“So, Agent Harris, what brings you to my humble little office?”

“You do, Professor.”

“Really? And why is that?”

“There’s been a lot of talk about you lately.”

“I’m very well-known among the biochemical and computer technologies communities. You know that.”

“These aren’t articles about your work, Professor. I’m talking about intercepted conversations between known Soviet agents.”

Irene blinked in surprise. Russians? Why the hell would Russians be chattering away about her?

“I would ask you what they’ve been saying but I’m sure if you knew, you’d have moved on it by now. So you’re here hoping I tell you something fascinating.”

“Perhaps this is a game you shouldn’t play, Professor. Treason—”

“Is not the issue here and we both know it. I’m the wrong person to play chess with, Agent Harris. You can’t scare me into thinking you’re worried I’m a Russian agent.” She chuckled. “Although with my complexion I’m sure I’d fit in quite nicely in that country. But sorry to disappoint. I have no idea what they or you think I have and I’m not about to start worrying about it now.”

“I could take you in for your own safety.” And she knew it was a threat.

Irene smiled and the agent standing behind Harris looked like he might make a run for the door. “Do you really want to do that, Agent Harris? Do you really want a repeat of what happened when that was tried before?” Irene put her hands behind her head, interlacing her fingers. “Tell me, did they ever repair that city block? Or is it still a sunken hole?”

Harris didn’t answer, but he glared awfully well. Irene rolled her eyes and swung her legs off her desk. “I’m done talking to you, Agent Harris. I have work to do and, to be quite blunt, you simply aren’t that interesting.”

Turning to her computer, Irene flipped on her monitor.

She could hear Harris getting to his feet, and his partner moved quickly to the door.

“I’m sure we’ll talk again, Professor.”

“I live for the day, Agent.”

Irene waited until the door closed and she’d given them a minute or two to walk away before she let out a sigh. Okay, so she did have a rough idea of what the Russians wanted. And what her government would love to get its hands on. But no one, absolutely no one, would ever touch it. She’d never unleash that stuff on the world. But sitting around obsessing over it wasn’t going to help either. So Irene called up her latest work and thought about other things.

Unfortunately, those other things turned out to be Van Holtz. Three days had gone by and she still thought about him. Why? Most people she could stop thinking about in minutes, ifnot seconds. But every time she allowed herself a moment to think about something other than equations and formulas, her poor belabored mind always went back to that idiot.

She glanced across the room at the poster of Einstein one of her students had put up to, in his words, “Make this office a little more . . . friendly.” But she wasn’t seeing brilliant Albert. No. Instead, she kept wondering how many women the bastard had slept with by now. Probably hundreds. She’d bet cash he was a sexual glutton. An any-hole-will-do sort of man.

And here she sat . . . thinking about it. Putting portions of her million-dollar mind toward that boneheaded idiot. How pathetic. How ridiculous. How . . . human. Jackie promised it wouldn’t last. This sudden surge of emotion. And Irene had begun to count the days until these “feelings” would go away. Far away. How normal-IQ people lived with this sort of thing from day to day, she’d never understand.

Irene Conridge using her extraordinary brain power thinking about a man. Absolutely tragic.

“Someone shoot me now.”

Except for a few students, she didn’t think many would take her up on the offer.

“And the bastard has probably slept with thousands,” she griped before sending one of her favorite pens flying across the room.

Van paced restlessly behind the boutique shop owned by Athana Löwe of the Löwe Pride. Although Van found Athana’s older sister Melinda a real pain in the ass, he liked Athana a lot more. Plus the lionesses were great for the occasional “get together.” Lions mostly bred only with their own kind, which meant they were great for no-strings-attached sex. Exactly what Van needed at the moment. Simply so he could prove his parents horribly, horribly wrong.

For three days he’d been going to work and back to either his apartment or the Van Holtz estate and not once, in all that time, had he brought a female with him. Only this morning he’d been standing in the kitchen, chatting with his sister, when one of the newest She-wolves walked in. She had on shorts and a T-shirt and nothing else. From what he’d heard, she hadn’t shown much interest in anyone so far. But she’d looked at him with avid interest. She was adorable and surprisingly petite for a She-wolf. But what had he done? Smiled, nodded at her, and gone back to talking to his sister.

To quote one of his cousins, “What the fuck was that?”

When he’d realized what he’d done, Van had been absolutely horrified at himself. Where had the old Van gone? The “if she’s cute and stops long enough, I’ll fuck her” wolf that had such a reputation? Had that evil woman, with her cold eyes and cute, curvy body given him one of her experimental drugs to see if she could rid men of a sex drive? He wouldn’t put it past her.