by R S Penney
Anna shut her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose. “It came from New York City,” she said with a nod. “I made a trip down to the mail room and spent two very long hours going through the logs.”
She took the chair across from him.
Daython sat with his elbows on the armrests, his mouth hidden behind steepled fingers. “Is that so?” he asked, eyebrows rising. “And even if you happen to be correct, what makes you think they came from me?”
“I don't know anyone else in New York.”
Keeping her temper in check required enormous amounts of willpower. Anna had no patience for people who couldn't even manage to display basic human decency, and she was especially disgusted with men who would not take no for an answer. Daython's comments in her office on Alios implied that he intended to win her over. A mistake of galactic proportions.
From what she had read, Earth was the perfect place for a man like Daython. Far too many men here shared his affliction. Not all, of course, but many. Her world used to have a similar problem in regard to the way men treated women. Three years ago, she would have insisted that Leyrians had outgrown such behaviour. Now, she was slightly less firm in that assertion. Her people had made great strides – and most of the men on her world treated women with respect – but there were still some with sexist attitudes.
Of course, she had to admit there were some women on her world who had a hard time understanding the meaning of the word 'no.' Prestige had a way of making people think they could have anything they wanted. Leyrians had given up the use of money, but every now and then some inventor or software developer became a little too fond of the praise she received.
Daython lifted a glass of wine, pausing for a moment to inhale the bouquet before he took a sip. “And you honestly think that implicates me?” he asked. “Maybe you've got a secret admirer.”
Anna looked down at the floor, her eyebrows slowly climbing up her forehead. “I don't have any admirers,” she said. “Except for a young diplomat who just can't figure out that I am not interested.”
“The subtle art of negotiation.”
“Excuse me?”
Daython turned his head so that she saw him in profile, squinting into the distance. “Has it occurred to you,” he began, “that my entire career revolves around convincing people to change their minds?”
Leaning over the table with her arms folded, Anna glared at him. “So you think that applies to your personal life as well?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Why can't you just accept that a relationship with me is off the table?”
He stood.
Turning his back on her, he made his way over to the window with the wine glass in hand. No doubt he expected her to join him, and that was probably some technique he intended to use to gain her compliance. Anna didn't spend a lot of time reading through psychological journals, but it wouldn't surprise her to learn that making someone come to you subtly reinforced the idea that he should work to earn your approval. Seth was angry, and rightly so. The Nassai despised manipulation.
Despite the obvious ploy, she found herself playing along, shuffling over to the window so she could look out on the city of Manhattan. She drew the line at speaking, however. Daython could make the first move.
He stood there for a moment, taking a sip of his wine before he finally decided to acknowledge her. “I'm a man who's used to getting what he wants,” he said. “And I must admit that I want you.”
She knew she was going to regret this – the smartest thing to do was to tell him in no uncertain terms that she was not interested and then to inform his supervisors – but curiosity got the better of her. The psyche of a man who chased after women that found him repulsive was so bizarre that she just had to know. “Why?”
“You're a Justice Keeper,” he answered. “I've always wanted to sleep with a Justice Keeper. Allow me to make a proposal, Anna. One night of the best sex you've ever had, and then I'll leave you be.”
“Really?” Anna said. “Here's my counter.”
She seized his wrist.
Anna gave a tug with enough force to send wine sloshing over the rim of his glass. It splashed against his shirt, leaving a big wet stain, and Daython stared down at himself with his mouth hanging open.
She very nearly jumped when she heard a deep, familiar voice call out from behind her. “Brilliant,” her father said. “Once again, my youngest decides to make her opinions known in the most destructive way possible.”
She turned.
Beran Lenai stood between two tables, dressed in black pants and a simple blue coat. A short man with a stern face, he kept his red beard neatly trimmed and wore his hair parted on the left. “Leana.”
She closed her eyes, a flush singeing her cheeks. With a sigh, she bowed her head to him. “Hello, Dad,” she began. “Before you start in with one of your lectures, I think I should tell you that this man won't stop making romantic overtures.”
Beran scowled, turning his head to stare at Daython. “Get out of here,” he growled, jerking his head toward the door. “I'll deal with you later. For now, I think my daughter and I should have a little talk.”
Tiny snowflakes fluttered just outside the window over the sink, so many Harry could barely see the house next door. If this kept up, he was going to have to shovel again, and his back was already protesting the last session.
The huge blue bowl was filled with leafy green lettuce that had been drenched in Caesar dressing, complete with croûtons and bacon bits. Making the salad had been his task; his girlfriend was making some Leyrian dish that involved chicken.
“So we got nothing,” Jena said.
Harry frowned, staring down at his creation. “Nothing at all from Slade?” he asked, deep creases lining his brow. “The guy didn't trip over his words or mix up the details of his story?”
He turned.
Jena was leaning against the kitchen table with her arms folded, gorgeous as ever in a pair of blue jeans and a purple sweater. “Nope,” she said. “In fact, he seemed contemptuous of the whole process.”
“Sounds like you've hit a wall,” Harry said, carrying the bowl over to the table. “Let me ask you something, Jen, have you ever considered the possibility that he might be innocent?”
The scowl she directed at the wall told him that he was walking on thin ice, and the slight flush in her cheeks emphasized the point. “He's not innocent,” she muttered, “The man loves his schemes.”
“Maybe,” Harry countered. “But that doesn't prove he was involved with Breslan.” The urge to play skeptic to her believer was hard to resist. It wasn't that he distrusted her instincts – Jena was an outstanding cop – but twenty years of working in law enforcement instilled certain habits. You tended to play devil's advocate with your partner just to make sure all the evidence was in line.
Jena stood up straight.
She marched through the galley-style kitchen with her hand in her back pockets, heaving out a frustrated sigh. “Breslan worked to undermine a legitimate investigation,” she began. “Jack brought in a weapons dealer, and Slade suspended him for it.”
“After he disobeyed orders.”
“What's your point?”
Crossing his arms with a grunt, Harry studied his girlfriend's back. “Did it occur to you that maybe Slade was trying to send a message?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Jack isn't exactly known for being a team player.”
Jena froze in mid-step, turning partway, glancing over her shoulder. “The kid's a little rough in his delivery,” she said. “But he means well. If my boss told me not to go after an arms dealer, I'd be skeptical too.”
Harry sat in a nearby chair, leaning forward until he was nearly bent in half. “I'm not sure what to tell you,” he said with a shrug. “If one of my people disobeyed orders – even if he brought in a mob boss doing it – there would be some consequences.”
She seemed to ponder that.
It occurred to Harry that he might be antagonizing her – Jena was hard
to read at times – or worse, leaving her with the impression that he didn't respect her opinion. Still, a good cop followed the evidence, and the evidence against Slade was shoddy at best. It was the biggest difference between them.
Harry was a by-the-book kind of guy, whereas Jena shared Jack's firm distrust of authority. The two of them might have been mother and son in that regard. Or perhaps aunt and nephew. Regardless, the evidence just wasn't very compelling.
Yes, Slade had been unfailingly supportive of Breslan; yes, that looked bad, but the problem with that line of reasoning was that it could be applied to any one of the senior Justice Keepers. None of them had gone after Breslan except Jena, and her methods were less than ideal. Perhaps no one had wanted to believe that a Keeper might turn traitor. Or perhaps Slade was so busy heading a multi-planetary force of officers that he didn't have time to keep tabs on every one of his subordinates.
“Melissa!” Harry called out. “Dinner!”
His daughter appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a red t-shirt. Of course, she took one look at Jena and flinched before shuffling over to the table.
Harry lifted his chin, squinting at the girl. “Jena will be joining us tonight,” he said in a tone that made it clear he was in no mood to argue. “I thought it would be a good opportunity for the two of you to get to know one another.”
Melissa frowned, her cheeks stained crimson. She lowered her eyes to the floor. “Sure thing.” That wasn't exactly enthusiasm in her voice, but he would take what he could get. “What are we having?”
“Nialaro,” Jena answered.
She stood over the stove with a plate held in both hands, pausing for a second to inspect her work. “It's something of a regional dish among my people,” she said, making her way over to them.
The plate contained several pieces of grilled chicken covered in diced tomatoes and herbs. Well, that should ease Melissa's anxiety; she had always loved bruschetta chicken, and this looked remarkably similar.
It took a few moments to get everything set up. To her credit, Melissa was nothing but kind and polite to their guest, and Harry was starting to feel that his kids just might be able to get along with his new partner. Claire was spending the evening at her mother's place, but that was all right. He was quite happy to ease them into this one at a time.
Melissa looked up with a flat expression, blinking at him. “Do you mind if I say Grace, Dad?” she asked. The implications of that must have dawned on her, because she turned to Jena and added, “Unless that offends you.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Jena gave her head a shake. “Not at all,” she said, sliding her chair closer to the table. “I'm actually a little curious. I've always wondered what Earth's religions were like.”
Melissa recited the prayer in a steady, even voice while Harry took a moment to ponder this latest development. He had been raised Catholic, but he'd stopped practising sometime around the age of fourteen. Of course, he didn't believe a word of it, and he had made no effort to teach his children to do so. This latest display of spirituality from Melissa was…odd.
They ate in silence for a little while before Harry decided that someone needed to break the tension, and it was starting to look like that duty would fall on his shoulders. Now all he had to do was choose a topic.
Stroking his chin with thumb and forefinger, Harry stared down at the table. “How's school going, Melissa?” he asked. “Did you have any problems with the term paper you were working on?”
“Nope!”
Melissa popped a forkful of chicken into her mouth, then closed her eyes as she savoured the taste. “This is really good!” she exclaimed. “Sorry! I didn't mean to sound so surprised, but you're a wonderful cook.”
Jena was smiling into her lap. “To be honest, I'm really not,” she admitted. “You learn a few things when you live alone. My ex-girlfriend taught me a few recipes, but mostly I grab food on the go.”
“Ex-girlfriend?”
“Melissa…” Harry warned.
Dabbing her mouth with a napkin, Jena offered soft laughter in response. “No, it's all right,” she said with a glance in his direction. “I've had a few relationships in my life, Melissa: some with men and some with women.”
Melissa leaned forward with her elbow on the table, her chin resting in the palm of her hand. “What's that like?” she asked with genuine curiosity in her voice. “Being in a relationship with a woman, I mean.”
“Very similar to being in a relationship with a man,” Jena answered. “There are a few minor differences. Most of them apply to matters of intimacy. In a way, you have to learn how to have…”
Melissa looked intrigued.
Jena, on the other hand, was shaking her head as though someone had just forced her to eat something truly vile. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn't mean to go overboard on that one.”
Mopping a hand over his face, Harry massaged his tired eyes. “It's fine,” he replied with a touch of amusement. “Melissa's a teenage social butterfly. I'm sure she's heard far worse than that.”
It was Melissa's turn to blush, a condition that she covered by staring intently down at her plate. “It's okay, Jena,” she managed after a moment. “Aaron is always talking about watching two women together. I tell him he's a pig.”
With a heavy sigh, Harry took a moment to collect himself. Losing his temper was not going to get him anywhere. “Your boyfriend is a pig,” he said. “You're old enough to date, Melissa, but honestly, you can do better.”
Melissa slid her chair back from the table, then stood up. She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Look, I'm kind of tired,” she said. “Maybe we could do the whole dinner thing another time.”
She turned to go.
“Oy…I'm sorry,” Harry mumbled, noting the rasp in his voice. “I was really hoping this would go well, but she's in that awkward teenage phase.”
When he turned, Jena was smiling at him, laughing softly to herself. “Why don't I go talk to her?” she offered. “No offense, sweetie, but there are some things that need to be worked out woman to woman.”
He gestured to the stairs. “Be my guest.”
The very first thing Anna noticed when she stepped into her father's apartment was the size. Tracts of lights on the ceiling illuminated a spacious room where a couch sat facing the wall on her right.
The far wall was one very large window, separated into segments, and through it, she could see the New York skyline under a twilight sky. There was even a piano in the corner, though she was certain her father didn't play.
Anna pursed her lips as she studied her surroundings, blinking slowly. “Well, you'll never have to fear claustrophobia,” she said, stepping inside. “Though you must be a tad overwhelmed by the size.”
Beran stood at her side with hands folded over his stomach, a frown upon his face. “I do feel that way sometimes,” he said softly. “I'm fairly certain that if you measure the square footage of this place, it will be bigger than our house.”
Anna grunted.
Earthers had something of a preoccupation with material success; even Jack – who was arguably the least concerned with such things – occasionally found himself lamenting the fact that no woman would want him in light of his meager surroundings. Pure idiocy, of course, but she wasn't going to undo twenty years of stupidity with a few pep talks.
She strode over to the couch, then eased herself down onto it. No doubt this cost a few thousand units of Earth money. American currency, she supposed, though the whole system was something she had to struggle to wrap her brain around.
Closing her eyes, Anna threw her head back against the cushion. “Well, at least it's comfortable,” she murmured. “If you're going to spend your days trying to knock some sense into belligerent politicians, you may as well be comfortable.”
Her father stood over her with arms folded, scowling as he shook his head. “You should not have thrown wine on that young man,” he said. “The Earthers have a
tendency to latch onto any scandal.”
Pressing her lips together, Anna nodded slowly. “So we're getting right down to business then,” she said. “I guess I was expecting you to make some small talk first.”
Beran was frowning, his face pinched into a mask of disdain. She'd seen that look a thousand times growing up. “Rumors spread, Leana,” he lectured. “Reporters will start to inquire about what happened, and then I'll find myself reading a story about the Justice Keeper who behaves like a five-year-old.”
“Daython is guilty of sexual harassment.”
“Then you should have gone to his superiors.”
Pressing her lips together, she looked up to stare at him. She blinked a few times, choosing her response. “I was going to his superiors,” Anna said. “But I wanted to make it clear that I wouldn't stand for it.”
Her father turned his back and went over to a small table by the wall where a bottle of wine sat next to several empty glasses. “Impulsive as ever,” he said, uncorking the thing and pouring himself a drink.
Beran turned to the window, lifting the glass to his lips. He seemed to be lost in thought. “Your sister was nothing but polite,” he said. “But you… I sometimes think you aren't happy unless you've found a way to start a conflict.”
The very last thing Anna wanted right now was a conflict with her father. He was usually prone to taking her side. Most of the time, when she found herself trapped inside a verbal sparring match, it was her mother on the other end. “Sorry, Dad,” she muttered. “But the Bleakness will take me before I apologize to that ass. If anything comes of it, I'll make sure those reporters you're so afraid of hear the whole story.”
“That's…acceptable.”
His tone said it was a grudging acceptance, but she was willing to take what she could get. It had been nearly three years since she had seen her father – working out on the Fringe didn't provide many opportunities to visit family – and she would rather not have a pointless argument.
Beran stood against the wall with the wine glass in hand, lifting it slowly to take another sip. “So, Little One,” he said, starting across the room. “I take it you reconnected with that young Earth boy of yours.”
