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Roman was wide awake the next morning, oblivious to the fact that Nadine had been in an accident. He’d been pacing most of the night, looking at the Hero Ticket and checking the numbers against the digits provided by a telepath.
“Eight, sixty-seven, five, thirty, nine,” he whispered, at just about the same time Harper came out of his bedroom wearing her panties and no top.
He stopped for a moment to admire her breasts, which swept in opposite directions.
“I thought you’d come back to bed,” she said, yawning. “After last night...”
“Normally? Yes,” he told the tall beauty. “But something work-related came up.”
“What happened?” she asked, true concern growing across her face.
“There was, um, an issue with some paperwork filed yesterday.”
“Can’t that be fixed today? Why the morning rush?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Roman said as he approached her. The ticket was in his jacket pocket; he’d already sent a tele-message to Selena telling her he’d be late.
She hadn’t replied, which likely meant she was pissed.
“How so?”
“It has to deal with issuing reinstatement through re-entry documents to a Type I, Class A & B,” he lied. “A person they now think may be responsible for a recent terrorist attack in southern Centralia.”
Harper gasped.
“I know, it’s bad, believe me. And you won’t, um, read about this stuff in the news. I shouldn’t be telling you.”
She took a step closer to him and placed a hand on his chest.
“You trust me?” she asked, her eyes softening.
“I do.”
Her hand dropped below his waist, where she lightly moved it over the front of his pants.
Yep, a keeper, he thought as he watched her walk back to his bedroom. A good view, too. One of his favorites.
It was almost a relief when she left; the sexual tension between them was thick as smog and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to go for it.
Roman finished getting dressed, combed his white hair, and mentally arranged for a teleport.
I need to go to the Centralian Lottery Commission, he thought aloud, and it was only a few seconds later when he got the reply.
A teleporter will arrive at your location shortly. Please make sure there is a four-foot-radius circle around your body.
Roman did as instructed, and he was adjusting the front of his jacket when a male teleporter wearing Centralian government clothing appeared, touched his arm, and whisked him away to the Centralian Lottery Commission.
They arrived in a flash and the teleporter disappeared again, leaving Roman standing there with a thin smile on his face.
It was a cool day, with a slight breeze that carried over the smell of baked goods from the bakery across the street. Roman’s stomach grumbled; he was hungry, but he could grab a snack later.
More commotion turned his attention back to the Lottery Commission.
The front was heavily guarded, not because of what lay inside as much as people trying to see who’d won the Hero Ticket.
This kind of crowd scared the hell out of Roman, but there were telepaths outside the main entrance next to the Type I security guards, and all he had to do was think, I have the winning ticket.
A female telepath in Centralian government clothing sensed him and immediately replied, Thank you, Mr. Martin. I have verified that you indeed have the winning ticket. Please step away from the crowd and walk toward the trolley stop one block away. A teleporter will escort you inside, where you’ll be able to claim your prize. Next time, please tell the teleservice that you have a winning ticket so that you may port directly into the winner’s chamber.
You mean I can win this thing twice? Roman thought back, not trying to be snarky but coming off that way.
Please move to the agreed-upon location, Mr. Martin.
“So that’s how it works,” he whispered as he moved away from the crowd.
A teleporter appeared and grabbed Roman, and a second later he was standing in front of a large pair of doors framed by Centralia’s golden flags.
The doors opened and a short woman stepped out, clipboard in hand. She wore her government-issued clothing in a way that accented her cleavage—clearly her best feature—and as she approached Roman, she lifted her nose into the air.
“The Hero Ticket, please, and your identification,” she said, her nose held high.
Roman provided both the items and she held each individually, light pouring out of her eyes as she scanned them.
Type IV, Class E, Roman thought as she handed the documents back to him.
“Congratulations,” she said, then turned away. “Follow me.”
