The outer doors opened at her approach, and a burst of adrenaline propelled her onto the sidewalk in a rush, jostling a couple who’d paused to check their AI’s. Murmuring an apology, she stepped away. Which way? What now? Frantic, she set off to the left toward what appeared to be a main street with heavy groundcar traffic. The necklace bobbed around her neck as she ran. No one had ever told her what the range of the controller was but the more distance she put between herself and Jareck, the more hopeful she felt. And the police the Amarotu were always talking about with loathing would be able to remove it, wouldn’t they?
Reaching the thoroughfare, Miriell stopped in confusion. There were so many people and so many vehicles. How did one find these police?
“Excuse me—” She tried to stop one of the hurrying citizens, but he shrugged her off and shouldered past, as did the next person.
Changing tactics, Miriell approached a woman waiting with two small children to cross the street. “How do I find the police?”
“Now, darling, no need for involving the cops. The authorities have better things to do.” The deep voice swirled around her as Conor hauled her in, not ungently, and held her close in a parody of affectionate care. His arms were like steel around her, his muscles unyielding. “I told you, the hotel will be able to take care of the problem.”
Pushing against him in frustration, Miriell swore at Conor in her own language. To be so close to escaping…
Mouth open, the woman was staring at them. As her children tugged at her hands, she said directly to Miriell, “Are you all right?”
“My wife’s fine,” Conor answered smoothly. “Aren’t you, honey? We just arrived today. She gets disoriented a bit by cryo sleep. Waking dreams for the first day or so. You know how it is, I’m sure. I’ll get her back to the hotel, get some nice hot tea into her, and she’ll be herself again, good as ever. Thanks for your concern.”
Conor’s grip was now crushing her elbow. Miriell nodded, fighting back tears. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I hope I didn’t frighten the children.”
Uncertain, hesitant, the woman scooped up her smaller child, tightened her grip on the other and sprinted across the street as the traffic paused in obedience to signals Miriell didn’t see.
“Not your smartest move,” Conor said in a low voice as he pulled Miriell away, retreating toward the hotel. “We have to get you back to the room before Opherra learns you escaped. Her punishments tend to be swift and harsh. Fortunately, she’s addicted to long baths, so we have a window of opportunity.”
“Please—” She knew there was no mercy to be had from an Amarotu soldier, but it was heartbreaking to come so close to escaping the nightmare her life had become. She sagged in his hold as her knees weakened. “I’m nothing to you. Let me go, I beg you.”
He shook his head, gripping her arm more tightly as he pulled her along. “You’re part of my boss’s operation. It’s my job to secure her assets and watch her back. Can’t have you picked up by the police. When I realized you were in the lobby by yourself, I called the room and told Jareck to let me handle it. He won’t trigger the necklace, don’t worry. But if you aren’t under his control by the time Opherra becomes aware of the breach, she’ll order your death, likely as not.” He glanced at her. “Haven’t you ever heard where there’s life, there’s hope? My advice is live to fight another day.”
“Not for such as me. Hope fled a long time ago.” She shook her head, angrily brushing at her tears with her free hand. Belatedly, she tried to summon her power, to break free of this man and run, but she was too upset to find the necessary inner calm, and only flickers answered her call. Conor marched her through the lobby and into the gravlift, intimidating an elderly couple who tried to enter when he did. He took her aloft so rapidly that Miriell had a hard time breathing.
“By the way, for future reference, many of the local police are on the Amarotu payroll.” As they entered the hall and headed toward the room, he added in a low voice, “I’ll swear you didn’t talk to anyone. Otherwise, you’re on your own.”
The moment she crossed the threshold, Jareck sprang at her, grabbing her away from Conor and backhanding her across the face so viciously she fell. Swearing and calling her obscene names, he moved to kick her, and Miriell curled up to protect herself, well aware of the damage he could inflict.
The blow never landed. When she peeked cautiously, Conor had Jareck in a choke hold, slammed against the far wall. “No need for violence. She saw an opening, and she took it. We’d probably do the same in her place. No harm done—I got her back safely.” He glanced over his shoulder at Miriell. “Can you stand?”
Shaking, she grabbed at the chair next to her and struggled to her feet. Her cheek ached, and her head spun.
“If you think Opherra took exception to your prisoner’s clothes, wait till you see how the boss reacts to the bruise across her face,” Conor said. He gave Jareck a shove and let him go.
“What does she care?” Jareck straightened his clothes and gave Miriell a baleful look.
“About the woman? Not at all. About her appearance? Opherra is high-class, high-end, supernova. That’s her cover and her image. She can’t have anyone in her orbit who appears to be an assault victim. Too many questions might get asked.”
There was a knock, and another woman breezed into the room, arms full of clothing. “Opherra said to bring a variety of choices, so here I am.” She stopped, gazing from one person to the next and gasping when she looked at Miriell.
I must be bruising spectacularly. Or else this woman’s never seen a nonhuman sentient up close before. She sank into the chair, trying to close herself off from the gathering, to put herself into a peaceful state, but her cheek hurt and her hip ached where she’d fallen.
“Here.” Conor handed her some ice wrapped in a towel. He moved to the door. “She’s going to need makeup to cover the offensive mark the punk gave her just now, Tamlu. Do your best—we have an hour before we go out to dinner.”
The room felt empty with Conor gone.
After gathering up the dresses, Tamlu came to where Miriell sat. “We…we’d better get to work if you have to leave in an hour. The boss is an impatient woman, and bad things happen when people keep her waiting.” She glanced over at Jareck. “Did someone think to get you appropriate clothes? The restaurant is five stars, very posh.”
“Yeah, I got something. Had the hotel send a suit up from the boutique and charged it to Opherra’s account.” He poured himself a drink. Gesturing at Miriell with the glass and sloshing the feelgood on the carpet in the process, he said, “Don’t think you’re off the hook for today’s little trick. You and me will discuss it later, without any more interference from the local muscle. Now behave yourself and cooperate.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” He fingered the controller for the necklace.
Even though she knew he’d never trigger it in the current situation, she shivered and sat up straighter. “Yes, sir.”
Jareck stared belligerently at Opherra’s assistant. “The performer doesn’t leave the room without me, got it, Tammy, or whatever your name is? She gives you any trouble or back talk, you call me.”
Lips in a thin line, Tamlu nodded.
Satisfied, he strolled into the bedroom and shut the door.
CHAPTER TWO
Punching a hole in the wall was probably the only thing that’d be capable of dispelling the anger riding him, but as usual he kept the emotion bottled up, greeting the people he met in the corridor on the way to his room with a grin and a joke. Once Conor stepped inside the relative security of his suite, he took off his jacket and removed his shoulder holster. Walking to the bureau to set down the concealed blaster, he stood for a long moment, head bowed, breathing deeply, attempting to set aside his emotions. The events of the afternoon didn’t sit well with him.
What the seven hells kind of circus had the Devir 6 branch sent into Opherra’s territory? And how much trouble was the unusual team going
to cause? The so-called handler was a loose asteroid if he’d ever seen one—watching the way he’d treated the alien woman who was his prisoner, it had been all Conor could do not to kill him on the spot. Jareck had enjoyed terrorizing her. Well, not around me, he won’t.
He sat on the bed to take off his shoes. Although she acted cowed and compliant, he had a feeling Miriell—was that her name?—was hiding all her personality and a lot of emotion inside. Given the chance, she might take her own revenge on Jareck. Ballsy move, to run when the maid left the door open. He almost regretted the fact he’d seen her and had had no choice but to recapture her. But what a disaster if Miriell had found a police officer to listen to her, either one in Opherra’s pay, or one who was clean. All kinds of complications either way. Rising to shed his pants, he cursed. And what if she’d been grabbed by someone else? Someone who saw opportunity when it ran by, wide-eyed and innocent? Ignorant of so much about the Sectors? Miriell would have been prey in a big, nasty city. No way could he have turned a blind eye. There’d have been hell to pay if Opherra had known about the incident while it was occurring.
Walking naked into the bathroom, he entered the large shower enclosure and activated the pulsing jets. Miriell never left his thoughts as he lathered. She was thinner than she ought to be, judging by her frame. If the ringmaster made her travel by cryo container often, and she reacted badly every time, no wonder she seemed fragile and ill. Her face was sure lovely, though, arresting, with those big green and gold eyes that could change in a moment, like the depths of a beautiful ocean, as her thoughts shifted.
“You’ve got it bad,” he said to himself. “The two of them are here to do a job for the boss, and then they go away again. End of story. Leave it alone.” Protecting someone else’s prisoner wasn’t in his job description, although everything about Miriell and her situation was arousing his instinct to shield and safeguard. Her unusual beauty and spirit were appealing to him on another level.
The barbaric necklace needs to come off.
He flipped the water regulator to ice cold and made himself go over the arrangements for the evening’s events.
Miriell allowed Tamlu to choose a dress and accessories and do whatever she wanted as far as makeup to disguise the bruise Jareck had inflicted. She sank into her self-defensive posture, putting up only passive resistance as far as she dared, not uttering a word. Someday, these people would feel her vengeance, if Thuun gave her a chance and the power to execute his will. Today wasn’t the day. Today, she had to survive, and that was all. Exactly the advice Conor offered. Biting her lip, she yanked her mind away from thoughts of the soldier. As the other woman fussed with her hair and applied cosmetics to her skin, Miriell reflected on her ruined escape attempt. She wasn’t sorry she’d made the try, but clearly, it wasn’t going to be so simple to find the mysterious police and ask for help. Still, this assignment away from her home base was unusual enough in its parameters to generate another opportunity.
“All right, I can’t do any more. Your hair is beautiful, distinctive, but can’t be styled, apparently. Soft and loose tendrils around your face it is.” Tamlu stepped away from the chair, head tilted, assessing the results of her efforts. “I wish I was going to be an insect on the wall at this dinner.” She checked the still closed door to the bedroom. Leaning closer to Miriell, she said, “His type—all street bravado and mouthy—don’t get on too well with the boss. She likes men smooth and smart, like Conor. Adults.”
Miriell was tempted to ask about Conor but stopped herself. He protected Opherra’s interests and his own skin, like all these thugs. To remind herself no one around her could be trusted, she let a flicker of her power touch Tamlu while the woman packed up her cosmetics and hair products and collected the rejected dresses. No gray-green of true evil clung to Tamlu, the beige of the weak and untrustworthy predominating.
Jareck emerged from the bedroom, wearing a gray suit made of a fabric with an iridescent sheen. The shirt was pink, with a loud pattern in green and blue. His hair was slicked back, and he wore two flashy pinkie rings, one on either hand. “Is she ready?” He strutted to the chair, and Miriell rose rather than be manhandled, wobbling a bit on the spiky heels Tamlu had provided.
“I’ve done what I can.” Tamlu blinked as she looked at Jareck’s outfit a second time. “You sure will stand out in a crowd.”
The man preened visibly and gave her a wink.
There was a knock at the door, and Conor entered, wearing a black suit cut so elegantly across his broad shoulders he resembled a trideo star. Surveying Miriell from head to toe, he nodded to Tamlu. “Good job.” Leaning closer to Miriell, he said, “Very pretty.”
She let the compliment pass with no remark or acknowledgment. It mattered not at all to her what she wore or how pleasing or displeasing her appearance might be while she was a prisoner, forced to serve the Amarotu.
“We’re to meet Opherra in the lobby in five minutes,” he said, one eyebrow raised as Miriell remained silent. “Let’s go.”
The trip out of the room and to the lobby via gravlift was made in silence, Jareck apparently wary of Conor. Her controller kept his hand on Miriell’s arm above the elbow, as if he was her solicitous boyfriend or lover. She hated the feel of his skin on hers, but it was a small indignity in the endless series of indignities she was forced to endure. Hardly worth a second thought.
Until the day she could finally take revenge for herself and all her people.
They’d no sooner reached the lobby and taken up a position beside a gold-flecked stone pillar than Opherra swept into the chamber, drawing all eyes as she sauntered across the floor to them. Her dress was scarlet, low-necked to show off both her cleavage and the jewels she wore. A priceless white fur cape trailed carelessly off her shoulder, dragging on the tiled floor. Conor stepped forward to rescue the fur and settle it more securely around her shoulders. She rewarded him with a smile as brilliant and sensual as it was fake, according to Miriell’s highly tuned senses.
The boss came to a halt in front of Jareck and Miriell, giving her a glance before moving on to her controller. Opherra shuddered. “If we weren’t late already, I’d send you back upstairs to change,” she said, as if Jareck was a child. “Where did you get the unspeakable lounge-lizard getup?”
“The manager of the hotel store said it was top-of-the-line.” Face flushed, the thug checked his attire and spread his hands, palms up. “What? I’m a hell of a lot flashier than Mr. Tall, Dark and Dull here.”
Opherra leaned close so no one else could hear her. “You may work for another branch of the family firm, but you’re in my territory and therefore under my command. Don’t go getting an inflated ego. I like to puncture those. And other things.” She pivoted to Conor, her tone sharp. “Take him shopping tomorrow, on their credits, not mine. He’s passable enough for dinner—barely—but he can’t wear that or a similar abomination to the charity event.” Then she raked Miriell up and down with a scathing glance. “Assuming I can be persuaded these two are any use to me at all.”
The drive from the hotel to the restaurant was quiet, Opherra and Conor talking in low tones, their heads together, her hand caressing his thigh again. Miriell could feel Jareck’s anger and embarrassment as he sat beside her, but he gave no outward sign, other than constantly drumming his fingers on the armrest. She had a feeling he blamed Conor somehow for not steering him to clothes Opherra would approve of.
Once the car reached the restaurant, Opherra swept inside as if she were a queen and the entire planet her domain. Miriell and the others trailed behind her as the boss was taken immediately to a highly desirable table with a breathtaking view of the unending cityscape. Twinkling lights of all colors stretched to the horizon in all directions. Opherra declined the menus and ordered for the table without asking anyone’s preferences. The restaurant was crowded with couples and well-dressed family groups. A trio of musicians played softly in the far corner of the room.
It was at the third course when Opherra
suddenly leaned over and said to Jareck, “I want a demonstration of what the performer can do. Prove to me you can be of assistance in what I need.”
“Can you give me a few more details on what you want me to make her do?” Jareck asked.
Miriell felt nauseated as her muscles tensed while she waited to learn what atrocious act she’d be required to perform now, what perversion of her Thuun-given gifts would be demanded.
“The end game is to help me attract a particular influential gentleman who’s been curiously resistant to my charms,” Opherra said, her lips twisted in annoyance. “I need him in thrall to me for our plans here to move forward. In too deep to back out when I reveal my true agenda. No names, but he’s key. My boss is tired of waiting for the standard ploys to yield results.”
“Is he here?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. I need to see these abilities in action before I risk my entire operation on an unknown.” Glancing around the restaurant, she laughed. “Oh yes, an excellent target for the demonstration I want. You see that blonde woman, the one with her husband, the older couple and three children? I’ve never seen anyone less likely to commit suicide. Make her throw herself off the balcony, and I’ll be a believer.” She drummed her talonlike red fingernails on the tablecloth. “Now.”
Miriell’s heart sank. The target was clearly happy, surrounded by her family, and had been casually targeted by Opherra to die just to prove a point. She gathered her power, which was curiously difficult to do, perhaps because she was so repelled by the task, and hummed the death song under her breath. Reaching out with her senses, she found the tiniest gray in the unfortunate woman’s vivid colors. Each sentient had their private sorrows and constant worries. Miriell worked to expand the gray, suppress the other colors. The woman’s companions were oblivious to her sudden silence, because the lively children were laughing and talking so happily. Suddenly, there were gasps as the target of Miriell’s attack rose abruptly from the table, knocking her chair into the person next to her. Face blank, the woman strode toward the edge of the dining area and the observation platform that built over thin air. It had safety rails, but nothing robust enough to stop a determined adult from pitching headfirst to the ground hundreds of feet below. Her husband raced after her, but she had a head start and was increasing her speed as she went.
Danger in the Stars: (The Sectors SF Romance Series) Page 2