“I was given the impression that you would follow orders,” Vines snarled.
“She will.” When Devlan Tryn stood up, the desk rocked forward.
Amanda watched Vines scramble to his feet with a grin she only half felt. Tryn gave her a look that begged for cooperation. Don’t make trouble, his eyes pleaded.
“I will, sir. “The half-truth tasted like bile. She’d report anything unusual, if they made it an order, but she’d leave the interpretation of unusual to her own mind.
“Good. We understand one another.” Vines pretended he’d been in control the entire time. “I expect you to report to Mr. Tryn here. He can get the information directly to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a shuttle to catch. Mr. Tryn?”
“Er, right. I’ll have Hicks escort you to the hangar.” Then Devlan bellowed out, “Hicks!” and the door opened immediately.
Amanda waited for the agent to leave. She didn’t turn, but she could feel Hicks’ eyes on the back of her head. His lips would be flapping before he made it half way back. She’d have to whip up one hell of a creative explanation. Maybe Tryn could help her there. He still trembled when the doors shut out Vines, when he wedged his bulk back down behind the desk and stared at his hands. Amanda cleared her throat and watched him jolt back to the moment.
“Oh, Man. Right. You’re free to go.”
“What is this about, Tryn?”
“How’s that?”
“What does he want with the commander?”
“I wish I knew.”
“He didn’t even give you a clue?”
“It’s government, Man. Your guess is as good as mine.”
She snorted and stood up. Like hell it was. She’d have bet her guess was leagues closer to the mark than his was. She’d have bet that her guess was dead-ass on.
Still, she didn’t want to think about that at all.
Chapter Four
The MDC kept some of the best-planted gardens in the galaxy. It said so right on the recruitment posters. Great pay, competitive benefits, lavish facilities with some of the most beautiful gardens in the galaxy.
Amanda didn’t know an orchid from a tulip, but she knew the gardens would be quiet at twelve-hundred-hours on an orbital space station packed with restless mercenaries. She’d tried sleeping early and failed. A walk seemed like the next best choice. She zipped her jumpsuit over her skivvies and took the lifts up to the domes that, while beautiful, offered little in the way of the sport, booze, or chatter that an off-duty merc normally craved.
The garden paths didn’t give like the track did. Each step in her heavy boots clicked, breaking the muffled atmosphere and making her wish she’d worn socks and could shed them and enjoy total silence. Despite her ignorance of botany, the plantings still impressed upon her a sense of the exotic. Arching glossy fronds packed the space below the clear dome, each thick leaf reflecting stars or the glow of the nearby moon. The air thickened with moisture and heat the deeper she wove into the dome. It set the skin on her exposed face and hands to tingling.
She didn’t want to spy on the commander.
Vines gave Tryn a directive and he in turn gave her the order. No way around that. They wanted her to report anything unusual. Fine. She wouldn’t exactly call the kiss unusual. Delicious, maybe. Sublime, intoxicating, out of this world…
The paths converged like spokes of a wheel under the apex of the dome. A clear spot there boasted an overblown statue of the MDC logo and a ring of benches. Amanda ducked a low-hanging branch and stepped into the open. She froze and stared at the nearest bench.
“Man?” Commander Wells looked down from his stargazing and blinked at her. His face softened.
“What?” She tensed and flexed her knees, still having a clear path to retreat down, any of several paths, in fact. “What are you doing here?”
“I come here every night.” His eyes narrowed a touch, but the smile still played over his lips. “I like the quiet.”
“Mercs don’t like quiet.” Her traitorous brain whispered, unusual.
“What are you doing here, then?” He stood up, tilted his head to one side and let his gaze wander over her uniform.
“I wanted quiet.”
“Sure.”
“It’s been a rotten day.”
One of his brows lifted into a high arch.
“No. Not what I meant.”
“Didn’t go well with the big boss? I can put in a word.”
“No!”
“What’s wrong, Amanda?” His voice carried through the dome, even though he spoke softly. His words held a gentle note. He wasn’t talking like a merc. “You’re wishing you’d filed that report? Or did you?”
“No.” She looked up too fast, blushed and gave her whole game away.
Commander Wells’ smile widened. “Walk with me?”
His eyes dared her. Mercenaries didn’t take dares lightly. She nodded and waited for him to choose a path. He outranked her, unusual behavior aside, and though it hadn’t had the ring of an order, it meant she got to walk with him. Who knew what could happen in a moonlit garden in the middle of the night?
He chose an outside pathway, one that ringed the plantings and offered a constant view of stars on one side. They kept silent for awhile, clipping as softly as possible along the surface at a pace she rarely even used for leisure. Tonight, she didn’t mind the crawl. She didn’t mind the dash of tingles each time Commander Wells’ shoulder brushed ever so slightly against hers, either.
Eventually, they paused. Amanda turned with him to gaze down at the glowing dome of Olin’s moon. Wells kept his voice as soft as that glow, kept his eyes down and pointed at the view.
“You never answered my question.”
“Didn’t I?” She frowned and tried to think fast. Was it usual for him to speak so candidly of disobedience? Was it usual when his fingers slipped ever so gently against hers?
“Why didn’t you turn me in for misconduct?”
“I didn’t want to get you into trouble.” Even to her own ears, that sounded more like a question than an answer.
“I don’t think that was it.” His thumb brushed against her palm and the fireworks started in her rebellious nervous system.
“No?” She swallowed hard. “What do you think it was?”
“I think, maybe, you didn’t want to risk it not happening again.”
He thought pretty damn highly of himself. Still, with him tracing circles on her hand like that, thinking wasn’t coming so easy for her at all. She wanted to tell him off, to instruct him where he could stick it, but she also wanted him to make it happen again. He’d learned her way too quickly, too. Unusual.
“Amanda?” He whispered close enough she felt his breath trace a line across her neck. A shiver followed it down her spine.
She should say something, shouldn’t she? He leaned in, and she held her breath and imagined exactly how the next kiss would feel. Their eyes met, and the shimmer in his went deeper than sparks or tingles. It reached inside and tried to squeeze into her heart. Unusual. Mercenaries didn’t have time for hearts.
“I think one of the other girls must have filed that report.” She tilted her chin up, but the kiss didn’t land. Wells frowned at her instead, and she snapped back to attention. What had she said?
“What did you say?”
“I-I think someone did, maybe someone else filed a complaint?”
“There isn’t anyone else, Man.” His hands lifted to her shoulders, settled firmly and turned her in to face him. “It’s not like I do this all the time.”
“But.” She blinked. The eyes again. He wanted something from her, more than a merc knew how to give. “But you’re so good at it.”
Wells laughed. He brushed her hair back and left his hands at the side of her face. This time she bit her tongue, didn’t say anything that might stop the kiss.
His lips danced across hers, light and teasing fires from her belly.
He kissed her below the ear, at the base of her neck and then on the mouth again, lingering this time. Amanda held her breath and melted against him. Each flutter of his lips drove her farther from the line of duty. He made her think very unusual thoughts.
“Amanda,” He murmured into her hair, slight steel arms around her back and pulled her into an embrace too much like a hug for a merc, too unusual. A little alarm bell ruined her buzz. It couldn’t put out the fires under her skin, but it went a long way toward bringing her back to her senses.
“Why not others?” She whispered, half-afraid of the answer. “Why me?”
“You’re different.” He leaned back and looked at her. His arms kept her against him, kept her nerves humming. “I knew it when we first met. You’re not an ordinary mercenary.”
She bristled, but not enough to struggle. “I’m a damn good merc.”
“Yes. Of course you are.” One of his hands lifted, stroking her hair away from her face. “But the rest of them signed up for the money. They suit up for the money, Man. They shoot for the money.”
“If you think I don’t need the money…” She shook her head. He was in for a surprise there.
“No. I know that. But there’s more to you, Amanda. Unlike the rest of them, you believe in the honor of it. You do this for duty, for pride, for your own brand of ethics. I don’t know, maybe you do it for a higher purpose than that, even.”
“Saint Amanda.” She laughed. Man, did he have her pegged wrong.
“You think I’m joking.”
“I think you’re high on something.”
“I know people, Amanda. Knowing people is what I do best.”
He’d learned the whole unit in short order. Had he learned her just as quickly? Not if he thought she was some kind of noble soul working for the benefit of others. She took orders—that was all. She’d taken orders, in fact, to spy on him and report to the authorities.
“You don’t know me.”
“Yes I do.” He kissed her slowly, dragging her lips against his and cradling her head in both his hands. “I know you, Amanda.”
God, she wanted him to. “They’ve ordered me to spy on you.” She whispered it and curled against him, but Wells was suddenly stone-hard. His arms froze and his lips stopped kissing.
“What?”
“Tryn had a government agent in his office. They asked me if you’d done anything unusual.”
“He was here asking about me?”
“Yeah.” She sighed. His arms dropped away. He took a step back. So much for making out. “This guy, Vines, is a jackass, but he’s very interested in you.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I tried to tell him to stick it, but Tryn ordered me to watch you.”
“And report on my behavior.” He didn’t make it a question, but she answered anyway.
“Yeah.”
“Why are you telling me, then?”
The question shamed her. She followed orders, right? He’d just commended her sense of duty and honor, and she’d completely blown both off in hopes of more kissing. She stared at her boots and brought her breathing back under her control. Maybe it had been a test, a more complicated one, one involving Tryn and this Vines character. If so, she’d failed in all sorts of ways.
“Amanda.”
“I screwed up. I let you get to me. I don’t know. Like I said, you’re really good at—”
“Amanda.”
“I know.” She should have known better. What would someone like Wells really want with a hard-ass merc whose hormones get out of line the second someone pays attention to her?
“Man!”
She jerked her head up. Wells stood a good three paces away now. He posed as he had the first time they met, just as rigid, just as imposing. This time, however, he was pointing a gun at her.
“What?”
“I’m sorry.” He took another step backwards.
“You’re sorry?” She watched him move slowly, catlike, suddenly not like a mercenary at all. His rigid command stance vanished, but his eyes still burned—too bright. The son-of-a-bitch was going to shoot her.
“It’s just a stunner.”
“It’s just my career.” She could roll toward the dome, might only take a hip shot. Then again, it might only be a stunner.
“Tell them I confronted you about the meeting. Tell them I ambushed you.”
“Why don’t you tell them?”
“I can’t do that.”
“Ain’t that a damn shame.” She flexed her knees and wondered if she’d spring toward him or away.
Wells’ eyes widened. “It’s not what you think.” The bastard shook his head sadly and then shot her, point blank.
Chapter Five
Gerafit squeezed her arm with his torture device and shouted down at her. “Two, six, five, seven, code?” The cuff pressed against her muscle, pinched the skin and cut off her circulation. She wished he’d wrapped the thing around her throat instead.
“Send Raylan’s unit after the shuttle, then!” She heard Tryn screaming orders, acting as if anyone answered to him.
“Two, six, five, seven, code?”
She was a lousy mercenary.
“Man?” Gerafit pressed an icy disc against her forehead. He sounded a lot closer this time. “I need your code.”
Wells was long gone.
“Two, six, five, seven?”
“Man. On. Fire.” She pressed her eyes shut until her temple throbbed, until the urge to cry subsided. Tryn’s voice whispered over her head.
“Is she awake?”
Amanda answered on her own. “Fine. I’m fine.” She tried to sit up, but her midsection still had no feeling. It had been a stunner after all. “Wells is gone?”
“He stole a shuttle.” Tryn sounded close to hysterics. “Vines was right.”
“I thought he didn’t tell you anything.” She peeked, couldn’t help herself. The ceiling didn’t look like she’d expected. Nothing technical hung over her, no arms or wires or life-saving devices beeped in the distance. They had her in Tryn’s office and the fat manager leaned over her just as keenly as Gerafit did.
“Right.” He had pearls of sweat dotting his hairline. “Well, he didn’t tell me anything I could share.”
“I took a hit for this.” Amanda glared up at him and prayed he didn’t drip on her. “Stunners sting like a mother.”
“Vines’ men found the real Commander Wells three days ago adrift on a garbage scow in the Sirillian zone.”
“The real?” Shit. Who the hell had she been necking with?
“Someone stocked the scow with provisions and set it on a course that would keep the man out of touch for a good three months. Thankfully, an inspector hailed the scow for a random stop. When they didn’t get a response, they boarded it and found Wells. He claims he was knocked out in some club on Oxyln two days before he was supposed to report here.” Tryn heaved a mighty sigh and shrugged. “Who knows? We need the infiltrator alive to sort that out, and I’m afraid Vines is out for his blood.”
“They—blood?”
“I’m sending Raylan after him as well. If we can detain the man first, I’ll get a shot at interrogation before Vines.”
Amanda pushed Gerafit away from her and sat up. They’d cleaned off the desk for her, had laid her out like an invalid while Vines hunted down Wells—well, whoever he was. If they got hold of him first… She’d bet Vines didn’t take too kindly to embarrassment.
“What are your orders?” She ran a hand through her hair, zipped up the front of her coveralls, hiding the white skivvies and preserving whatever trace of dignity she might salvage from the evening. Whoever the imposter Wells had been, he’d made a damn fool out of her. He’d shot her, out maneuvered her and left without a glance back. She didn’t know which she liked better, the idea of what Vines might do to him, or the thought of getting her own hands on the son-of-a-bitch.
“Orders?” Tryn frowned. The wrinkles on his forehead blocked his eyes from view
. When he shook his head, they wobbled from side to side. “No orders. Down time. You did what Vines wanted, Man. Maybe not in the exact way, but at least you got the problem off my station. Take a break and let someone else chase the bastard down.”
“But—.”
“That is an order.”
Amanda ground her teeth together. She gripped the edge of Tryn’s desk and heard the cracks deepen. She followed orders. She was a good merc, damn it.
“Dr. Gerafit?” Tryn stepped away from her and eyed the Pescine scientist.
“She’s clear.”
“Good. Man, get to your quarters and get some sleep.”
Amanda swung her legs around. She hopped off the desk and stood, stiff and at attention. Her voice snapped like dry bone. “Yes, sir!”
Amanda shifted feet and lunged, landing a right hook in the bag hard enough to rip the stitching. It swung up and bumped the safety stop, registering the pounds-per-inch thrust of her punch and recording the record in time for the next hit. She nailed it again on the downswing and again.
Behind her, Hicks’ voice boomed over the thudding of her fists. “You’ve been working out for three days straight, Man.”
“Nope.” She landed an uppercut and shifted feet again. “I slept last night.”
“About time.” He sidled around the bag and sat on a bench where she’d have to look at him.
“What do you want, Hicks?” The bag danced. Amanda grinned when he flinched and scooted a few feet down the seat.
“New commander’s here.”
“I heard.” In fact, Chicken had informed her first thing that morning. She punched again and the computer howled.
“You’re going to break it.”
“Damn.” She stopped and let her lungs heave for a moment while her pulse settled. The error message scrolled across the screen above the trainer. “Cheap-ass equipment.”
“Yeah. Sure. Listen, the new guy wants us suited up and reporting in at six hundred hours.”
“Huh.” The reset button cleared the error. It squealed once and then beeped. The ready light blinked on. “Six hundred hours. Sure.” She could shower and change in ten minutes easy. That left a good twenty more she could use to pummel this damn bag.
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