Corporate Services Bundle

by JC Hay

  "So how much to get your help?" he asked at last.

  Yashilla folded herself into a simple chair. The furniture was too small for her, so her knees stuck up unnaturally. Combined with her thinness and grace it made her look like a praying mantis. Or a spider. "Do you know," she said, "how much they're offering for your head?"

  "I imagine it's substantial."

  Yashilla laughed. "Hers is higher. But the two of you together could pay for me to move into some choice properties."

  "Where you'd immediately be under the scrutiny of cameras and throttled 'net access. I don't see that being much incentive for you." He smiled and spread his hands wide. "Besides, you'd have to be registered to collect the report."

  Yashilla nodded again. "I have IDs I could use if it came to that, but you're right. Besides, moving someplace nicer would make it considerably less sweet the next time you had to drag yourself back to me."

  "Will you help us or not?" Netta took a step forward, her voice sharp with an authority that Joshi wouldn't have expected. He tried not to let any emotion show on his face at her outburst.

  It didn't help. The corner of Yashilla's mouth twitched up. It was the closest she came to smiling, and she only did it when she'd scored a piece of information that would be useful. As tells went, it was infuriating.

  "Is the evil bioterrorist going to infect me with an ugly virus? Leave me blistered and in agony, but unable to die?" Yashilla's singsong voice grated the air, but it failed to have the expected effect on Netta.

  "Blistering agents are passé. Besides, there are too many innocents around you." Netta plucked a strand of hair from the margin of a screw on one of the computers and held it up, considering it in the light. "It would be much safer to custom code a retrovirus for specific sequences in your DNA. Then I don't have to know where you are. I infect two, maybe three people at random, and it will get back to you eventually. No matter where you tried to hide. All you'd be able to do is sit, helpless, while your nerves demyelinated, until you eventually suffocated on the fluid you couldn't move out of your own lungs."

  Yashilla blinked slowly, twice. Then she started to laugh. "Oh I like you, Doctor. You're good."

  "I'm also not kidding," Netta said flatly. "How much to buy your help? Whatever that is."

  Joshi felt uncomfortably as though the two women had forgotten he was here. "I need information."

  Yashilla rolled her eyes. "Of course you do, honey, or you wouldn't have come to me. And I'm willing to help." She glanced at Netta before turning back to him. "For her? I'll do it for free."

  Rule number two. Nothing was free. Yashilla would mark it as a favor owed, a concept that could make powerful men know fear. "So how long do you need?"

  "I started collecting information the moment your face showed up on the news feeds. Just a little snooping on CorpServ’s machines to see what I could learn about you. And the good doctor, of course."

  He had to resist his urge to shout. Data, to Yashilla, was more precious than money, and she doled it out with the willingness of a miser. She was also the only person he'd ever known who'd been able to hack into Corporate Services, so her information was always gold. Through gritted teeth, he managed to push out the words, "Why did they burn me out?"

  "You were expensive. And, frankly, you're a risk." Yashilla stood, ticking off facts on her fingers. "That IRS diagnosis in your file didn't help your chances either. Short lifespan, and a twitchy nervous system? Add in close to retirement to complete the trifecta. The last thing CorpServ wants is to shell out your pension, and no one wants to rent defective merchandise." She reached out and took Netta's hand. "And you, my dear, were going to run with that nasty little virus of yours, and that's the last thing BlueGene could afford. Better to destroy research than risk anyone but them having it. After all, once they relocated you to somewhere more secure, they could just have you recreate it."

  Netta's eyes narrowed. "What do we do?"

  "The man they sent to hunt you is named Bao Chu. Bit of a scalpel by all accounts." She chuckled and looked at Joshi. "He's a more murderous equivalent of you, Jo. No failures on his record. Seems to preferentially take wetwork. And he’s top of the line for the cybernetics in his file."

  He knew that much from fighting him earlier. “Any weaknesses? Anything useful about him?”

  Yashilla rolled her eyes dramatically. “A lot of his ’ware is electronic. Shielded against an EMP crack, but a direct hit from a stunner might take him off line for a moment or three. Not that it’s helpful.”

  "How about a place to hide? Anyplace in the Zone that's not being squatted?"

  “You're better off here. I've got some extra security that the rest of the Zone doesn't have. There's a bed against the far wall. You can each have an hour or two of sleep."

  Netta looked at him, and her face softened. "He needs the rest more. I can stay awake and give him both shifts."

  Joshi started to protest, but a single stare from Yashilla froze the words in his throat.

  "You won't reject a gift in my home, Jo. Go to bed. I'm certain that there are things the good doctor and I can do to entertain ourselves while you sleep."

  He glanced from one woman to the other and realized there'd be no arguing with them both. Despite his misgivings, he crossed the room, laid down on the bed, and hoped he'd still be asleep when Yashilla killed him.

  Netta’s fingers moved absently, ticking the needles together as she knitted a broad, patternless stretch of the scarf. Joshi’s slow breathing was the only noise left in the tiny room, and watching him sleep kept her thinking about some of the things Yashilla had said.

  He woke suddenly, hand diving under the pillow for a gun that wasn't there. The fact that Yashilla had mentioned he’d likely do so had prompted Netta to move the pistol just to be safe. Her jealousy over the hacker’s admission of a relationship with Joshi had been short-lived. Even Yashilla had been quick to admit that she and Joshi were allies rather than lovers at this point. Given the few hints about their shared past, Netta felt relief that he'd had someone to care about him.

  The fact that Yashilla had left helped temper Netta’s jealousy too.

  "Where am I?" Panic edged Joshi's voice. His eyes searched the mostly barren apartment. "What time is it?"

  Another reminder of his too-human eyes. Netta noted the time from where it glowed in the upper right corner of her vision. "You've been asleep for about eight hours. I thought about waking you after six, but you're going to need rest to heal." She tucked her knitting into the bag and stretched, hearing her joints creak as she did so. "I dozed off some too, if you're concerned. Mostly Yashilla and I talked while she packed."

  He sat up and rotated his arms to the side, while Netta indulged in some less-than-clinical observation. The flex and play of his muscles was endlessly fascinating. Even without implants, he'd have been gorgeous. With them, however, he oozed physicality; strength and grace in a nearly inhuman combination.

  His brows knit together, and she reached across the small space to smooth the skin with her thumb.

  "Do I even want to know what you two talked about?"

  Netta smirked. "Girl stuff, mostly."

  "But not entirely."

  "You sound almost worried, sir." Her grin got wider, and she curled her fingers through the hair at his temple. "Are you afraid your ex-girlfriend shared all your dirty laundry?"

  His cheeks darkened with embarrassment as he picked someplace to look that wasn't at her. "Well, that she and I were an item was one of the things I worried about you learning." He let out a slow sigh and leaned into her hand. "It was a long time ago."

  "That was the impression she gave certainly. She didn't leave a forwarding address for you. Said you'd know how to find her." Touching him was easy. Familiar despite the three years that stood between their times together like a gulf.

  "She's got a few boltholes in the city. Yash and I," he started, then floundered for words and let the sound trail off. "Complicated doesn't even beg
in to cut it. We met on the street, you know. War orphans, but that's not uncommon really."

  Netta nodded. Separatist movements popped up from time to time, but Maharashtra had been the first to receive backing from the extra-national corporations. With technology hubs in Pune and Mumbai, and a significant chunk of the population, the state had wanted to set its own tax and work rules to benefit its corporate allies. She only vaguely remembered the news reports of the government's attempt to bring the renegade province to heel. Someplace that had, to a child, seemed all too far away. "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be," Joshi said. "We looked out for each other. Used to tell each other stories about what we'd do when we were grown. How we'd get free of this place. I found a way out with Corporate Services. She found drugs and a connection to the ‘net. So I guess we both found different ways to escape."

  "All without ever going anywhere." Netta kept her tone matter-of-fact. "Even you've come back." She smiled at a memory from three years before and traced her thumb along the ridge of his ear. "For at least the second time."

  He leaned back against the wall slow enough to allow her to decide if she would let the contact break or if she would join him on the narrow bed. It creaked beneath her as she moved to sit next to him, and he curled his good arm around her protectively. Contentment felt like a heavy cloak that she didn’t want to risk wearing, despite the illusion of protection he provided. Relaxing against his side, stroking her fingers along the delicate hairs on the back of his arm, it would even be easy to believe. "Where would you have gone? After you got out?"

  His eyes closed as though he was seeing it in his head, the smile on his mouth quiet and relaxed. "The Maldives. There's barely enough land left above water for housing. And no room for corporate influence. Probably the only place on earth that the corporations haven't got any kind of significant toehold."

  Four violent coups in the last half-century helped with that. It's not like there were corporations lining up to buy the land that remained. Netta nodded. "White sand and blue water. It's supposed to be lovely."

  "I've never been," he admitted. "I had a picture on my portable for years, just to remind me where I wanted to be. The fact that they banned AR didn't hurt either. I finally wouldn't feel like I was missing out on the world."

  "It's not missing out. Trust me on that. And Yashilla has...interesting taste in AR decoration." The scenes had been hideous and violent. Designed to unsettle. For a moment, it had worked, if only as an offshoot of surprise. Once she was inured to the sights, the purpose had been obvious. Drive away anyone not committed to talking to her. Netta could understand that idea too easily.

  "Yeah, Yash always made me glad I couldn't see what she projected."

  "It was fine. More than anything, it gave her the solitude she wanted. Like you going to the Maldives. I just think it sounds so terribly lonely."

  "A quiet place to shut it all down."

  Netta pursed her lips. There was no missing what he meant, and the idea terrified her. Dying alone, even in a relative paradise like the Maldives, hit too close to home. Too close to Jada. Her palms felt clammy, and she wiped them on her jeans.

  Joshi shifted on the bed, the backs of his fingers caressing her cheek. "It doesn't have to be lonely. I just want to be away from the noise and distractions. Have some peace and quiet before—"

  Before IRS killed him. Netta didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to think at all. The conversation had turned personal, gotten her thinking about the wrong things. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her.

  "Three years ago—" he started.

  She stilled his words with a finger on his lips. She didn't want to hear what she suspected, that he'd been paid to pay attention to her. To make her feel at home in her lab, so she would focus on work when he left. Her body remembered his. Remembered him. "The past was the past. Now is what matters."

  She shifted with him, mouth finding his by instinct so she could lose herself in the kiss.

  He stopped a moment to smile against her lips. "I can handle that."

  This is just physical release, nothing more. Netta repeated the idea in her mind. And there's nothing wrong with that. Her fingers tangled in Joshi's hair, half guiding, half shoving his mouth down to her arched throat. His teeth tugged at the sensitive skin, and she whimpered her approval while sparks shot along her nerves and robbed her of rationality.

  She could allow herself this. Have him be real for her. For now. She proved it by sliding her palms over the glorious sculpted muscles of his shoulders. That power, that strength focused on her, was intoxicating.

  He pushed against her hands, returning to her mouth for another kiss, and she was happy to let him. Compared to the scratch of his stubble, his lips had a softness that matched the tender, almost reverent way his mouth claimed hers. As though she were something precious.

  Her palms skated over his ribs, careful to avoid putting pressure on the bruise that covered the one side. He'd slept shirtless, a concession to the weather, and she had never been more thankful for the humid air than she was at that moment.

  His hands slid under her shirt, thumbs stroking the underside of her breasts, his skin heated through the thin Lycra of her bra. She wanted his strength on display, wanted it for herself, and she broke the kiss to find his ear. "Tear it," she whispered. "Open my shirt."

  He hesitated, then tugged open the fabric, buttons popping free and bouncing off walls to ricochet through the tiny space.

  "Beautiful," he said quietly. She squirmed beneath him, wanting his hands back on her skin, greedy for everything he could give her.

  He obliged, one thumb finally skating up to circle the aching peak of her breast. She whimpered in relief as pleasure shot sparks along her nerves, making her all too aware of the empty ache that pooled between her thighs.

  She arched her back, rubbing against his leg while his mouth trailed down her chest to replace his thumb. He tugged her bra to one side, and the scrape of teeth over one nipple was too much. She whimpered and dug her fingers into his scalp, crushing him against her breast. Impatient, she pushed him away long enough to yank the sports bra over her head, briefly sorry that she didn't have undergarments more designed to titillate.

  His hand eased down, sculpting the curve of her hip, and even through her jeans the heat of his skin bordered on unbearable. Her clinical side tried to ask why he'd be feverish, and she drowned it out with the more important question of the moment; why had he slid his hand to the outside of her thigh rather than where she wanted it? As his hand slid back, his thumb traced to her inner thigh instead, and the tease left her nerves raw.

  She batted his hands aside and levered off her shoes with her toes. With her thumbs hooked in the waistband, she shoved both her jeans and underwear down in a single tangle.

  As she lay back on the bed, he chuckled. "Impatient?"

  She tugged his hand back between her legs, resisting the urge to growl as his fingers brushed against her. "I've waited three years to have you back. I'd say I'm more than patient."

  He curled one blunt fingertip into her, the base of his thumb pressed against her clit as he moved to lie alongside her. She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him above her, noticing his wince as his weight shifted.

  "How's your shoulder?"

  He smiled. "I hadn't noticed."

  "Liar." She took advantage of the moment to kiss him again. "But I'm willing to help you put it through its paces. For purely therapeutic reasons, of course."

  He caught her lower lip between his teeth, released it playfully. "Your sacrifice is noted, Doctor."

  She laughed and twisted, and he allowed himself to roll with her until she pinned him beneath her. "If I were truly considerate, we'd find a way to keep you off that injured shoulder."

  Straddling him wasn't enough to ease the ache of need, but it was closer. She rocked back, letting the friction of his denim-clad hips scrape along her skin. She bent to circle his nipple with her tongue, drawing a
groan from him. She could shred his control as easily as he shredded hers, an amazing thought as she kissed back to his mouth once more. His hands left her hips to open his jeans, and the ache in her sparked again, sharp to the point of pain.

  He broke the kiss. "Do we have...?" He let the question trail off.

  "I've got an implant. Courtesy of BlueGene." They needed her to work on her research, not be distracted by a family. Not that she had time or the aptitude for motherhood in the first place. She eased her hips back, feeling the length of him slide along her, slick with her arousal, teasing herself until she could barely hold back.

  His fingers dug into her thighs. "Best news I've had all week." He shifted, gliding into her with ease, a testament to how ready she was and still almost too much. It stole her breath to have him so completely. She sat back, watching his eyes follow her fingers to her breasts, the pressure and angle of him perfect within her.

  He matched her slow movements as she rode him, each full stroke tempting her to go rougher. Faster. If this was their only moment, she wanted to take her time. Wanted something she could remember. His thumb glided back up her thigh, finding the place where their bodies joined and the taut nub nestled there. Her body tensed, wanting, trying not to reach for it, and when his thumb brushed her clit on the next thrust, she flew apart.

  She collapsed forward, teeth digging into his shoulder despite his grunt of pain. Each wave that crashed through her robbed her ability to form thoughts, only aware of the feel of him. The taste and smell of his skin. The way he stiffened and followed her into orgasm. The way he whispered her name as he came, like a prayer.

  Chapter Five

  F

  or the first time he could remember, Joshi hated his hands. Needing her twisted like hooks in his chest, but he couldn't trust his hands not to betray him the moment they touched Netta's skin. His sense of touch was fading as the IRS took hold. The idea that the feel of her skin against his palm would diminish and fail roiled his blood. He sat up and planted his feet on the floor, knowing it would be impossible to move in the tiny bed without waking her.