The Evaporation of Sofi Snow

by Mary Weber

  The disgruntled boos turned to chuckles of agreement as Miguel’s frown deepened. The guy almost sounded like he was subterfuging.

  “I don’t know,” Nadine’s voice slipped in. “From what I hear, the woman wasn’t even there yesterday. I think CEO Inola cares more for how it’ll make the company look than for the loss of life.”

  Miguel swerved to eye her just as Aris added, “The daughter, on the other hand . . . You ever seen her fight? She’s not just a game hacker. She’s got some skills. And if they find traces between her tech access and Corp 24, well . . .”

  CEO Hart began nodding along with a few others as Miguel caught Claudius’s gaze again from beyond the archway. His friend inclined his head carefully in the direction of the garden entrance. Miguel frowned. What was he indicating?

  Tipping his glass to the gathering, Miguel cleared his throat and excused himself.

  He’d just passed through the exit facing the patio when everything within him stalled.

  He swerved—searching the guests’ faces, body heights, and attitudes as the aroma of sun-parched earth and greenthread flora wafted over him. The same smell that had tugged at his lungs and lips for weeks after their first encounter—taunting his dreams and burning his insides to ashes until the central focus in his messed-up life had been seducing her.

  He flipped around—and found her standing by the garden wall. Alive. Breathing.

  Sofi.

  A bit older, a bit wiser, and, from what he’d heard, mucho más broken—but still standing nonetheless. Dressed in a slip of a dress that set off her skin like the color of earth and sunset, and her hair like midnight skies, wearing a Day of the Dead mask to hide her soul. How Claudius had identified her Miguel wasn’t sure—perhaps the same way Miguel did now, by the small threaded owl at her throat.

  She’d not seen him yet. He could still get away before his mind took a dive.

  Except . . .

  He chuckled. She was speaking to a guard and looking as pissed off as ever while trying not to show it. Playing coy beneath the stars and soft lights.

  He studied her hair. Her posture. Her little hands that clasped and unclasped when she was irritated. The way she lifted one of them to rub Shilo’s necklace against her creamy brown skin as her soft-lipped smile broadened like a moonbeam.

  Miguel let a chuckle slip from his mouth. She’d learned to flirt.

  He took a sip of his drink and leaned against the garden wall, ignoring three nearby ladies trying to snag his eye. He evaluated her pose, the measure of her distance leaning in to the poor guard she was chatting up—and the just-as-quick leaning back once the man’s breath caught audibly and his shoulders softened. Ah, she had him. She was good, he’d give her that. Better than good.

  He should know. He frowned as the water went sour in his stomach. He’d taught her.

  He pushed his mask up onto his head and strode over. “Está bien, Jose, she’s with me.” And peered down at her.

  “Yes, sir.” The guard moved on as Sofi’s thick lashes fluttered, and then her gaze swung up to lock onto his.

  A second later she smiled and slipped close, leaving inches between her barely dressed body and his. Leaning up, she placed her hand on his chest and whispered, “Hello, Miguel.”

  21

  SOFI

  SOFI ROCKED BACK IN HER BLACK LACE-UP BOOTS BUT KEPT her fingers on his chest. A song crooned gently behind them, rippling on the air like the autumn leaves swirling beneath the terrace lights in the background.

  Miguel’s mouth curved with curiousity. “Long time no see.”

  Sofi chuckled. “I believe that was your decision, not mine.” He paused and his Adam’s apple bobbed as if he were wetting a suddenly dry throat. A moment later he leaned over, careful not to brush against her, and set his glass on top of the stone garden wall behind her. She waited. What was he thinking? How long did she have before he kicked her out or asked her to leave? How much should she impress his interest before voicing her need?

  “Is there something I can help you with?” he said against her hair before he slowly pulled back.

  “May we speak privately?”

  “Should I ask what it’s regarding?”

  “Your past. My brother. Your career’s future.”

  A quiet laugh trickled from his lips as he watched her, his gaze drifting over her face, her neck, her shoulders, as if he could unwrap her thoughts with his mind. “Well, that doesn’t sound familiar at all.”

  She smiled and looked away—to Claudius at the fireplace surrounded by a host of partygoers.

  It was, in fact, a bit eerily similar to the first time they’d met. “Sofi, Miguel. Miguel, Sofi,” her mother had said the night before the official opening of the first FanFight Games. “If you can ignore Miguel’s past, you two could be very good for your brother’s future, dear.”

  Her mom had then leaned close to Sofi and murmured, “Now play polite and don’t let your brother eat all the pastries before the game tomorrow. And next time wear something a bit more becoming.” As if she knew anything about how many outfits Sofi’d insecurely tried on or the fact that her brother had never eaten pastries, because they were just “bread surrounding the good parts.”

  But she’d soon forgotten that in the glow of Miguel.

  And it wasn’t hard to see why. Even now, his soft twinge of a smile, nice nose, and a jawline set above a physique as broad and strong as it was comfortably thick in its own skin. And the voice that hinted at laughter and secrets and a darkly simpering soul hidden beneath impeccable style . . .

  Good gad. Seriously?

  Sofi blinked and swallowed, then expanded her chest as she straightened her collarbone and chin. Pull yourself together.

  His eyes stayed locked on hers.

  She cleared her throat before reaching up to let her mouth brush his ear. “Well, in that case, it would appear we’ve come full circle. So how about you take me to your room now?”

  22

  MIGUEL

  HER LIPS WERE A BOLT OF LIGHTNING ON HIS SKIN, IGNITING HIS blood as she let her cool breath mingle with his suddenly warm inhale. Until she dropped off her tiptoes to stand a good bit lower than his shoulders and quirked a smile he knew far better than he should.

  Coolness. Rage. Disgust, he’d expected, sí.

  But this . . .

  This Miguel was not prepared for.

  He stayed rigid, refusing to let his mind acknowledge the feeling of her tiny hand still resting against his chest. He swallowed and kept his jaw tight. And frowned. “What are you playing at, Sofi?”

  Her brow shot up. “So asks the player,” she murmured and swept her gaze out over the patio where the nightlife had taken things to a new high. The fire dancers had emerged on stilts and the brass bands had struck up a slew of old-skool tunes—ones from what had affectionately been dubbed the Gatsby era after some book he doubted anyone under eighty had ever read. At the moment Morton’s “Wolverine Blues” was being followed by Berlin’s “Always.”

  He waited as the lyrics trickled over them—“Everything went wrong . . . Then I met you”—and tried not to notice her tan skin stretching along her night-lit shoulder or her black makeup-less lashes scattering shadows on her high cheekbones beneath the mask.

  “The truth is, I need a favor, Miguel.”

  Her words were so soft he almost missed them, and so simple he almost lost the note of self-annoyance. Ah, there it is.

  He smirked. It must be a good one if she hated having to ask that much.

  “Now, are we going to stand here awkwardly until you kick me out, or are you going to be a decent human and take me someplace to hear what I have to ask? If nothing else, for old time’s sake.”

  He gnawed his lip. Amused. Curious. Fascinated by this turn of events. With a short nod he placed his hand on her back and steered her through the scattered crowds, attempting to shield her from the cast of curious eyes.

  “I’m assuming you shut down my cameras and security
system,” he said when they reached the side door near the elevator.

  “Only the parts pertaining to me.”

  Of course she did. He kept back a grin, scanned his wrist against the lock, and slipped Sofi inside before anyone could suspect more than romance was in the air.

  They descended a delicate flight of stairs that opened straight into his carefully ordered room.

  She coughed. “Nice space, by the way.” She turned to face him. “Although I expected a bit more drama—maybe some girls, silk sheets, a few mirrors.”

  His jaw flinched at the acknowledgment. “Lo siento to disappoint you,” he said quietly. Then frowned. His glass doors stood wide open.

  She waved a hand at them, then slipped off her mask. “Sorry. Had to leave them that way in case your guards didn’t buy my ID.”

  He took a quick scan of the rest of the room. His bed. Bookcases. Empty bathroom. All clear from what he could see. Then folded both arms across his chest and veered his attention back to her, far more aware of her presence than he should be. And what it was doing to him. “So what kind of favor are you asking?”

  “I need you to take me to Delon.”

  He brain tripped as he practically laughed. “Perdón?”

  “I need to get to Delon. And I’d like you to take me in”—she checked the time—“two hours when you leave for the hangar.”

  Miguel rubbed his jaw and stared at her. Trying like heck to figure out why she was really there and what she honestly wanted from him. When she didn’t flinch, he took a step back and stared. “Wait, you’re serious.”

  She nodded.

  “Okay, and you want me to do this why?”

  Her voice firmed. “They have Shilo.”

  Miguel tried to keep his expression neutral. Was she joking? The kid was dead. He’d seen the explosion. “And what gives you that impression?” Miguel flicked another glance at the open doors. Even with his emotions wrapped around her every move, the exposure was making him uneasy.

  “I saw him after the explosion. Alive on a med cot, and a Delonese was moving him out.”

  Miguel went still. A Delonese medic? Was with him? He swallowed. Claudius’s discovery about the second flight.

  “I know it sounds crazy.” Sofi shook her head. “But . . .” She gave a nervous laugh.

  Miguel was at a complete loss. She was bracing for him to answer no. He could see it in her eyes, the tilt of her chin, the clench of her fist.

  And yet she truly believed what she was stating. He sucked in his cheeks. She’d have to if she was desperate enough to come to him. And he could see why if she really did witness a Delonese with Shilo. In fact, Miguel would’ve thought the same. It was beyond abnormal.

  He tipped his head. “Okay. And if I don’t?”

  “Then you don’t,” she said so quickly a glimpse of her soul showed through. Cracked. Wounded. Courageous for even coming here during the storm surrounding her brother and mother and accusations flying. “It’s just a request.”

  Guilt stabbed his gut even as he relaxed and recrossed his arms and tried to keep his head clear enough of her to think. “Okay. So, saying I did take you, what do you expect to find? And how do you expect me to do so? The Delonese aren’t exactly—”

  “I’ve taken care of that. I’d be a stowaway so you could claim no knowledge. Your records, your ship, their tracking systems—everything would be wiped clean. I’ve already begun, in fact.”

  He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, but he was. Of course she could do all that. He turned and strode to the open doors to glare at the deck beyond.

  “You know I’m perfectly capable of it, Miguel,” she said from behind him. “And if you take me—once we’re on the planet I’ll escape and take off on my own. Shilo would be my responsibility, and you’d be above reproach. I just need the transit.”

  Right. Except even she couldn’t keep them off the Delonese’s radar once they hit the atmospheric shield. He’d have to explain their presence to the aliens, and gad knows that’d be an impossible task.

  He shook his head and eyed Planet Delon lit up like a hot-air balloon just past the night’s waning moon. And filled his lungs with something other than her perfume. “Except they’ll know you’re on board before we land. And what are you planning to do—just ask permission to wander through their capital, hunting for your brother? Because as the other ambassadors and I are requesting their assistance, you’ll be—what—accusing them of stealing your brother? Marvelous. Everything you’d do there—just you being there at all—directly affects me. And not just me, but them. The Delonese . . . Earth . . . Sofi, you could start a war, for gad’s sake.”

  “Then help me. Hide me. Convince them I forced you to let me come or that you didn’t know I was on board until we’d almost arrived, and I’ll return with you when you’re done. Whether we find Shilo or not. I just need the chance. I know he’s with them.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” He shoved a hand through his hair and pulled off his mask, tossing it on the bed behind him. “Not to be rude, but you honestly have no idea what you’re asking. Nor of the consequences such a thing could create.”

  This was de locos. Taking her would jeopardize not just one mission but two . . .

  Claudius would be furious.

  “Actually, I know exactly what I’m asking. These people—this race—have spent the past eleven years monitoring my brother. They’ve been studying him.”

  Miguel stared at her. An image of that second hovercraft leaving the games yesterday passed through his mind.

  “And Corp 30 allowed them. And our VP tried to have me questioned and killed yesterday to keep this all quiet.”

  Miguel frowned. Was she joking?

  Clearly not. Which only made him despise the Gaines woman all the more.

  He swallowed. The other delegates would be furious. The freaking UW would be livid if they found out. Híjole, he couldn’t believe he was even considering it.

  And yet . . .

  “I’m asking for your help.”

  23

  SOFI

  SOFI WATCHED MIGUEL PACE IN FRONT OF THE OPEN DOORS against the sparkling city lights. The fact he was actually considering her request made her more nervous than if he’d just laughed in her face. Because, good grief, she was perfectly aware how feeble she sounded. And what if it actually worked? She grimaced. Why wasn’t he asking for proof? Why aren’t you pushing back more, Miguel?

  “Sofi, I don’t like this.” Heller’s voice blasted her eardrum.

  She jumped, then hissed, “Heller, you’re yelling,” before tapping her earcom for Miguel’s benefit as he turned to see who she was talking to.

  “Yeah, well, something strange is up,” Heller said quieter. “I think you might be about to have company.”

  She looked past Miguel through the open doors. “What? From where—the deck?”

  “What do you mean ‘from the deck’?” Heller said. “Wait. Are you in his room, Sofi?”

  Miguel was frowning. “Is that Heller?”

  “Sofi, are you in his room?”

  She stalled. “How’d you—?”

  Miguel shook his head. “Vic mentioned Heller’d survived. Congrats to him. What did you mean ‘from the deck’?” He turned and examined the area before he pressed his palm to the wall to initialize the glass doors sliding shut.

  Heller’s voice was loud again. “Okay, what are you doing in there? He’s not—you guys aren’t—”

  “Heller, I said I’m fine. Holy heck, are you joking? Do you even know me at all?”

  His voice went flat. “That’s exactly why I’m asking.”

  Her face flooded with heat. She refused to justify that with a response and instead clicked the earcom off on her end and glanced at Miguel. “Time’s up. What’s the decis—?”

  It happened so fast. One second Miguel was standing in front of the closing doors as a strain of elegant mariachi music floated down from the roof. The next, three men in black h
ad dropped behind him with face masks melted over their skin.

  Miguel stepped back to block her just as the men slid through the narrowing glass slit.

  “Sorry, mate. Slight change of plans,” said the taller one. “We’re taking gamer girl, and you can continue with what you were told. You now have twenty-four hours to comply or—”

  “Whoa, amigo. No need to rush.” Miguel put up his hands, then slowly moved them behind his back. “Let’s talk about what you want with her.”

  “Miguel—”

  “That’s our employer’s business, amigo.”

  Miguel’s tone went light. “See, I’m thinking it’s my business considering you’re in my bedroom just as she and I were about to—well, you know.” The tip of a knife glinted against his back as he pulled it from beneath his shirt.

  The man stepped forward, lifting his gun straight at Miguel’s stomach, while the other two moved to each side of him, their face masks blank of emotion. “Cute. But your charm only works in public, Ambassador. You forget who’s holding the photos.”

  “About that.” Miguel twitched the knife. “I’d love to know how you got those.”

  Sofi’s skin pricked—her chest tightening with rage at this man who slid his gun against Miguel’s left side.

  “Same way you got these love handles. Laziness. Now, do we have an understanding?”

  She stiffened and glanced around the room for something to use. Dangit, Miguel, why don’t you have more weapons?

  “So, you take the girl, and I do my thing. And then I’m clear, correct?” Miguel turned his head toward Sofi and caught her eye. She frowned until she realized he was lying.

  The man with the gun relaxed. “Ah, now see, mate. You’re getting it.” He lifted the weapon to pat Miguel’s face just as Sofi dove forward. She kicked out the legs of the guy on the left just as Miguel brought his blade around and shoved it into the gunman’s chest.