A general? she thought. They sent a general to question a nobody like me?
“Ms. Evans,” he said, stopping a few paces away from her. “My apologies for the wait.”
Cassidy felt her eyebrows begin to lift, then forced herself to stop. No point in giving away anything more than she had to. As to why a multi-star general would come in here and start apologizing to her….
“It’s no problem,” she replied coolly, belatedly realizing that he’d addressed her by her real name. So much for the fake I.D.s and credentials their benefactor had secured for her and Derek.
The general didn’t react, only said, “You do understand that you were trespassing in a highly secure area.”
“Was I? Darn that navigation unit — I’m going to file a complaint with the rental ’car agency.”
Still no reaction. Not a furrowing of the brows to indicate irritation, or a quirk of his thin lips to show some amusement at her flip remark. She didn’t even know precisely why she’d responded that way, only that it was her natural tendency to retreat to sarcasm when she was nervous or uncomfortable.
“Ms. Evans, we both know why you were there. And I also know that you would never have come to Hunan Province at all if you hadn’t been coerced by the escaped convict Derek Tagawa.”
Coercion? Was that a new definition of mind-blowing sex that she’d never heard of? But the general’s reply had told her which direction he intended to take this, and she tensed.
“You don’t know that,” she said. “I could’ve just been interested in touring some of Gaia’s more scenic contamination zones.”
This time she saw a distinct tensing of the muscles along his jaw line, and guessed that he wasn’t going to put up with too many more of her flippant replies. “Ms. Evans, the Consortium is willing to drop all charges against you if you will testify that Derek Tagawa hijacked your ship, murdered two GDF pilots, and engaged in various acts of coercion, extortion, and mayhem, up to and including the bodily injury of one of our most valuable operatives.”
Mayhem? she thought. That’s a new one. But she only tilted her head to one side, then said, “How is Mr. Waite?”
“You can ask him that yourself,” the general responded smoothly, a malicious glint in his dark eyes.
Although she hadn’t seen him give any signal, the door opened, and Conrad Waite stepped in, looking somewhat out of place in an impeccably tailored dark gray suit, something far more suited to the tony boutiques and shops of Lakeshore Drive where she’d seen him last than the wilds of Hunan Province. Her gaze flicked to his hands, which showed no sign of the havoc Derek had wreaked. Obviously, the Consortium had spared no expense to get its operative back in fighting trim.
He stopped and stood next to the general, face impassive, but she could see the cold, hungry gleam in his steel-gray eyes, and an uneasy sensation began to churn in the pit of her stomach.
Somehow she managed to force a smile onto her lips and said, “Hi, Conrad. You’re looking well.”
“No thanks to your boyfriend — ” he began with a barely concealed sneer, but the general raised a hand, and Waite subsided.
“It’s really very simple, Ms. Evans,” the general said, tone so impersonal he might as well have been discussing the weather. “Either you sign an affidavit saying that Derek Tagawa was guilty of all the acts I described earlier — which, in addition to the original murder sentence, will guarantee that he’ll be kept in solitary confinement on Titan for the rest of his days — or I’ll give you to Mr. Waite here. He expressed an interest in you, said you two had some unfinished business.”
That cold, uneasy sensation in her stomach solidified into a lump of ice. She understood all too well what the wolf-like glitter in Conrad Waite’s eyes meant. Yes, she supposed he did think they had unfinished business. He’d wanted her, and Derek had intervened. But she couldn’t let them see her fear, couldn’t let them guess at how the blood in her veins seemed to have suddenly turned to liquid nitrogen, or how she was very, very glad she hadn’t eaten anything lately, as she was certain that otherwise she would have thrown up.
“You can’t do that,” she retorted. “Whatever crimes you might think me guilty of, I’m still a citizen of the Consortium, and that means I have certain rights — one of which, I’m pretty sure, is not being handed off to one of your goons like some war prize.”
The general smiled, and Cassidy wished he hadn’t. It was empty, cold, like the rictus grin of a skeleton. “Yes, you are a citizen of the Consortium, but you are also in the Zone, which is currently under martial law, and therefore not subject to the usual civil codes in effect in other parts of the planet. My word is law here, and I can do whatever I like. As can he, with my blessing.”
At those words, Waite stepped away from the general’s side, came closer to the chair where Cassidy sat, her hands still bound. He bent down, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered, “I hope you don’t recant. They’ll lock Tagawa up forever anyway, no matter what you say, but that way the general can give you to me in good conscience.”
Despite her best efforts, a shiver worked its way down her spine. “I sort of doubt he has a conscience. And I know you sure as hell don’t.”
He chuckled, then straightened and sent a knowing look in the general’s direction. “She’s not going to give up Tagawa, sir. I can take her off your hands now — ”
“Don’t be so impatient,” the general broke in, looking annoyed. “Really, Ms. Evans, it will do you no good to defend a criminal like Dr. Tagawa. He was fairly caught, and his current crimes only compound what he was already guilty of.”
“He was only guilty of trying to do the right thing,” Cassidy snapped. “Something you obviously know nothing about.”
For a second or two, he didn’t respond, only stood there and gazed at her with eyes as cold and black as those of an Iradian sand snake she’d once seen in a traveling exhibit in Luna City. Then he gave the briefest nod. “She’s all yours, Waite,” he said dismissively, turning toward the door before pressing his thumb against the biometric lock and then leaving her alone with Conrad Waite.
She pushed herself up from the chair, not even sure of what she was doing, only knowing that she was not going to remain sitting there passively while the hit man reached out to take her. It was an empty gesture, because he was close enough that he simply lifted a hand and grasped her by the arm, pulling her closer to him, so close she could catch a trace of the expensive aftershave he wore. Something clean and brisk, so unlike him.
“Oh, yeah, they work fine now,” he said, apparently noticing her shocked glance downward at the fingers that held her in an iron grip. “Six hours with my hands stuck in a bonesetter. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”
A shake of the head, the only thing she could manage in that moment. Terror seemed to have seized her by the throat in a hold just as crushing as the one Conrad Waite currently had on her arm.
“It hurts…quite a bit,” he told her. “But, despite what you’re thinking, I don’t hurt women…unless I’m being paid to do so. Lucky for you, or I’d take every second of pain out of your hide.” He paused, and she felt his lips brush against her hair, even as every muscle in her body tensed in revulsion. “What I will do is make sure you forget all about Derek Tagawa.”
He shifted, and she could tell he was coming in to kiss her, and oh, God, she’d suffered that once, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to again, would rather die than let him touch her. Her hands were bound, though, and even if she managed to knee him in the groin, what would that get her? The door was thumb-locked; maybe if she somehow incapacitated Waite, she could use his finger to get the door to open. But he was a trained killer, and she was only a freighter pilot. He’d stop her before she got anywhere close enough to hurt him.
I’m sorry, Derek, she thought. You should’ve hooked up with a merc or an assassin or someone who actually knew what she was doing —
Even as that despairing thought passed through her mi
nd, and even as Waite’s face grew closer, those hard gray eyes locked on hers, seeming to see her desperation and revel in it, the building shook, and then shook again.
“What the — ” he began, just as a third quake rocked its way through the structure.
That time, Cassidy thought she’d heard a distant explosion just before the building trembled. “Feels like some kind of attack,” she said, taking advantage of his momentary discomposure to step away from him. “Who have you guys pissed off lately?”
He shot her an angry look. “That’s impossible. No one would dare attack this facility.”
The building shook again. “Then I guess whoever is shooting at you has a different definition of the word ‘impossible,’ than you do, because that sure felt like a pulse cannon. Or something.”
Not bothering to reply, he grasped her by the arm and went to open the door, pressing a furious thumb against the scanner before hauling her out into the hallway. Wherever she was, it felt like a military compound of some sort — cold gray walls and floors, harsh overhead lighting. Men and women in uniform were rushing all around them, clearly intent on mounting some kind of defense of the installation.
Conrad Waite ignored them, however, hauling her in the opposite direction from where most of the soldiers appeared to be headed.
“Where are we going?” she asked, not sure if she really wanted to know the answer.
“Hangar,” was his brief response, and her blood ran cold once again. It seemed clear that he wasn’t too worried about pitching in to help fight off the attackers, whoever they might be. No, he apparently just wanted to get out of there with his prize intact.
She stumbled along with him, hoping in that moment that if she couldn’t be with Derek, then the people shooting at the base would at least score a direct hit on the section of the building she was in. Better to be buried in rubble than to end up being Conrad Waite’s sex toy.
But then she felt him pull up, even as he drew a pistol from the waistband of his trousers, and looked to see where he was staring. A lone man stood in the center of the hallway, a very large pulse rifle pointed at Waite’s head. Aside from the gun, this newcomer didn’t look particularly intimidating — he was of middle height, swarthy, neither attractive nor unattractive. Something in his dark eyes told her he was no one to mess with, however.
“Stand still,” he said, tone so neutral she couldn’t really tell what his intentions might be, and before she could do anything else, before Waite could start to take aim, the pulse rifle fired once. The hit man’s grip on her arm abruptly loosened, and he went flying backward, a smoking hole dead in the center of his forehead.
“What — ”
“No time for that,” the stranger said. “Come on.”
The world seemed to be spinning faster and faster around her. “Where — ”
“Someplace safe.” A certain glint entered those hard, dark eyes, and he added, “This is a rescue, Ms. Evans. Don’t screw it up with questions.”
She had no idea what was going on, but she knew one thing — this man had just saved her from Conrad Waite. Therefore, going with him seemed a far better alternative than anything else she could think of right then.
Without replying, she stepped away from Waite’s corpse, then followed the stranger as he turned and jogged down the corridor, heading where, she had no idea.
* * *
So far, they hadn’t hurt him too badly. A few kicks to the abdomen after he was first captured, a couple more blows to the head for good measure after he was shackled to a chair. After that, though, they left him in this square, gray room, alone with his worry.
There had been no mention of Cassidy, and so he didn’t know what had happened to her. Had she gotten away? Was she captured? Dead?
No. He refused to entertain that possibility. She’d already proven herself sharp and able to adapt quickly in a volatile situation, so no matter what might have happened, he made himself assume that she was all right. Otherwise, he thought he might go crazy, trying to figure out what was happening to her right now.
They’d taken the camera, of course, and his handheld and fake I.D. and everything else he had on him. That hadn’t worried him too much, since the recording he’d taken in the processing plant had already been safely uploaded to their benefactor. What he planned to do with it, Derek didn’t know for sure. Merely sending it to the top news agencies wouldn’t do much good. They were all tightly controlled by the Consortium and would never air such damning images. No, their unknown sponsor must have some other kind of plan, although what, he couldn’t begin to guess.
As to what his captors they planned to do with him…well, that didn’t take a rocket scientist — or an atmospheric one, for that matter — to figure out. If he were lucky, he’d be sent back to Titan. If he were unlucky, there would be some kind of “accident” between here and there, and his body would end up being shoved out an airlock. Either way, his future didn’t look too appealing.
But he could live with that if he at least knew Cassidy was all right. He’d understood the risks involved in coming here, and had accepted them in the name of exposing the Consortium’s dirty laundry, but Cassidy wasn’t as emotionally invested in that as he was. She’d come because she wanted to support him.
Because she loved him.
He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that love, but he couldn’t deny it, either. And that was what made this situation all the more horrible to him. She’d loved him, and trusted him, and that had gotten her…what?
Not knowing was always the worst.
His hands were tightly shackled behind him, and he could feel his fingers beginning to go numb from lack of circulation. Maybe that was a good thing. If all of him went similarly numb, then maybe some of the pain he was now feeling would go away.
The room where he was being held was completely silent except for the faint hum of the air circulators. So when a distant boom! reverberated throughout the building, he heard it clearly.
What the hell?
That explosion was followed by another, then another. Derek twisted in his chair, but couldn’t do much with his arms bound behind him and his ankles attached to the chair’s legs. All he could do was sit there, heart pounding, wondering what in the world was going on. An attack, clearly, but by whom?
A sizzling, crackling noise, and the door exploded inward. Through the swirling smoke stepped probably the last thing Derek had expected to see — an enormous Stacian, fully two meters tall, a pulse pistol in either hand. His copper-colored gaze fell on Derek at once, and he spoke into a wrist-mounted comm. “Found him. He’s shackled.”
A woman’s voice emerged from the comm. “The laser cutter should do it.”
“Copy that.”
The Stacian approached Derek, gave him a ferocious grin, and said, “Afternoon, Dr. Tagawa. You should probably hold still for the next minute.”
Another explosion jolted the building. Roughly a million questions crowded Derek’s brain, but he decided right now it was probably best to go with the flow. “I’ll do my best.”
The alien extracted a silvery device from the pouch at his belt and set to work. The sharp, tinny scent of super-heated metal arose from the shackles, and a few seconds after that, Derek heard a metallic clank as they fell to the floor. Flexing his fingers, he lifted his hands, shaking his arms to get the blood going. At the same time, the Stacian knelt and cut through the shackle on Derek’s right leg, and then his left. Afterward, he thrust his massive frame to a standing position once more, then said, “Time to go.”
“Are you with — ” He let the words break off, since saying “benefactor” or “sponsor” in these circumstances sounded a little foolish.
But the alien seemed to understand, saying, “Yes, I’m giving her a hand. She wants to talk to you. But we need to get out of here. Now.”
Her. So their benefactor was a woman. Derek wondered if that had been her voice issuing from the Stacian’s wrist-mounted comm. He suppose
d he’d find out soon enough — if they made it out of here alive.
No time for stealth. The alien tossed Derek one of his pistols, then pulled a third gun out of the holster strapped to his leg. “If it moves, shoot it,” he said briefly before heading out the door.
Those instructions seemed simple enough. Derek followed the Stacian, who was moving at a not-quite run down the corridor. A burst from each of his pistols, and the two soldiers who had just rounded a corner slumped to the ground. The alien never even broke stride. Clearly, he’d had experience with this sort of thing before.
Their surroundings were unfamiliar. Definitely not the GARP facility. Maybe a section of the processing plant taken over by GDF personnel? An entirely separate base? Derek couldn’t tell, and right then he supposed it didn’t matter too much. The important thing was getting out of here…wherever “here” might be.
“Cassidy Evans?” he panted. He would’ve said he was in decent shape, but that Stacian had long legs.
“Safe,” the alien replied. “One of my associates already has her.”
That news seemed to lend him an additional burst of energy, and so, as they jogged to the right and went down another hallway, Derek hardly even blinked when they came upon another group of soldiers, four this time. They didn’t even have time to get off a shot before a barrage of pulse bolts from his and the Stacian’s guns mowed them down.
“Not a bad shot, Dr. Tagawa,” the Stacian said, with a ferocious baring of his teeth.
“Thanks,” Derek replied, feeling a grin of his own stretch at his mouth.
At the end of the hallway was a set of doors that now stood open. Part of the reason they hadn’t closed automatically to keep out the tainted air was that a number of bodies lay piled there, acting as effective door stops. In the center of the carnage stood a grim-faced man, a pulse rifle cradled in his hands.
“She’s aboard already,” the stranger said, calmly as if he were discussing what he’d had for breakfast that day. “Let’s go.”
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