by MB Panichi
Morgan didn’t care one way or another. She laughed inwardly at the giddy feeling in her stomach. The thought of spending time with Shaine made her smile, and the thought of how it felt to kiss Shaine sent shivers up and down her spine. Yeah, the possibility of a relationship was sudden and unexpected, but good.
She left her apartment, jogging down the emergency stairwell to the lobby and pattering down the half-flight of stairs to the street. She glanced overhead while she strolled down the lane. Earth shone brightly against a black sky salted with stars, the velvet of space marred only by the dome’s scratched and dust-weathered surface.
She sauntered down the street, letting her brain take its own meandering path as her feet headed automatically toward the gym.
Last night, Charri had teased her relentlessly and for once, she hadn’t really cared. Typically with the expected teasing, Charri had worked in her fair share of cautionary warnings. “Are you being too trusting? Are you really okay with this? She didn’t push herself on you?”
No, yes, and no. Even if I said that about Gina, too. Morgan shuddered. She had to trust that Shaine wasn’t Gina. Shaine may have her own issues, but she didn’t appear manipulative or controlling.
She still felt sick when she thought about the way Gina had wrapped her in lies, and how she’d actually believed it all. Shaine was ex-EG, a workmate, and she truly believed Shaine was a “what you see is what you get” kind of person. I can’t be that wrong, can I? I’d have learned after Gina, right?
Besides, how could she be wrong about a woman who kissed her like that? Even at the beginning, Gina had been so much more aggressive and dominating. There’d been no deep emotion in their intimacy. Gina had been all about making Gina feel good, even when trying to convince her she truly cared.
Morgan shook her head. No, she truly didn’t believe Shaine would hurt her that way.
She wondered idly if this was the beginning of an actual relationship, a friendship with benefits, or just a friendship. She chewed on the idea a while, studying her feet while she paced easily down the street. What did she want? More than just a friend, certainly. But something serious? She wasn’t sure she was ready to take that step. She’d finally gotten her balance back after the whole blowup with Gina and wasn’t sure she wanted to jump back into the fire.
She strolled down the familiar street, her hands stuck into the pockets of her shorts. There wasn’t much traffic in the residential areas, only the occasional person coming and going. The ever-present background hum of life support rumbled in her ears. She felt the slight movement of flat-tasting recycled air against her skin. Her footsteps crunched lightly on the pavement.
A couple of low-powered hover-bikes cruised past her—one a personal transport, another pulling a small delivery cart painted with the gaudy logo of a grocery outlet. She nodded to a young couple passing in the opposite direction. She was vaguely aware of someone walking behind her, but she didn’t turn and look.
At the corner, Morgan took a right. Residential housing units flanked either side of the street. She barely made note of the anonymous, flat-topped, two- and three-story buildings. The gym was on the next block, on the bottom floor of a short strip of connected storefronts.
The growling, high-pitched whine of a motor erupted onto the quiet street, echoing starkly off the buildings. Startled, Morgan looked up. A black hover-car with tinted windows slewed around the corner just ahead, spraying gray duracrete dust as it headed right toward her.
She skipped to the side. “Stupid fucker, slow down!”
The car approached her, engine roaring.
Morgan backpedaled. She sensed a flash of movement to her side. An instant later pain exploded across the backs of her shoulders. She stumbled and fell forward as a heavy, bruising weight dropped onto her back. Pinned facedown on the ground, she gasped for breath.
The hover-car fishtailed sideways and hissed to a stop a couple feet away.
Panicking, she shifted under her attacker’s weight, trying to wrench herself free.
A muffled voice snapped, “Just grab her!”
Morgan fought, but the guy on her back had her good and pinned. Something connected across the back of her head, slamming her nose and chin into the pavement. She saw stars and desperately blinked away the pain. A knife appeared at the edge of her vision.
Suddenly, the man holding her jerked violently and cried out.
A sharp jolt of electricity snapped through her, taking her breath away.
He jerked again with a choked scream and collapsed forward, the knife in his hand slicing down across her cheek as his dead weight slumped across her back.
The hover-car took off with a roar, spitting dust and gravel.
Heart pounding, tasting blood and grit, Morgan twisted free of her attacker’s body.
“Morgan!”
Her head snapped up. She saw Shaine running toward her with a gun in one hand.
Shaine dropped to her knees at her side. The man lying beside her groaned and started to get up. Shaine’s fist connected with his face. He crumpled and went limp.
Morgan raised her hand to her cheek. Her fingertips came away coated with blood. Her breath came in panting gulps. She managed to get to a half-seated, half-lying position. More blood dripped down her chin. Aw, fuck, she thought, and looked up. “Shaine?”
Shaine shoved the gun into her waistband and pulled off her sweatshirt. She pressed the garment to the bleeding gash on Morgan’s face. A sharp gaze swept the street before focusing on her. “We gotta get out of here. Think you can walk?”
Morgan nodded jerkily. “Yeah.” She looked at the man lying beside her. “What about—”
Shaine took Morgan’s hand and put it firmly against the sweatshirt pressed to her cheek. “Zap charge,” she said shortly. “He’ll live. Can you hold this?”
Shaine didn’t wait for a response. Easing to her feet, she helped Morgan stand.
Morgan swayed. Shaine’s arm slid firmly around her waist. She was aware of Shaine’s concerned attention, and she nodded when she’d gained her footing.
Shaine grabbed the gym bag she’d dropped and shouldered it. Keeping a supporting arm around her waist, Shaine led her away from the scene. “We’ll go to my place. It’s closer.”
Morgan didn’t argue, concentrating instead on putting one foot in front of the other. Still in shock, she tried to process that someone had just tried to—what? Kidnap her? Kill her?
By the time she and Shaine reached the building, blood had seeped through the sweatshirt’s thick fabric. They took an elevator to the second floor. Shaine’s door was the first one in the hallway. She guided her into the tiny kitchen area.
Morgan felt her knees collapse. She more or less fell onto a chair at a green plastic table.
“Whoa. Hang on there, Morgan.”
Gentle hands on her shoulders steadied her and leaned her against the chair’s back.
“Stay here a second. I’m going to get the med kit.”
Morgan nodded. Like I’m in any shape to be going anywhere. Sticky wetness dripped slowly down the back of her hand and wrist. Her arm shook with fatigue from holding the impromptu compress against the wound, but she knew if she took it away, there would be a mess. At least her nose wasn’t bleeding anymore, but her chin stung where she’d scraped it on the pavement. She figured that wound was probably bleeding too.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe deeply and slowly, taking the time to assess other hurts. With her free hand, she gingerly touched the goose egg forming on the back of her head. Her shoulders ached—an insistent throbbing just above her shoulder blades where she’d initially been hit. She let her hand drop back to her lap. Exhaustion took over as the adrenaline faded.
“Morgan?”
She jerked alert, wincing with the movement and blinking hard to focus.
Shaine grabbed the other chair, pulling it around and perching on the edge of the seat, her knees touching Morgan’s. She opened a substantial looki
ng first-aid kit. Sitting back, she hesitated, studying her face.
Her vision tunneling, Morgan lost herself in the intense green gaze.
After a beat, Shaine gently removed Morgan’s fingers from the cloth compress. “I have it,” she said softly. She eased the cloth from the wound and assessed the cut. “Still bleeding a little,” she murmured. “Could probably use a stitch or two. Good scrape on your chin, too.” She paused. “It might scar.”
Morgan shrugged. What was another scar?
Shaine cleaned, taped and sealed the gash and the scraped skin on her chin.
The antiseptic spray stung. Morgan caught her breath at the shock.
Shaine murmured an apology. Deft fingers dabbed away the extra liquid and sprayed sealant over the wounds before taping gauze over the whole thing. She used some dampened pads to wipe the blood from around Morgan’s nose, gently feeling for a break. “Think it’s okay. Stopped bleeding, at least. A little swollen.” She sat back. “Better?”
Morgan tentatively touched the bandage on her cheek. “Yeah. I think so.” She moved her jaw and winced.
Shaine smoothed the bangs back from her eyes.
She swallowed. Her eyes fluttered shut at the warmth of Shaine’s touch.
Shaine stood. “Um, I should find you a clean shirt or something and you can wash up.”
Morgan looked down. Blood splattered the front of her shirt, stained her arms and the backs of her hands.
“Come on, I’ll grab you a washcloth and towel.” Shaine helped Morgan to her feet and guided her toward the bathroom. Shaine paused just outside the door to grab a towel and washcloth out of the linen closet and set them on the edge of the sink. “Soap’s there—anything else you need, just let me know.”
Morgan took a breath. “Okay. Thanks.”
Shaine nodded and closed the bathroom door.
Morgan stood in front of the small sink. The fluorescent light over the mirror glared at her. She turned on the tap, letting the water run over her fingers. Pink rivulets ran down the drain. On autopilot, she washed her hands and forearms and eased the bloodstained shirt over her head, balling up the thin fabric and dropping it on the floor at her feet.
The motions made her head spin. She stood for a few moments, hanging on to the edge of the cool metal basin, letting the dizziness and nausea pass, waiting for the pounding in her head to subside. Slowly, she washed the rest of the blood from her face and arms, careful to avoid Shaine’s handiwork, wincing when she got too close to her aching and bruised nose. You look like Frankenstein’s monster. She twisted to study the line of bruises forming across her upper back. Her attacker must have hit her with a piece of pipe or a crowbar or something. The bruises hurt like a bitch, but at least they weren’t bleeding.
As she closed the tap, she heard a soft knock on the door and Shaine’s disembodied voice. “Hey, I think this should fit.” The door eased open. Shaine held out a dark blue tunic. Her gaze tracked across Morgan’s bared back, taking in the red and purple mottled skin. Their eyes met in the mirror. Shaine swallowed. A quick series of emotions flickered across her face and her voice came out in a cracked whisper. “You—um—need any help?”
Morgan shook her head slowly. “No, I’m okay.” She took the shirt from Shaine. Their fingers touched briefly and lingered a second before Shaine nodded and backed out of the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind her.
Morgan glanced at her reflection in the mirror. I’m in shock. Her gray eyes seemed too wide, her skin too pale. She looked away and pulled Shaine’s tunic carefully over her head. The long-sleeved shirt was roomy, soft and comfortable. Retrieving her bloodied clothes from the floor, she let herself out of the bathroom.
Shaine puttered around in the kitchen, packing things back into the med kit. She looked up when Morgan entered. “Feeling better?” she asked.
“I think so.”
“Here, I can take that.” Shaine stepped across the room to take the shirt from her hands, hesitated an instant, and gently wrapped her in an embrace.
Morgan sighed. She leaned into Shaine, resting her head on Shaine’s chest. She didn’t understand what was happening, and for just a moment neither did she care. Warm, strong fingers combed gently through her hair. She clung to the strength of Shaine’s muscular form against hers.
Shaine’s voice rumbled softly in her ear. “You sure you’re okay?”
Morgan took a long, steadying breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be okay.” She cocked her head to give Shaine a questioning look when a thought occurred to her. “Should it worry me this is the second time in three days you’ve saved my ass from guys with knives?”
Shaine’s breath caught. A cold, blank expression slid over her face. After a beat she muttered, “Yes. It probably should.” She turned abruptly and crossed the kitchen to put the bloodied clothing into the compact washing unit, slapping buttons to kick off the cycle.
Surprised and confused by Shaine’s sudden change of mood, Morgan watched the woman’s brusque motions and the stiff set to her shoulders. A vaguely sick wave pulled at her stomach. She said slowly, “I guess maybe I should call Moon Base Security to report the attack.”
Shaine’s head snapped around. “No!”
Morgan blinked.
Shaine dropped her gaze, took a long breath, and ran her hands through her hair. “No,” she repeated quietly. “There won’t be anything for them to see, anyway. Just—” She stopped, sighed, and shoved her hands in her pants pockets. “Aw, fuck.”
“Shaine, what’s going on?” Morgan asked warily. The ache in her stomach ratcheted up a notch.
Shaine regarded her bleakly. “Welcome to my fucking nightmare,” she said. “Look, this is crazy, but your life is in danger.”
“What?”
Shaine motioned tiredly toward the tiny living room. “Let’s sit down.”
“I don’t think so.”
Shaine sighed and ran her hands through her hair again. “The head of Mann-Maru Security called me when I got home last night. He used to be my boss. He ordered me to keep an eye on you and keep you alive. He didn’t tell me why.”
Morgan’s pulse started pounding in her ears. “I thought you quit Security.”
Shaine sounded defensive and angry. “I did quit. I didn’t ask for this assignment and I don’t have any choice. You don’t turn down Tarm Maruchek’s right-hand man when he tells you to do something, even when it’s no longer in your job description.”
Morgan said nothing for a long time, trying to decide if she should believe Shaine. She tasted bile. Her head throbbed and her knees felt weak. She backed up until she leaned against the bathroom doorframe, putting a distance between them. This is insane. My life is in danger? What the fuck. She’s no different than Gina, after all. I do not fucking need this.
“Morgan.”
She looked at Shaine from across the room and saw tired resignation, frustration, regret.
Shaine said quietly, “Please, just wait before you leave, okay? Let me call Rogan. I’m not making this shit up.”
Rogan? That was the name of the corporate guy who’d interrogated her after Digger’s death. Realizing Shaine waited silently for a response, Morgan nodded reluctantly.
Shaine crossed the room to the keypad on her desk. She tapped in a calling code, which scrolled across the main vid-screen.
After a few moments, the screen cleared, and a tall black man with a graying crewcut appeared on the screen. Piercing black eyes took in the scene—Shaine standing in front of the camera and Morgan in the background with a bandage across her cheek.
Rogan raised an eyebrow at Shaine, his expression stony. “That didn’t take long,” he commented. He nodded toward Morgan. “So much for secrecy?”
Shaine’s lips thinned. “Secrecy ends when the shit starts hitting the fan. Two guys. One on foot, one in a hover-car. I zapped the guy on foot. The other one got away. I need to get Morgan to a safe zone.”
Rogan looked past Shaine to focus on Morgan. “You’re all
right, Ms. Rahn?” he asked.
Morgan gave him a wary look. “I’m okay,” she said. She touched the bandage on her cheek, her gaze shifting from the screen to Shaine and back to Rogan. “I want to know what’s going on.”
Rogan nodded. “Yes. You do need to know. But it is not my place to tell you.” He returned his focus to Shaine. “You know Johann Kries?”
Shaine nodded.
“Good. Expect him within the hour. Mr. Maruchek will want to see both of you.”
Morgan stepped forward. “Wait a minute,” she interrupted. “I’m not going anywhere with anyone. Not until I know why.”
Rogan smiled, not quite pulling off the false expression of concern. “Ms. Rahn, I realize this must be disturbing to you, but please believe we have your best interests in mind. Mr. Maruchek does not want any harm to come to you. Ms. Wendt will see that it doesn’t. There is more happening than I can discuss at this time.” Another flash of a smile lasting only an instant before he ordered Shaine, “Wendt, keep her safe. Your life depends on it.” He cut the transmission, leaving a blank screen.
Morgan felt as though the rug had been pulled out from under her.
Shaine glanced down and checked her chron. She looked at Morgan. “If there’s anything you need from your place, we should get it now,” she said shortly.
“What the fuck, Shaine?” Tension and fear boiled over into anger. “Have you been following me around since you signed on to my crew? Was dinner last night just a convenient way to keep track of me?”
Shaine’s expression turned hard, her voice cold. “I told you. He called me when I got home. That’s when I knew.”
“Yeah, and you did such a phenomenal job protecting me,” Morgan snapped.
“You’re fucking standing there, aren’t you?”
“Fuck you.” Morgan spun toward the door, intending to walk out. A long arm snaked out as she brushed past Shaine. A hand closed around her bicep, stopping her. She glared into flashing green eyes. “Let me go.”
