Tristan reached toward her and smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You’ll be in good hands, Dr. Angel. I wouldn’t leave you otherwise. The ‘other business’ concerns you. I’d ask Lord DeKieran to stay with you, but he and his wife will be with me.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m just used to you, that’s all.”
“Ah, I can see I’ve grown on you… and you have yet to experience what I’m really good at.” A crooked smile tilted across Tristan’s face and he winked at her before turning and sauntering down the hall to the exit.
He’s incorrigible. “Take as long as you need,” she called to his back. “Don’t hurry back on my account.” His shoulders shook, and his laugh echoed in the hall. He never turned around. She knew because she couldn’t take her eyes off him until he vanished from sight.
Angelica exhaled smoothly and rubbed her hands up and down her biceps to eradicate the goose bumps that had risen. The feeling of vulnerability that swamped her was ridiculous. So what if the deadly fighter protecting her wore a different face or possessed brown eyes, not gray. She should welcome a respite from Tristan’s wordless, perceptive amusement as she went about her day pretending to ignore his aloof presence and the primal sexual aura he exuded. It shouldn’t matter who guarded her. It shouldn’t—but it did.
Why hadn’t she asked Tris the nature of his business? Probably because other than their dinner together or in the aftermath of the mummer attack, she’d never felt she could say anything to him but “Yes, Sir.”
Angelica tried to hide her anxiety. She made a poor job of it. The door to her office opened constantly. Doctors on staff consulted with her. Engineers queried her about placement of fragile technology. Some of her patients stuck their heads in with cheerful greetings and offers of lunch. Rationally, Angelica knew it was absurd to think that each incursion was a prelude to another attack. She wasn’t being rational. By mid-afternoon she’d worked herself into a state where she flinched at the tiniest unexpected sound.
“Lt. Colonel DeKieran handpicked us for this duty. I will keep you safe.”
The cool, grating voice came from a massive figure of ripped muscle—with breasts. The buzz-cut blonde woman—it had taken two, lengthy, surreptitious gazes by Angelica to confirm the sex of her companion—prowled her office like an oversized, golden lionne. Horrifying weapons bristled from multiple points on her figure-hugging body armor and her eyes had a flat hardness that only comes from staring at death on a routine basis.
“It’s good—what you’re doing for this planet—your work with these women.” Angelica’s guard tossed choppy words at her gruffly. “Asan off-worlder, you might not understand, but these genetically unique women are vital if the Verdantians are to interact with their Great Mother, the sentience that inhabits this planet. Without these forty women…” The guard shook her head. “The Verdantians’ way of life dies with their queen and a few others with the essential genes.”
Her guard’s comments interrupted Angelica’s futile attempts to enter a new treatment protocol into a patient file. Angelica placed her unsteady hands over each other on the desk to disguise their shaking and slumped in her chair with a helpless laugh. “Tell me something I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. But my patients must be able to work the ‘high magicks’ or it doesn’t matter. I’m also aware that I will sentence these women to insanity if I send them into the world less than mentally whole.” Angelica threw a helpless glance at her guard.
The woman held her gaze unsmiling.“I have watched your work and I talk to the women. You won’t fail.”
“I wish I was so sure,” she whispered.
“I am sure,” her guard stated flatly.
It’s ridiculous how three words from a stranger can lift you. Silence descended and lingered until Angelica straightened in her chair and turned to face her guard. “I’ll wager your name gives you grief from time to time.” She forced a smile. “Eva Sweet. Professional mercenary, now a Blue Dagger, with mad skills in hand-to-hand combat and blowing things up. Sorry, I don’t remember the technical terms.” At the guard’s raised eyebrow, Angelica cleared her throat and offered, “I’m not totally lacking in self-preservation. I did study the dossiers Steffania gave me so I would know my guards.”
A startled look flashed across Eva’s face for a nanosecond, and then the woman grinned. “Few have the balls to comment on my name.”
“I’m sorry to be so jumpy. I don’t question your skill. It’s fatigue. I slept poorly last night. I think I’m going to make a short workday of it. Are you my escort back to my residence?” In spite of her words, Angelica still felt exposed, defenseless. At some point, the notion that only Tristan DeHelios could safeguard her had anchored itself securely in her psyche. She knew it was ridiculous, but the presence of Tristan, and no other, meant safety.
“No, ma’am. I’m off when you leave the medcenter. Tiny and his team pulled the residence watch. Give me a moment to find him and I’ll walk you out.” When Angelica nodded, the woman spoke into a communication device on her wrist, then glanced toward Angelica. “Tiny’s on his way.”
As they walked toward the exit, a huge hulk lumbered through the door with a side-to-side gait that bulky muscle gives a male. He, too, wore body armor with weapons protruding like the poisoned quills on a hystrix. Angelica laughed softly. “Military humor? I’m guessing this gentleman is ‘Tiny’?”
Eva Sweet’s lips quirked. “Yeah, that’s Tiny. Some of us wear bodysuits that augment our strength and size, but not Tiny. That’s all him.”
“Do you? Wear augmentation?” Angelica glanced at Eva and was surprised when the woman turned red and looked anywhere but at her.
“Ah, no, ma’am. That’s a negative. This is me.” Eva cleared her throat and briskly performed the introductions. “Dr. Giverny, this hulk is Richard Shuman, better known as Tiny. He and a four-man unit are assigned to your residence until 2400 hours. After that you will have Bodie James and another four-man unit until 0800.”
Angelica smiled and offered her hand to the towering human male. “Hi, Richard. Ah, thank you. I hope I’m not keeping you up past your bedtime.” Her quip got the laugh she desired.
“No ma’am. Not a problem. And call me Tiny. Only my maw calls me Richard.”
Escorted by her guard, she meandered home. Tiny proved to be a garrulous companion and engaged her in nonstop chitchat until she reached her door. She learned he was from Nembus II, with a maw, daw, and four sisters at home, had been with the Daggers for ten years, thought Steffania DeKieran was one “tough, ballsy commander,” and had no ambition other than to be a soldier. In many ways, he reminded her of the men on Talleo IV—competent, amicable and, she sighed, dull.
Tris had been gone a few scant hours and already she missed his larger-than-life presence. Without his unspoken challenge, she felt as if the day lacked vitality. When had he transformed from being an irritant to a man who created a void when not present? She shivered at the thought of his increasing importance to her. In that direction lay danger of a different sort. When was Captain DeLan due back? It could not be soon enough. She walked into the main room and addressed her AI.
“Sir?”
“Good afternoon, Dr. Giverny. Please be advised Creator DeHelios has instituted AI protocol 3.75a. I now respond to ‘computer’. Creator DeHelios changed my facade to one ubiquitous and less personalized. I hope this meets with your approval.”
A green holographic image of an androgynous humanoid sparkled in front of her, a slight smile on its bland face. Gone was Tristan’s husky growl. The voice could have been the voice of any newscaster on the info-vids. Angelica sank onto the sofa, overwhelmed by a feeling of abandonment. Tristan had done what she’d asked. Why wasn’t she pleased? “Thank you, Sir, ah, computer. You look fine. Please start a bath, water temperature, one hundred degrees earth standard, aenean bath salts. Lights at twenty percent.”
She soaked in the steamy water until her skin shriveled and afternoon day
light paled into dusk. Wrapped in nothing but her softest robe, she programmed a light dinner into her replicator and carried the steaming plate and its contents to her couch. She tried to lose herself in some entertainment vid, but after the events of the previous day, no drama on holo-screen could compete with her real life. Angelica sighed and rose listlessly to open the beverage cooler. It wouldn’t hurt to self-medicate with a bottle of her favorite fermented liquid. After far too much Zeta Starlight, Angelica finally dozed off in front of the media center, gripping a couch pillow to her chest. She startled out of a fitful sleep. Loud shouts from the outside banished most of the effects of the liquor and her semi-stupor. She clutched the pillow and her robe, her heart beating triple time.
“Computer, display exterior security cams, lower interior lights to twenty percent.” The monitor lit, displaying multiple dark figures below her fanned out in a radius from her cottage. The blue light from lazar sights on pulsar-rifles created pencil-line striations in the dark as they panned the open area around her living quarters. A chime sounded and the voice of Angelica’s AI informed her that Richard Shuman stood at the ground-level door to her apartment and wished to speak with her. “Richard? What’s going on?”
A small holographic image of Tiny appeared in the air above her head. “Possible intruder, ma’am. Stay inside. If you haven’t secured your doors and windows, do so. I’ll get back to you.”
“But, but… how am I supposed to know…” The holographic image dissipated. He was gone. Angelica cast a helpless glance around her darkened apartment. There was no place to hide in the large open space.
“Computer.”
“Yes, Dr. Giverny.”
“Implement security protocol… Oh, shit! Oh, shit! What is it? Alpha Eight! Alpha Eight!”
“Acknowledged. Confirmed opacity for all exterior windows at one hundred percent. All perimeter doors and windows locked and armed for intrusion alert. Interior motion detection alarms armed. Security protocol Alpha Eight, engaged. Dr. Giverny, do you wish all interior lights extinguished?”
“Yes.”
Paranoia drove her to check the lock on the balcony doors and the door to the interior stairs linking Tristan’s apartment. Crossing to a low sideboard, she opened a small drawer and withdrew an innocuous metallic ovoid. The miniaturized plazar emitter held only enough charge for two or three lethal pulses and its range was severely limited, but it fit in the palm of her hand. It fired without kickback and its operation was simple. Point your finger and press. Other than the limited range, the emitter had only one drawback: its trigger was devilishly sensitive.
As the glass windows and doors turned black and the interior lights extinguished, Angelica huddled in a ball of anxiety in the corner of the sectional, the plazar emitter nested in her lap. Only the stark greens, reds and blues of display lights lit the room. I want Tristan. She was independent and self-sufficient. She wanted Tristan. She had status and a respected position in her field earned through merit. At that moment, though she knew the Blue Daggers were competent, for her peace of mind she needed Tristan DeHelios. That thought worried her almost as much as a possible intruder.
Long excruciating minutes ticked by. The sounds of activity outside her residence faded. Her ears strained for anything out of the ordinary. She startled when the air filled with the chime of her AI. “Dr. Giverny?”
“Yes, computer?”
“The entity Richard Shuman has communicated that the grounds are secure. No intruder present. He requested that you remain inside for the remainder of the evening. He and his team will secure the patient residences and remain in the area.”
“Thank you, computer. Indicate ‘message received’ to Mr. Shuman.”
“Yes, Dr. Giverny.”
Absolute quiet descended. Angelica debated whether to go to bed or be productive and catch up on the ever-present paperwork. Subtle sounds of movement in Tristan’s apartment below filtered through the heavy silence and her decision became easy. A strobe of red light, the motion detector, flashed above the primary security panel. A sick sense of dread mixed with the desire to run pell-mell out of her apartment. Both competed with the cold practical knowledge she was safest staying put, but it took every scrap of courage she could cobble together to remain on that sofa.
“Computer?” she whispered.
“Yes, Dr. Giverny.”
Angelica labored to inhale and a feeling of nausea rose in the back of her throat. She palmed the plazar emitter.
“Connect me with Richard Shuman.”
Angelica hung onto her composure with all the self-discipline she possessed. She must remain clear-headed for the next few minutes. Her life might depend on it.
“Shuman here. What’s your sit-rep?”
“What?” she said.
“What the fuck’s going on?” Urgency and impatience vibrated in his tone.
“I hear sounds in the apartment below and the motion detector has tripped. It can’t be Tristan. He would have disarmed it.”
She heard the sound of muffled curses.
“Copy that. We’re thirty seconds away.”
She caught the vehement beginning of another curse before the connection died. Long minutes passed. Too long. Faint sounds of activity below filtered upstairs. Her anxiety built. Where was Richard? He said he’d be here.
She heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Angelica huddled further into the sofa and pointed the plazar emitter at the door with a hand that shook. Horror pierced her as the lever handle turned.
The soft chime of her AI sounded. “Dr. Giverny, the—”
“Mute audio,” she gasped. Any distraction now could be fatal.
She’d locked that door. She knew she had. Her breath came in ragged inhales. Clicks echoed in the silent room as something or someone overrode the door lock.
Anger at her helplessness and a grim determination to take her assailant with her into death almost displaced her fear—almost. She pointed the plazaremitter at the door, but her hand trembled so badly she doubted she’d hit what she aimed at. Two or three shots at most. Make them count. She tried to steady the emitter with her other hand while her eyes drilled a hole through the door handle. Once again, the handle rotated. This time the tumbler clicked and released. The door opened, propelled by an invisible force. Oh, god! She shrank lower into the sofa, held her breath, and…
Chapter Eight
Tristan waded into the intimate bar and immediately identified the Khlossian, Tok, at a secluded table in a corner niche. A being of his size was impossible to miss. The dim lights and standing-room-only crowd did little to disguise the behemoth. Ramsey and Steffania DeKieran and the Blue Dagger Eva Sweet sat with him. Through breaks in the crowd, he saw empty mugs and half-eaten food littering the table in front of them. They’d been there for some time. He was late, but it couldn’t be helped. For his own piece of mind, he had needed to see Angelica safe to her workplace, and then he’d had a little reconnaissance of his own to perform.
From the dour faces Tok and group wore, the subject under discussion was troublesome. Tris slipped through bodies and up to the table, snagged a chair around and straddled it like a horse. “Why the grim faces?”
“This Blue Dagger,” Tok gestured to Eva Sweet, “intercepted communications indicating the imminent arrival of imita mekanikos in the city. We have a day or two before they reach Verdantia. They will be here for only one reason—to kill or capture Angelica Giverny. We must move Dr. Angel out of Arkodaenia for her own safety. The electromagnetic forces present on this planet—those outside of Arkodaenia—will make fighting the mekanikos less…impossible.” The words rumbled from Tok’s mouth like boulders grinding together. Even so, Tris leaned forward to hear over the clash of discordant sound that some band considered music.
Steffania DeKieran abbreviated her swallow of brew, putting her mug down with a solid thunk. “I repeat. I don’t care for your idea.”
“I understand the point you make, Ramsey’s woman, but you wo
uld make Dr. Angel bait. You cannot play with her life in such a heedless manner.”
The cool voice of Ram intervened. “Every effort will be made to ensure Angelica’s safety. We are not without resources, particularly in Arkodaenia. If she stays in the medical compound, we can keep her safe.”
The large being squinted at Ramsey. “You have never faced imita mekanikos, ignorant Verdantian. You have no knowledge of what they are capable of.”
Ramsey scowled, then shrugged. “Truth. Until an hour ago, I’d never heard of them.”
“So, enlighten me. What the fuck are imita mekanikos?” Tris swung his head back and forth between Ramsey and Tok.
Ram held Tok with a steady gaze. “You want to take this?”
Before Tok could respond, Steffania spoke. “The ‘meks’ are highly advanced, highly intelligent alien constructs of organic and inorganic composition with the ability to mimic whatever form or shape they desire. Some long-forgotten alien intelligence created them. They’re sophisticated far beyond our current genetic or technological knowledge. My unit had a run-in with them during the cyborg wars on Devon III. Somehow, the Devonians unearthed and activated the mekanikos.” Her expressive face closed down and her eyes became farseeing. “Remorseless and single-minded—impossible to kill.” A nasty smile distorted her lovely face. “I want them. I have a blood debt to pay.”
“And you are using Dr. Angel to bait your trap,” Tok said.
Steffania turned an implacable expression to him. “She is not bait. You agreed the meks will hunt Angelica until they have her. Removing Angelica from Arkodaenia will prolong her danger and delay or render useless all her dedicated work at the medcenter. Over forty women depend upon Angelica to provide an ongoing daily treatment program that will return them to functioning society. Ridding ourselves of these vermin could take weeks if not months. What do you propose our extensively educated, impressively skilled cerebral neuro-specialist do while she is waiting somewhere ‘safe’ for us to deal with the ‘meks’? Darn socks?” Steffania smashed her fists on the table and glared at Tok. “In Arkodaenia we at least have the advantage of technology absent from the rest of Verdantia and Angelica can continue the work to which she has dedicated her life.”
Hers to Captivate Page 9
