gaian consortium 05 - the titan trap

by Christine Pope

  Damn, that woman could think on her feet. Here she was, on a world she’d never visited before, assuming a stranger’s persona, and nothing Waite fired at her seemed to faze her.

  “So what are you using the second bedroom for?”

  “My shoe collection,” she said blithely, and Waite chuckled.

  “I like the ones you’re wearing.”

  “You do? They’re killing my feet, actually. Do you mind if I take them off?”

  “No, I don’t mind if you…take them off.”

  There was so much weight to those last three words that Derek could actually feel his blood beginning to boil. So far Waite hadn’t tried to make a move on Cassidy…maybe he was waiting for her to have some champagne, get a little more tipsy…but if the room service was delayed, how long would he be willing to wait? She’d have to go along or blow the whole thing, and the very thought of her having to kiss the man who’d killed Theo Karras made Derek feel physically ill.

  She giggled a bit, something he knew she had to force, but it sounded natural enough. A pause, and then she let out a sigh. “Ah, that’s better.”

  “I’ve been told I give a great foot rub.”

  Oh, for God’s sake….

  But Cassidy only let out an easy laugh and replied, “I may take you up on that later.” A distant chime sounded in his earbud, and she went on, “Oh, that sounds like room service. That was fast.”

  Derek allowed himself a small sigh of relief as she went to open the door and let in the automated robo-cart the hotel used for room service deliveries. It wasn’t nearly as sophisticated as a mech, but it got the job done for a fraction of the price.

  After that it sounded as if she was entering the amount of the tip on the cart’s screen and sending it on its way. In the background he heard a clink of glasses, and guessed that Waite was prepping things while she wrapped up the business of shooing the cart out of the room. Then there came the unmistakable sound of a champagne cork popping, followed by a small silence, most likely while Waite was filling their glasses.

  Then he said, “What should we toast to?”

  “Making new friends?”

  “I can drink to that.”

  They clinked glasses, and there was another pause as they drank. Derek could feel his hands curling into fists. He wasn’t even much of a drinker, and yet he wished he could be the one out there with her, sharing a bottle of champagne and watching the lights of the city.

  “Lobster patty?” Cassidy asked, and Waite made some sound of agreement.

  Again it was quiet. Then she said, tone casual, “Have you stayed in a lot of different hotels in Chicago?”

  “A fair number.”

  “I was told the Cosmopolitan had the best views. Why don’t you take a look, and then come back over here and give me your unbiased opinion?”

  “Don’t you want to come look at it with me?”

  “I could, but I don’t want you watching my reactions. I want to know what you think.”

  “Fair enough.” A clink, as if he’d set his glass down on the cocktail table. “You can pour me some more champagne in the meantime.”

  Derek let out a breath. There was her chance, and of course Cassidy was far too smart to let it pass her by.

  “Sure thing. And I’ll try not to eat all the lobster patties while you’re looking at the view.”

  “If you do, we can always order more.”

  “True.” It went quiet then, and Derek assumed Waite had gone over to the wall of windows that faced out over Lake Michigan and the curve of the shoreline. They could be made opaque for privacy, but Cassidy had left them clear. Because the suite overlooked the lake, with no other buildings between them and the water, you’d basically need to hover outside to even see in, but it was somewhat reassuring to have the option to blacken the windows if needed.

  A few more quiet, subtle noises that Derek couldn’t identify, but which he guessed was Cassidy retrieving the packet of ground-up sleep aids from the sofa and quickly pouring the contents into Waite’s glass. Then a subtle metallic sound, maybe her picking up one of the lobster patties from the tray.

  “So you did leave me some.” Another one of those metallic noises, a little louder.

  “They’re pretty rich, I’ll admit.”

  “But perfect with champagne.”

  “Oh, yes. And see, I topped yours off.”

  “So you did. Thanks.”

  They clinked glasses again, and Derek waited, wondering how long it would take for the sleep aids to filter through Waite’s system. Not quickly enough, he thought, but there was nothing he could do except stay there in the second bedroom, not daring to move, hoping that the other man hadn’t eaten enough to slow down the absorption of the medication.

  “So what did you think?”

  “Of the view?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s pretty spectacular…but mine over at the Lakeview is impressive as well.”

  “Oh?” A small laugh, followed by, “Well, maybe you can show it to me later.”

  “I definitely have a few things I’d like to show you.”

  I’ll bet you do, Derek thought, but still didn’t move, only waited. It got even harder in the next moment, as he heard them both set their glasses down. A little gasp from Cassidy, then silence.

  Was that bastard kissing her?

  Even if he was, there wasn’t a damn thing Derek could do about it. Not if he wanted this whole insane plan of theirs to work.

  After what felt like roughly a century or so, Cassidy said, sounding a bit shaky, “Wow. I guess you do like the champagne.”

  “Among other things.”

  Another silence. Definitely a second kiss. This one seemed to last even longer, but then there was an odd thud, as if one of them had stumbled into a piece of the furniture.

  Cassidy’s voice. “Randall? Are you okay?”

  A mumble.

  “Maybe you should sit down. Can I get you a glass of water?”

  A thump that could only be Waite dropping down on the sofa. His voice came next, hoarse, forced. “What did you do?”

  “What do you mean, what did I do? I didn’t do anything.” A pause, and she added, “You do look a little green. Are you sure you’re not allergic to lobster or anything?”

  Waite groaned. “Can’t….”

  “Can’t what? Can’t move?”

  Another incoherent sound.

  “Let me get you some water.” Another silence, and then Derek heard her say in a murmur, “Looks like he’s down for the count. I think it’s safe to come out.”

  Words he’d been waiting for. Derek got up from the bed, gathered the careful strips of sheet he’d been preparing for the past hour, and went out to meet their guest.

  * * *

  Cassidy never thought she’d be so relieved to see anyone as she did Derek when he emerged from the bedroom, expression grim. Conrad Waite was slumped into a corner of the sofa, face slack, eyes half shut.

  “Maybe I gave him too much,” she said as Derek approached her.

  “He’ll be fine.” A quick glance from those dark eyes, one that seemed to take in her now swollen mouth. “What about you?”

  She tried not to shudder. “Well, his technique isn’t bad, but he doesn’t seem to be too good at judging when a woman’s actually ready for a kiss.”

  A pained look passed over Derek’s face, and she knew that was the last thing he wanted to hear. Well, they’d both known it was a risk, and one she’d been willing to take. A kiss wasn’t a huge deal. Anything more than that…she wasn’t sure she had the strength for that kind of a sacrifice.

  But luckily it hadn’t been necessary, and she’d rather just dismiss the whole episode from her mind.

  “Anyway, I’ll live,” she went on, her tone brisk. “What now?”

  “There’s no good way to tie him to the couch. I’ll bring over one of the chairs from the dining set.”

  She waited while Derek fetched the chair, and then the t
wo of them hauled Conrad Waite’s limp form off the sofa and propped him up in the dining chair. At least it had arms, and so Derek went to work binding Waite’s wrists to it while she crouched down and used strip after strip of the torn sheet to fasten his ankles to the legs of the chair.

  “Well, it’s not corrections-department issue, but I suppose it will all hold,” she remarked, and Derek frowned.

  “It will. I’d prefer something a bit more regulation, but that’s not exactly the sort of thing you can go shopping for on Lakeshore Drive.”

  “No, probably not…unless they have any of those sorts of boutiques around here.”

  At first he stared at her blankly, and then a flush seemed to rise to his cheeks as he figured out exactly what kind of store she was referring to. Not the type of place he’d normally frequent, she guessed. Well, that really wasn’t her thing, either, but….

  “Anyway,” she went on, trying not to grin at his discomfiture, “do you know how long he’s going to be knocked out? Because I don’t think you’re going to get much information out of him in his current condition.”

  “True.” Derek ran a finger along his jaw line and seemed to consider the comatose man in the chair. “One thing’s certain, though — we’ll need to be ready to leave quickly once we’re done with him. So maybe you should pack your things while I stay out here and keep an eye on him.”

  “What about your stuff?” she asked, although she thought she already knew the answer to that one.

  “Packed while you were out.” His mouth tightened, and he didn’t quite look at her as he added, “I needed something to do to keep me busy.”

  She could tell it bothered him. Even though he knew it had been necessary, he hated the thought of her being around Conrad Waite. Well, she hadn’t liked it much, either. True, he wasn’t the sort of kisser who thought sticking his tongue down her throat was an erotic maneuver, but it had taken pretty much every ounce of restraint she had to not knee him in the groin or shove him away when he kissed her. The man was a cold-blooded killer, and she wasn’t naïve enough to believe he wouldn’t kill her, too, if he found out what she was up to.

  “Okay,” she replied, tone casual. “I’ll go get everything together.”

  After giving a final glance at the still comatose hit man, she went into the bedroom she’d claimed as her own and began pulling her new purchases out of the closet and stowing them in a hard-sided suitcase, also a new acquisition. As she did so, she tried not to sigh. While she understood that they couldn’t stay here, not after they were done with questioning Waite, she kind of wished that they might be able to stop someplace just long enough so she could get a decent night’s sleep. From what she could tell when she’d sat down on it to strap on her sandals, that bed was very comfortable.

  But it wasn’t going to get any use tonight, so she methodically folded her clothes, then fetched the cosmetics and other toiletries from the bathroom, and put them away as well. The dress she was wearing definitely wasn’t practical for a quick getaway, and she pulled it off and folded it, then drew on a pair of close-fitting black pants, a thin pale green top, and the jacket that matched the pants. Some low-heeled black boots finished off the ensemble, which she thought looked chic and efficient, but definitely not flashy. And she knew she could run in those boots if she had to.

  Approximately ten minutes after she’d left, she returned to the living room to see Derek leaning up against one arm of the couch, watching Waite, whose head was lolling from side to side.

  “How’s sleeping beauty?” she asked.

  “Starting to come around, I think.” Derek’s gaze swept over her, and he gave her a quick nod of what she thought was approval for her change of wardrobe.

  At those words, Waite jerked in his chair, head lifting slowly as his eyes opened. They narrowed almost immediately as he saw who was watching him, although Cassidy was fairly certain he hadn’t noticed her yet, as she was still standing behind Derek.

  “Ta…gawa,” Waite muttered.

  “Oh, so you do recognize me. Maybe I should be flattered.”

  “Don’t…forget…murdering scum like you.”

  Derek’s jaw hardened, but his voice sounded even enough as he replied, “You’re getting it backward, Mr. Waite. I’m not the murderer…you are.”

  As Conrad Waite made an incoherent sound somewhere between a groan and a grunt of disgust, Cassidy came around him and went to stand next to Derek. At once Waite’s nostrils flared.

  “You…bitch,” he managed.

  Derek started forward, but she laid a hand on his wrist. No sense in him getting all riled up right now. He had to show he was in control of the situation. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’ve been called worse.”

  “Bet you have,” Waite snarled, and again Derek shifted next to her.

  Although it was nothing more than the truth, that didn’t mean she had to like it. “Sorry about my little deception, but I guess you weren’t being entirely truthful with me, either, were you…Randall?”

  Some kind of recognition gleamed in his eyes then, and he said, “You’re her. The pilot of the Avalon. The one who helped pretty boy here escape.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Wow, I had no idea I was famous.”

  Waite ignored the barb, steel-colored eyes fixed on her face. “Why’re you helping him? He’s a criminal.” A pause, and he added, almost in a snarl, “I get it — you think you’re in love with him or something, right?” A cool sidelong glance at Derek. “How many other women have fallen for that?”

  She ignored the jab, seeing it as the gambit Waite meant it to be, just another way to mess with her head. Even so, she knew that “love” was a word she hadn’t allowed herself to think, to even whisper to herself. She was not in love with Derek Tagawa. She barely knew him. Anyway, Cassidy Evans did not fall in love. That was for other people, not her. All right, so she cared what happened to Derek, didn’t want to see him get hurt or caught. It was a far cry from that to love. She wouldn’t let her mind entertain the notion for even a second.

  “Who said anything about love?” she returned, tone purposely light, brittle. “But he is a spectacular lay, which is more than I could probably say about you…if things had gotten that far.”

  At that comment, Waite let out another one of those snarling sounds, and beside her Derek held back a chuckle, with only partial success.

  “Another thing Derek and I have in common,” Cassidy went on, “is that we’re both very interested in the truth. And that’s really why we have you here.” She flicked a glance toward Derek. “Isn’t that right?”

  “It is,” he replied calmly, pulling his handheld out of a jacket pocket, then setting it down on the coffee table. A green light glowed from one corner of the screen, indicating that it was recording.

  Waite’s eyes went guarded, but a sneer still pulled at his lip. “I have nothing to say.”

  “You might think that,” Derek said, something in his voice sending a shiver of unease down Cassidy’s spine, “but I’m fairly certain I can convince you otherwise.”

  No reply. The hit man’s eyes were scanning Derek’s face, looking for something. What, Cassidy wasn’t sure. Maybe that he really had the guts to do whatever it took to get the truth out of Waite? She had to admit to herself that she wasn’t sure if Derek really had it in him. After all, the man was a scientist, not some Consortium interrogator. And she wasn’t stupid enough to think that Waite was the sort of man who would crack easily.

  The silence was broken by Waite’s hoarse laughter. “You can try…amateur.”

  Cassidy risked a quick sideways glance at her companion. His face was composed, still and quiet. If he’d had his eyes shut, she would’ve said he was meditating. His gaze never flickered.

  “Are you sure about that, Waite? All you have to do is tell me what really happened in the GARP HQ in Hunan Province at approximately 2 p.m. local time on March 25, 2463.”

  Waite’s gaze was steady as well. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about. The spring of that year, I was working on a project in Capetown.”

  A bit of truth mixed in with the lie there, as apparently Waite had headed to South Africa after he dispatched Theo Karras and framed Derek for the murder. Cassidy could tell Derek noted it as well, because his mouth tightened for just a fraction of a second before he asked,

  “You sure about that?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “Funny, you look a little young to be having significant memory lapses.” Derek pushed himself off the couch and approached Waite, looming over him. In actuality, the two of them were similar in height, but at the moment Derek had the clear advantage. It was obvious that Waite felt it, too; Cassidy could see his hands straining against the sheets, knuckles turning white from the effort.

  “I know they don’t look like much,” Derek said, “but they’re enough to hold you in place, Mr. Waite. So you might as well save yourself the effort. And in case you’ve forgotten the question…where were you on the afternoon of March 25, 2463?”

  “I told you. I was in Cape Town. That’s in South Africa, in case you for — ”

  Crack! It happened so quickly that at first Cassidy wasn’t sure of what she’d actually seen. Then she realized Derek had reached out, taken the little finger of Waite’s left hand between his thumb and forefinger, then bent it backward until it snapped.

  Their captive had gone white under his tan, and beads of perspiration stood out along his hairline, but he didn’t cry out. His jaw clenched, and he said in a hoarse whisper, “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “Not a problem,” Derek replied calmly. “You’ve got nine fingers to go. And toes after that, if you’re still not willing to talk. After that it might get a little dicey. Guess we’ll just have to see. But you can spare yourself a world of pain if you just talk now.”

  “I have nothing to say.” The words were gritted out, his eyes glittering and defiant.

  “Okay.” A pause as Derek seemed to consider the situation. “Would you like all the fingers of one hand broken in order, or would you prefer if I alternate?”