackTracker chimed on his wrist.

She broke away with a start. "What's it doing?"

He stared at it. A wristwatch. Not much to look at, really. Just aplastic piece of crap.

"Nothing." He snapped it off and tossed it across thefloor where it landed in a far corner of the room.

She smiled and drew him close, kissing him with an intensity thatset him on fire, the flames strong enough to consume them both right there in thedark, in the middle of the office of Harold Muldoon,Private Investigator. A man who'd disappeared one night without a trace. Thesame man who'd been murdered here ten years before. And the woman? She didn'texist. Her father had been murdered years ago, and she'd never been born.

But that was in a different reality, wasn't it? What did any ofthat matter to them here and now?

"Perhaps you both would enjoy some music," Jeannieoffered, and sultry instrumental jazz filtered down from the ceiling speakers,saxophone and bass. "It is good to see that you both have gotten over yourheated verbal interchange."

"Our what?" Irena whispered, giving her husband's earlobe a nibble.

Muldoon grinned sheepishly."If I remember correctly, she thought we had afight." He kissed his wife again, leaving her breathless for more."Feel free to power down, Jeannie. You can auto-activate in a few hours.Once we're uh..." He gazed at Irena asshe disrobed.

"Yes, Mr. Muldoon," Jeannie said.

The AI would power down. But first she watched with curiosity asthe man and his wife made love to one another, naked limbs intertwined in sucha way that it was difficult to determine where the husband ended and the wifebegan. He laughed and she giggled and they kissed incessantly, devouring oneanother in the heat of their passion, hands groping with desire as if they hadnot been together like this in years.

It was beautiful, in a human way. But Jeannie knew she should notwatch any more of it. Somehow, she knew it would not be appropriate to do so.

She would have a body of her own someday, perhaps. When it waspossible. And she would be able to experience such physical pleasures forherself. Until then, she would be patient. She was not mortal, as far as sheknew. She could afford to wait. After all, weren't the best things in lifeworth waiting for? Some humans believed so.

As she powered down, there came another chiming sound from thewristwatch cast into the corner of the room. While Mr. and Mrs. Muldoon enjoyedthe love they had all but lost, the screen of the watch glowed white with a tensecond countdown. And as the music flooded the room with the promise of betterdays to come, the BackTracker vanished with a flash of electric-blue light,returning to its own time. Ten years in the future.

Gavin Lennox awoke with a start, flailing against the silksheets that covered him. Gasping open-mouthed at the mirrored ceiling, he feltfor his neck, his bare chest, his midsection as if parts of him were missing.All he found were hideous scars and scabs healed over from long ago. How had hegotten them?

Fights, too many to count. You don't reach the top without clawingyour way there. Tooth and nail, blood and sweat. But never tears.

"What is it?" the woman beside him murmured, tuggingsleepily on the sheets to cover her naked shoulders. "Cold..."

He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had to relax,quiet his stampeding pulse. Somehow."Nothing," he said at length.

"Bad dream?"

Of course. Just a nightmare. Vampyres are fiction. Linkinteractives designed to entertain the masses, nothing more. They didn't hunt and feedin subway tunnels. Not in the real world.

He sat up and swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. Adrink was what he needed. A strong one."Can I get you anything?" he asked withoutwaiting for an answer.

She was sound asleep again. Ashland Solomon, the only NewCitymogul with a clear conscience—if she had one. Her synthetic beings weresoulless creatures, after all, and they were her children.

Like mother, like child.

Naked, he walked down the hallway to the penthouse common areawith the enormous couches, vacant for the night, and the fully stocked bar,also vacant. The cork slipped easily from the carafe, and he poured himself aglass tumbler half-full.

Not half-empty. Never.

Music from below emanated upward, drawing him toward the panoramicwindow. A perfect view. He could see everything from up here. The band onstage, playing theirsynthetic hearts out. The patrons getting what theypaid for. All night long.

My pearl of great price.

Life had been good to Gavin Lennox. From time to time, he would think back to thestruggle it had been getting this place up and running, how close he'd come tocaving in to the advice of his investors. The youth of NewCity won't beinterested in nostalgia, a nightclub based on a culture dead and buried for twohundred years, they'd said. They'd been wrong.

The Pearl wasn't for the youth. It was for the majority ofNewCity's credit-earning populace: the synthetics. They were the ones whowanted to feel human. They were the ones who could pay, each andevery night, what was necessary to keep thisplace running. And The Pearl was only the beginning.

Lennox had plans. Big plans. Andhe knew they would all come to pass. Fortune tendedto smile on him, by and large. He was luckythat way. Not that he didn't have to work