“When you going to make an honest girl of this woman?”
Kris yelped, but Jack held his ground manfully. “Commander Tordon, there is no way I could make an honest woman of a Longknife. They are born into iniquity and it only gets worse as they pass the age of reason. Assuming they ever do. Sorry, ma’am. I’ll take a bullet for her, but there is no way to make her honest.”
Which, Kris had to admit, was a very neat sidestep of the question Kris would have loved to have a straight answer to. And a warning of what lay ahead if she ever did figure out a way to pop that question to the main man in her life. Oh, pooh!
The night dragged on in mindless chatter. By the grace of some bored god, Victoria Peterwald folded her tent and slipped away before the first yawn attacked Kris. So she got home at a decent hour and actually enjoyed a good night’s sleep.
Officially, Kris counted that as a good day.
Interlude 1
Grant von Schrader drummed his fingers on the door of his limo. He drummed them while Miss Victoria Smythe-Peterwald posed for one last photo shot…five times.
The young woman was vain. Very vain.
The door finally closed and the driver immediately put the multiton behemoth in motion. Grant continued drumming his fingers until his personal computer, directly plugged into his brain, announced, THE CAR IS SECURE.
“Remind me again why your father sent you to Eden?” Grant said as softly…and as deceptively as his temper would allow.
“I believe he said something vague, like you are to show me the ropes,” the young heiress said, arranging her dress so that it fell tightly across her breasts, allowing nipples to raise their distracting heads.
Grant swore softly to himself and praised the common sense that came with age and lower hormone levels.
“I believe he also mentioned something about helping you develop enough common sense so that you’d survive a bit longer than your brother.”
That got a raised eyebrow from the young woman. Was she wondering if Pater had passed along coverage of that meeting…or if Dad’s security wasn’t as tight as he boasted.
But she said nothing…and Grant left her unenlightened.
Grant let his student fully measure that thought through a long pause. “It was foolish to confront the Longknife brat.”
“And why should it be?” came back without a second for reflection. “She murdered my brother. I can’t let her live. She knows that as well as I do.”
Grant sighed…soundlessly. Thirteen generations and the Peterwalds had come to this. He’d met the thirteenth of that name twice and been unimpressed. His sister was not coming across any better. He warily drew in a deep breath and began—again—the education of this gorgeous pig seated beside him.
“Your brother is dead. There is no doubt about that. However, just how he ended up dead is subject to some conjecture. What there is no doubt about is that he crossed swords with Miss Longknife—frequently. A neutral observer might consider that a bad habit you might want to break.”
“She killed my brother. She will pay,” Victoria hissed.
So much for lesson one. With little expectation of greater success, Grant went on to lesson two. “No more men will be spending an hour alone with you in your bedroom.”
“Oh, and Vennie was so pleasant a companion,” the young woman said, licking her lips. “I haven’t seen him around recently. Where is the boy?”
On a slow starship back to Greenfeld where he would explain himself personally to Henry Smythe-Peterwald, XII. Grant hoped Harry would be very interested in what he did with his daughter for an hour…and why he put at risk a project that had been fifteen years in development. Grant would not want to be in Vitali Gruschka’s fashionable shoes for that meeting.
“He has been called to a meeting with your father,” was all Grant said.
The young woman smiled as if she knew something Grant did not. Or maybe did not care about a man who’d worked hard and well for Grant for ten years.
“You do not kill a Peterwald and live,” was all she said.
“Then kill her someplace else. We have business here on Eden. Profitable business. And I do not care for you washing your dirty linens in my backyard. Your father sent you here to learn about making a profit. You can kill this Longknife troublemaker anywhere else you want. Just not here.”
The young woman seemed to mull that over for a while, then smiled. “Yes, Uncle Grant. I most certainly can.”
Von Schrader wasn’t totally sure what that meant, but he’d done about as much as he could for one evening. He’d learned long ago that Peterwald heads were very dense.
One of the reasons he was here on Eden, about as far as he could comfortably get from Harry.
But if the first package Henry Peterwald dropped on Grant was a pain, the second package was a delight.
Later that evening, when Miss Vicky was hopefully well and solidly put to bed, a door opened in Grant’s study that most visitors thought was just his “I-love-me wall,” full of pictures of Grant with movers and shakers.
To Grant, it was his target wall.
And an experienced target was the ramrod-straight warrior who came from the secret passage that led to the wall.
“Eginhard Petrovich Müller,” Grant said, hugging the man. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”
“Who in the old team would have believed that Lucky Grant would live to grow a paunch,” the younger man said, patting Grant’s flat belly.
“When they told me you would be leading the team, I had it run through the decoding gear twice. But no. It was you. And the rest of the team, is it as hard as you?”
“As hard as you taught me to be.” Eginhard grinned back.
And yes, Grant’s young lieutenant was showing gray around the temples. So the kid had learned wisdom and now led his own company of storm troopers. Of course, Grant told himself, I am no older. He laughed.
“And the company, are they arriving soon?”
“Many of them are already here, sir. Everyone has their own cover. No two alike. If one goes south, we will not weep, but, at least so far, all have reported in. Are the police here on Eden blind?”
“Not blind, just old and comfortable in their ways. The place is a ripe fruit, ready to be plucked.”
The team leader clicked his heels at attention and saluted. “We dreamed of plucking fruit in the old days. Now we shall.”
12
Kris actually jumped out of bed when her alarm woke her at Oh Dark Early. Marines were the best of company to keep early in the morning. For her jog, Kris figured she could go light. She just pulled on a spider-silk body stocking, sweatshirt, gym shorts with ceramic slat inserts, and combat boots with similar armor.
Proof against most personal weapons, she slipped her own automatic into the small of her back…and ran into Jack and Penny in the hall.
“Got to stand up to the Marines,” Penny said. Her sweatshirt said GO NAVY.
Jack’s sweats were still Wardhaven Secret Service, which was to say, blank.
Kris laughed with her friends and strode outside.
And came to a roaring halt.
Captain DeVar stood waiting for her. He saluted as Kris took in what he had arrayed before her. “The Marine Detachment is ready for PT, Your Highness.”
“In full battle rattle!” Kris yelped.
That they were. Each Marine stood with his or her M-6 at port arms. Without a full inspection, it was beyond Kris’s kin, but it sure looked like each of them were in full-battle gear…with a full-battle load.
“Is all this necessary?” Kris whispered.
“Your Highness, I will not take my Marines in harms way without proper armor and equipment.”
Kris waved at her eyebrow and the Marine captain smartly dropped his salute. “Gunny Sergeant, open the detachment,” he ordered.
Orders were given and half the Marines smartly took three steps forward, leaving room for Kris and company to slip into the space between First and Se
cond Platoon.
“Do we have a permit for this much firepower?” Kris asked.
“I fully expect that anyone concerned about that fine point of the law is still sound asleep. Shall we get started, Your Highness, so we can complete our run before that changes?”
Properly chastised, Kris settled in between Jack and Penny.
“Oh, one more thing, Your Highness. Local marksmanship is reported to be pretty bad, so we’d appreciate if you’d wear this.” Captain DeVar handed Kris a bright red sweatshirt. On the front a mean-looking bulldog growled SEMPER FI, from behind a golden globe, anchor, and rocket ship.
On the back was a target in circles of Navy blue and gold.
“Thank you so much,” Kris said, then pulled the shirt on over her armored one.
“Don’t want any Marines ending up as collateral damage,” the captain explained with a grin. “If one of my Marines takes a hit, I want it in the front, charging the bastards.”
“Ooo-rah,” answered that. Softly, so as not to wake anyone.
“Gunny Sergeant, move the detachment out.”
And they headed for the mall. There had been a light rain during the night. The air was cool with the smell of trees and fresh earth. And honest sweat. They had the place to themselves, except for a trash truck carrying off yesterday’s refuse. Three miles never went so quickly for Kris.
Though it did leave her a bit breathless. She was spending way too much time being a social target. She’d better start paying attention to that target on her back or someone just might score a bull’s-eye.
As they jogged up to the embassy, a large black sedan pulled to a stop ahead of them. Gunny brought them to a halt as Inspector Johnson got out from the driver’s side. No chauffeur today…or maybe just at this hour.
Kris broke ranks to trot up and join the inspector. Jack and Captain DeVar hung back in easy hearing and close support.
“Didn’t expect to see you this early,” Kris said to break the ice of the hard glare the cop was giving the Marines.
“I got a wake-up call from the Sanitation Division. Someone asking if the mall was being invaded. I suspected I knew where the invasion came from.” He opened his arms as if in surprise. “Here I am and here you are. And you and you,” he said, nodding toward Jack and the captain.
“May I dismiss the troops, Your Highness?” DeVar asked.
“Please do,” the inspector said.
“Kindly do,” Kris said, and quickly, quietly, it was so.
Jack and Penny took guard around Kris, checking out the building roofs, streets, and any other potential site where death might reach for her. The Marines in battle dress raced off, but didn’t leave her unprotected for long. A minute hadn’t gone by before two marines in khaki double-timed from the embassy. The apparent duty team on sensors were followed only moments later by one Marine hobbling on crutches as quickly as he could, his left foot in a cast, him in a hurriedly donned sweatsuit.
That was when it hit Kris. She’d been adopted into the Marine Corps family. They had made her one of their own. It sent a shiver down her spine. And stiffened it, too. These men and women would lay down their lives for her.
Of course, the unspoken contract flowed both ways. Loyalty went up and down or it didn’t go at all. As unlikely as it might seem to some, she now owed her life to them. A stranger to the uniform might not see much prospect for Kris to pay the full price for one of these privates or NCOs.
Kris knew differently. A solemn vow now bound each of them equally.
And that was the only way it could be. One for all. All of them for each other when the mouth of hell was yawning and the piper demanded his pay.
Kris found herself standing a little taller, her back a bit more ramrod, as Gunny would expect of her, even as she passed the time of day with Inspector Johnson.
If he was aware of the change that came over the woman in front of him, he certainly showed no evidence of it.
“Did you bring over my weapons permit?” had been Kris’s first gambit.
“Not my job description,” the inspector said. Then paused, as if debating whether or not to say more. Kris held him hostage with her eyes. She’d learned at her father’s knee that a good politician could often get confessions, concessions, or even extra campaign donations if they just didn’t break eye contact.
And unlike other forms of hostage taking, holding someone’s eyes against their will was not an indictable offense.
No surprise, it worked in the soft morning light.
“Some of my associates in the police force, maybe other places, are wondering if maybe we shouldn’t withhold the permit. Some think it might encourage you to go on your way.”
Staying in this shooting gallery with no weapon! She couldn’t go on carrying without a permit; sooner or later folks would get tired of her and hers flaunting their gun control laws. If they started frisking her every time she left the embassy…
“I would have thought that whoever didn’t drive by that roadside bomb we stumbled over yesterday would be oh so happy that I’d get a permit for my reward.” She tried batting her eyelashes along with the words. In the movies, it always worked. No doubt, it would work for Victoria Peterwald.
Kris also tried her ace in the hole. NELLY, DO WE KNOW THE NAME OF WHOEVER IT WAS WE SAVED?
NO, KRIS. I AM STILL WORKING ON THAT. IT IS FAR MORE COMPLICATED THAN YOU WOULD BELIEVE. CAN I BRIEF YOU NOW? IT WILL BE A LONG ONE.
LATER, Kris said. Nelly wasn’t helping her, and clearly her experiment in feminine wiles hadn’t worked, either.
The inspector shook his head. “I’m sorry. I might officially be grateful, if that had officially happened. However, officially, it didn’t. And, unofficially, we’re not sure what to make of it. Did someone trying to get you almost get one of us? That’s not something we’d like to have happen.”
And, what with so much of this planet’s current events disappearing with no trace, she could hardly defend her honor. Kris scowled. “So you’re willing to ship my very expensive casket to King Ray, and Grampa Al and my father with a sincere diplomatic apology that my death happened on your watch?”
“Certainly as sincere as the diplomatic apology Wardhaven sent Greenfeld on the death of Henry Peterwald the Thirteenth,” the inspector said with a very straight face.
“There is no sincerity in diplomatic apologies,” Kris muttered. Okay, that didn’t work, now what do we try? Kris noticed that it was now Inspector Johnson who was holding her eyes and not blinking.
What could he want?
“Why are you here?” he said softly.
Behind Kris, Jack snorted.
“Not that question again,” Penny whispered through a sigh.
Kris found her eyes raising to the heavens. No surprise, the early morning gray had no answer written on the low clouds. Now it was her turn to take in a deep breath and heave it out with enough dramatics to rival one of Tommy’s best Irish sighs.
“Inspector,” she finally said, looking him straight in the eye. “Would you believe that your planet, with its established ways, solid gun control laws, and law-abiding population was presented to me as a safe harbor where Wardhaven might send their wayward daughter and she’d stay alive while the Rim cooled down and forgot about her last, deadly escapade?”
“Believe it? Not likely.”
“Well, I’m having a harder and harder time believing it, too,” Kris muttered softly.
The inspector chuckled.
“It seemed believable before I got here and discovered that the same old, same old happens here. It just never makes it into the official record…or the late-night news.” Kris bit out those last two words. What a joke they were here.
The inspector swallowed his mirth. “You’re serious.”
“As serious as that bomb yesterday. I’m here to buy paper clips and spare parts. Arrange for computer sales and software licenses. Stay away from stray bullets until Henry Peterwald the Twelfth forgets I was involved in his son’s de
mise.”
“That won’t happen anytime soon.”
“Tell me about it. And certainly not with Vicky getting in my face.” Kris paused, frowning in thought. “Any chance you could find out when the request went in for her visa? Was it before or after mine? If after, how soon after?”
The inspector raised an eyebrow. “An interesting question. I may look into it. Maybe.”
“And you might share the results with me? Maybe?” Kris might be weak in femme fatale, but she’d learned to wheedle the cook at Nuu House shortly after learning to walk. Very shortly.
“I might,” the inspector said, eyeing her. “I might if you could figure out why you’re really here and share it with me.”
“It’s hard to conclude a bargain with all those mights and maybes in it,” Kris said.
“And I’m certainly not interested in shaking on it. Haven’t you heard? It’s dangerous to shake a Longknife’s hand.”
“Only since I was in my crib,” Kris grumbled.
“Well, I’ll be seeing you. No doubt,” the inspector said, and departed.
“What was that about?” Jack asked.
“I. Have. No. Idea.” Kris slammed all the exasperation she felt into her words. “Any of you have something better, I’d be glad to hear it.”
All she got were shaking heads. They headed in to shower, dress, and breakfast. After that, none of them were any the wiser. But there was no summons to the ambassador’s office, so, apparently, neither was anyone above them.
Kris was about to leave for exciting negotiations when Nelly broke in. “Kris, I have a message from Great-grandmother Ruth. She wonders if you are interested in lunch today.”
“I could be,” Kris said, glancing Jack and Captain DeVar’s way. They nodded, so she assumed a full escort was available.
“She is teaching today, and asks you to meet her in front of Garden City University Faculty Center shortly after noon.”
“Tell her I’ll be there.”
No doubt, it would be fun talking to Gramma. And maybe she’d slip Kris a sealed envelope under the table. Orders sent by way of an innocent gray head.
Kris Longknife Audacious Page 6
