A New Day (StrikeForce Book 1) by Vanderlinden Colleen

Author:Vanderlinden, Colleen [Vanderlinden, Colleen]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Peitho Press
Published: 2015-11-17T05:00:00+00:00

I approached the central tower, trying not to stare up at the sky, which was where I really wanted to be. Two burly security guards, wearing uniforms in the same dark gray and black as StrikeForce’s uniforms, stood guard outside the entrance, right in front of the door. I approached, and they looked me over. Both wore glasses. Same style.

Weird.

They both looked me over, as if trying to gauge my threat level or something. Their gazes swept me from head to toe, and I waited for one of them to say something.

“She’s clean,” the first said to the second, and the second nodded.

“State your business, ma’am,” the second said.

“I’m here because Portia told me to come here.”

“Name?”

“Don’t you all have secret identities?” I asked.

The first gave me a bored look.

“If you have one, then that’ll do, ma’am, but since I’ve never seen you around here before, I’ll need a name to log. And yes, I already know who you are, but I still need to hear you say it. Rules,” he added.

“Jolene Faraday,” I said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” guard number one said. He pressed what looked like a tiny earbud in his left ear. “Jolene Faraday, for Nightbane,” he said in a low voice. A moment later, he nodded and he and the other guard stepped aside, each pulling one of the enormous glass and steel doors open for me. I nodded at them and walked through.

The space I walked into made me feel like I was in some kind of futuristic sci-fi movie. The central area of the tower was open, from the floor to the dome of the shining steel roof. Thirty stories of open space, and around the edges, shining steel railings enclosed walkways. Doors into what I guessed were offices were spaced equally around the walls of each floor. I looked up, turning a little so I could see it all. It’s not often that I feel tiny, but I felt small just then. It was the height, the reflective surfaces everywhere, the overwhelming shininess of the space.

I looked around some more. The only piece of furniture in the open atrium area was a long sleek steel counter, behind which sat a serious woman who I pegged immediately as former military or law enforcement, probably. Something in her posture, in the neutrality of her expression when I faced her.

“Ms. Faraday,” she said in greeting once I finally stopped gawking and approached the desk. I nodded.

“I’m Jenson,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you. I need you to sign in, and then we need to scan you.”

“Scan me?”

“Typical procedure. Thumb print and retinal scan, quick DNA analysis.”

“I—“

“Hold still,” she said, and then she held up what looked like one of those wands they use in airport security, but smaller. She applied a sterile tip to one end. “Mouth swab,” she explained, and I opened my mouth and she quickly and efficiently swabbed my tongue. I clamped my mouth shut.

“Look here,” she said, holding up the other end of the wand.

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