by Cathy Pegau
Why can’t you?
“I know you’re in some kind of trouble, and that’s all I need to know,” she said. “I promised myself I wouldn’t let you down again, and I won’t. I’m not leaving you.”
My heart lurched up into my throat, and I stumbled to a stop at the top of the stairs leading to the PubTrans station. We’d started down the road to a semblance of a mother-daughter relationship, but I would have expected her to take the chance to get as far away from trouble as she could. I guess I was wrong.
“You have to,” I rasped over the lump in my throat. “They know who you are. They’ll hurt you.”
If Willem was actively listening to Mom’s comm, those words alone tipped him off that I was onto his bugging. But I had no choice. I just had to hope he’d be on passive, tracking my name or some other more personal exchange.
“Maybe,” she said, “but I’m staying anyway, so you might as well use me.”
What was I supposed to do? I didn’t have time to go over to her hotel and haul her to the Hub Station myself.
“Damn it, your stubbornness could get both of us killed,” I said as I mobilized my feet again and went down the stairs.
“It won’t if you let me help.”
“There’s nothing you can do.” And even if there was, there was no way to revise Plan E at this point. I let out a heavy sigh of resignation. “Fine. Just make yourself scarce and wait for my call. If you don’t hear from me by twelve-hundred, you leave. Understand?”
“I won’t—”
“If I don’t call, I’m dead,” I told her harshly.
Silence throbbed over the comm as we both absorbed the word. Until I said it out loud, death was a relatively abstract idea. It was an occupational hazard that loomed in the background for people like us, but wasn’t discussed or dwelled upon. Once I said it to the one person in the world who’d known me all my life, who loved me regardless of the heartache we shared, it became real. For both of us.
I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment to stop sudden tears from smearing my makeup, grabbing the rail that ran along the stairway for support as I continued downward. “Please.”
Sabine cleared her throat and said in her mom voice, “No later than twelve-hundred.”
I had to smile despite fear for her and for myself, despite suspecting the odds of my calling tomorrow were not quite even. “You have my word.”
“Be careful,” she said and disconnected.
“Love you, Mom,” I whispered as I stepped onto the PubTrans ticket level and made my way to a kiosk.
While I waited for the train with a dozen or so others, I commed Tonio. When he didn’t pick up, my heart fluttered down into my stomach like a wounded butterfly. Did Willem have him? Was he more loyal to the Greys or to me?
Tonio’s comm told me to leave a message.
“Hi, I’m calling for Rafikki,” I said, referring to the bank site where we’d been betrayed—our old code for “things have gone to hell.” “I’ll try again by twelve-hundred tomorrow.”
I tapped the disconnect as the train pulled up to the platform with a blustery whoosh. Pocketing the comm, I followed the crowd and found a seat as far away from the others as I could. I closed my eyes and did something I’d never done before: Prayed I could get this done without hurting too many people too badly, even if it meant not collecting a demi-credit.
The train shimmied and rattled as it headed toward Zia’s upscale neighborhood. I’d take a taxi from the nearest station and arrive at her flat calm and refreshed, ready to face her.
Right.
The taxi dropped me off a block from Zia’s building. A private security firm’s air car patrolled a couple dozen meters overhead, its anti-grav lifters working in near silence. It moved off as the taxi pulled away from the curb.
Five-meter-high pole lamps created pools of bluish light along the street. The buildings were lower than those of downtown Pandalus, only twenty-five or so floors at the most. An older neighborhood, where the address was artfully etched on stone or metal plaques beside the doors and money bought peace and quiet and security.
I hefted my satchel onto my shoulder. The weight of the pulser made me feel awkward and off-balance after not carrying it for so long. It wasn’t that big of a gun, so maybe it was just me. Walking in the chill air helped clear my head, kept me focused and on task, but deep in the pockets of my coat my fisted hands shook.
With her departure for Hudson early the next morning, I was sure Zia was home. She was scheduled to be gone for a week, but I couldn’t postpone trying her SI unit or search her home office for hard copies or data sticks. Not with Willem knowing about my mother.
How I was going to keep Zia occupied and unaware of my felonious deeds was still an issue to work out. It shouldn’t take me long to figure out whether the files were in her personal unit. If the K-73 data wasn’t there, if it wasn’t in hard copy or on a stick I could find quickly and easily, my part would be over no matter how Willem and Sterling fumed or threatened. If it was there, I’d copy the data, slip away and never see Zia again.
My jaw tightened, and my stomach clenched. Despite the inevitable less than happy outcome, it was the best I could do.
I checked the address of the closest building. Zia’s was just up ahead. A soft rectangle of light coming through the half plasti-glass door lit the walkway. Someone waited beside the door. He opened it, and a couple stepped outside. One said something too low to hear, and they walked arm in arm down the street, away from me.
How sweet. How quaint. How not like anything I’d ever imagined for myself.
“Can I help you, miss?”
My head whipped around to the uniformed doorman. I’d stopped in front of the building as I watched the couple, musing about what would never be.
Forcing the bubble of self-pity back into the mental hidey hole where it belonged, I smiled at him and went to work. “Yes. Sorry. I’m here to see Miss Talbot.”
“Is she expecting you, Miss—?”
“Baines. Olivia Baines. No, she isn’t.”
He offered his hand, palm up, and I was about to shake it when I realized he wasn’t interested in making my acquaintance. He wanted my ID.
“Oh.” I dug into my satchel, careful to move the pulser and data stick aside without exposing either, and found my Exeter ID. I handed him the plastic card. “I’m Miss Talbot’s assistant.”
He smiled indulgently—as if he cared who I was—and swiped the ID over a wall-mounted unit beside the door. The matte black box beeped three times then lit up with my picture and information. He read it, returned the card and tapped a finger behind his left ear. After a few seconds he spoke into some pickup mic I couldn’t see.
“Miss Talbot, this is Peter. There’s a Miss Olivia Baines here to see you.” He keyed the box and paused. Did he just send my image up to her for confirmation? Probably. It was a decent security system if you trusted the doorman. After listening for a moment he said, “Yes, Miss Talbot.”
Tapping behind his ear again, he grasped the door handle and deliberately pressed his thumb to the top. A subtle security measure, I wagered. “Go to the third elevator on the right,” he instructed as he opened the door. “Touch your hand to the panel there, and it will give you access to the twentieth floor.”
“Which flat?” I asked as I slipped past him.
He gave me a pleasant smile. “The twentieth floor. Have a good evening, Miss Baines.”
As I crossed the black-and-white marble floor, the click of my boot heels echoing against the honey-wood paneled walls of the lobby, I realized what Peter the Doorman meant. Zia didn’t have a flat on the twentieth floor. Her flat was the twentieth floor. I found the third elevator and laid my hand on the black panel. The car door opened silently, revealing a lush box of gild and burgundy. I stepped inside.
The door closed, and I felt no sensation as it rose; only the change of the digital display proved I was ascending. A doorman screening visitors, no electronic voice telling me t
o have a nice day or ask which floor. For a woman in a highly technological position, Zia Talbot liked old-fashioned, traditional things.
Like her idea of doing a relationship “right.”
Get that out of your head once and for all.
When the numbers stopped at twenty, the elevator door opened onto a five-meter-square green-carpeted white room with a single door opposite the elevator. Leafy potted plants with bright red flowers sat on two shelves flanking the door and several small, gold-framed landscapes hung on the walls. I exited the elevator, my feet sinking into the thick carpet. It was like standing in a field on some undiscovered, pristine planet.
As the elevator door closed, the door in front of me opened. Zia held a goblet of wine in one hand. The V-neck of her white lounging pajamas revealed the glint of a gold chain and less cleavage than most of her office attire. Her feet were bare, her toenails tinted blood-red. But what captured my attention was her hair. Released from its usual upsweep, it fell around her shoulders in loose chestnut waves. Relaxed. Sexy.
I swallowed hard and dug my fingernails into my palms.
“Hello, Liv.” An enigmatic smile curved her full mouth, and her eyes glinted with curiosity. “I’d ask how you knew where I lived, but you’re very good at figuring out things like that, aren’t you?”
I took a hesitant step forward. She hadn’t asked me in. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d tell me it was too soon for us to be alone in her flat, that this wasn’t how she did things.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked.
My knees wobbled with relief and with the apprehension of what I was doing. “Yes. Thank you.”
Zia stepped back, giving me just enough space to ease past her. In my boots, I was several centis taller than she was, and this close I could smell her hair. Flowers and honey.
The white of the entry continued inside the flat, but it was by no means stark. Soft lighting accented the greens, black and gold in the furnishings, artwork and décor. The faint scent of jasmine made the room hers.
Zia closed the door, and I felt rather than heard her come up behind me. “Let me take your coat.”
I set the satchel down, out of the way, and unbelted my coat. Slowly I slid it off my shoulders, past my bare back.
As she lifted it from my hands she took in a sharp breath. “Oh, Liv.” Her voice was rich with desire. “What are you doing to me?”
Chapter Sixteen
What was I doing to her? A very good question.
Part of my brain screamed to tell her everything. Luckily, the part that preferred to remain alive and let me dodge emotional confrontation smothered the screams. Job now, confessions later. Much later. Via recording.
“I wanted to talk to you.” I peered over my shoulder at her. She held my coat against herself as her gaze roved over my body. “In private.”
Her eyes flicked up to my face, and she walked to the closet. “That’s not a dress for talking.”
Oh, I knew exactly what to do in this dress. Or out of it, as the case may have been. I faced her and almost asked if she preferred I take it off, but that sounded too much like a prostitute in my head.
She shut the closet door and turned to me. There was no mistaking the heat in her eyes or the quickening of her breath. “I shouldn’t have let you come up,” she whispered.
I took a step toward her. “Yet here I am.”
Her brow furrowed. Did my height advantage bother her? Probably not. I doubted such a lame psychological edge mattered to Zia Talbot. “I thought we agreed this was going to be taken slowly?”
Her words belied the intensity of her gaze as it traveled to my mouth, down my throat, my breasts and belly to my hips. Every part of me she took in tingled and warmed, from my mouth to the juncture between my legs. I moistened my lips. She swallowed hard when she caught the movement.
Raising one hand, I traced the embroidery near my throat. “We need to renegotiate that agreement.”
I closed the gap between us to no more than half a meter, breathing through parted lips. Her scent was too intoxicating otherwise, and I couldn’t lose myself in it.
Not one to back down, Zia held her ground and raised her eyes to mine. “You think you’re ready.”
“I know I am,” I lied.
“Maybe I’m not,” she said softly.
Now who was lying?
I brushed her hair back off her shoulders. As my fingers grazed the silk covering her skin, Zia closed her eyes. When I skimmed my palms down her arms and pressed my lips to the spot under her left ear, she moaned. The sound sent a spark from my belly to my groin. I kissed along her jaw, her chin, took in the wine-scented breath she exhaled, and continued across to her other ear as I grasped her hands in mine. She squeezed tight.
“Do you know,” I whispered then nipped her ear, “what I find most attractive about you?”
“What?” Her voice was barely audible.
“Your brain.”
She gave a low chuckle and canted her head to give me better access to her slender neck. “That’s a line if I ever heard one.”
“No, it’s true.” I flicked my tongue along her soft skin, gently blowing across the damp spots. Zia moaned again. She pressed her breasts against mine, and I gave a groan of my own. God, she felt good. “The way you think things through, how you make decisions. Very methodical, but with instincts to guide you.”
I lifted my head so I could see her face. She opened her eyes. A thin ring of green circled her expanded pupils. Her breath came fast through full, parted lips.
“I’m more of a go-with-my-gut person,” I said. “And my gut says, no more waiting.”
My gut said a lot of things—like, tell her the truth—but it was my head I needed to listen to for now.
“Liv—”
I kissed her, cutting off any protest she may have wanted to voice. I tasted the tang of wine, and as I slipped my tongue past her lips the heat of her mouth made me want to melt into her. I guided her hands to my back, flattening them against my bare skin as we kissed. She caressed my spine with her fingertips. Maddening half tickles danced through my body.
My own hands weren’t idle. I slid them over her silk-clad hips, massaging her with my fingers while drawing her against my thigh. Her heat sank into my leg, and I shivered.
She was nothing like the men I’d been with, and not due to the lack of a bulge. She was slender and strong, but not hard-muscled. Her long, fragrant hair tickled my nose as I kissed her neck. She definitely smelled better too, with a hint of her personal scent mingling with the light floral perfume she wore.
Nothing to this point was more intimate than what we’d done in her office the night before. Until her hand rounded my ribcage. Her palm skimmed over my breast and her thumb grazed my nipple, sending need crackling through me.
I froze, my entire body tense as it realized it was being pleasured by another woman. Pleasure being the operative word. This felt so good, so right.
My mind whirled with thoughts of things to come. With Zia, I had the feeling reality would surpass the expectations of my imagination. It was like losing my virginity for a second time, with all the same nervous anticipation I’d had then.
Zia stilled her hand then took it from my breast. I almost whimpered at the loss. “Liv.”
I covered her mouth with mine, sharing another tongue-tangling kiss. She didn’t think I was ready for this, but I was. I had to be. Eyes closed, I broke off and rested my forehead against hers, both of us breathing fast.
“We can stop.” She swallowed hard. “If you want.”
I opened my eyes and tilted my head to look at her. She’d let me end it here, no pressure to do anything more. I needed this to happen. Wanted it to happen.
“No,” I said dropping a light kiss on her mouth. I covered her hand with mine and guided it back to my breast. “Touch me,” I whispered against her lips.
She caressed me again with my hand over hers. In a deft move, she cupped my breast and ducked her he
ad to take my nipple in her mouth. Heat and moisture penetrated the thin silk.
My breath caught as her tongue and teeth sent hot tremors through my body. I arched my back, twisting my fingers in her clothing and pulling her hips closer to mine.
“Like this?” she asked, but didn’t give me a chance to respond as she closed her mouth around the other nipple, igniting another surge of fire. “Or like that?”
She kissed her way up my chest, both hands high on my ribs while her thumbs stroked the swells of my breasts.
“Either will work,” I said hoarsely. I rubbed my thigh against her and smiled at the moan she vibrated against my throat.
Her mouth found mine, and we kissed deep and long. My head swam. It felt like I was floating a few centis above the floor with Zia’s hands holding me up. She broke the kiss and stepped away.
A little dizzy, I blinked in confusion. “What?”
Her wicked smile said I had nothing to worry about. She took my hands in hers and raised them between us. Green eyes still holding mine, she pressed her lips against the backs of my fingers. She let go of one hand and held the other tight as she led me through the flat.
I followed obediently, past luxurious furnishings and delicate artwork. Past an open door that led to a small, sparsely furnished bedroom. Past a closed door that may have been a lav. Beyond another door, her home office with a desk of honey-wood and a thin SI screen. I filed that away for the time being.
We stopped at the last door. Zia placed her hand on the gold-toned knob and faced me, but her eyes were cast down at our entwined hands. She rubbed her thumb across my knuckles and I waited, feeling her need to say something. Finally she looked up and smiled, her cheeks flushed to a delicate pink against dusky skin. “I’m glad you’re here.”
With those words, everything—Exeter, Willem, Tonio, Sterling—everything but Zia and me disappeared. This had nothing to do with the job anymore. This was about us. It didn’t matter how or why we’d been brought together. For now, nothing else mattered.
It was selfish—there was no denying that—but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted her to be with me, Liv Braxton, not Olivia Baines. And in my head, she would be.
