Escape Velocity (Off-World Series, Book 7): Sexy Science-Fiction Romance Novel

by Rebecca York

  “I’m going down,” Kado said. “You stay here in case something more interesting turns up.”

  “Sure.”

  Kado headed for one of the stair towers. When he reached the ground floor, he checked his communicator. “You read me?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “Okay. If I need you, I’ll call.”

  He vanished into the throng, and Lomax kept scanning the crowd. They’d been alerted to look for a woman illegal arriving in the next few days, and if they found her, it would mean a nice fat finder’s fee—plus a little unauthorized fun before they took payment.

  Chapter Six

  Max scanned the crowd as he steered Amber past a place selling sea delicacies—grown in tanks. A flash of movement from above caught his eye, and he looked up. But he saw only a guy wavering at the railing, then turn on unsteady legs toward the bar behind him.

  “What,” Amber whispered.

  “Just a drunk,” he said as he led her into a walkway lined with specialty shops. They turned a corner and then stepped into the establishment he’d been heading for. It sold reproduction art, and he ushered Amber to the back where a bearded man who looked to be in his fifties was shifting through a bin of twenty-first century advertising cards. It was Harry Makro, who ran a legitimate business to cover for the money he took in under the table.

  Harry looked up, a smile spreading across his face, probably because he knew Max wasn’t simply paying a social call.

  “Maxwell. What can I do for you?”

  “Can we talk in private?”

  Harry glanced toward the front of the shop. No one else was there, and he swept aside a bright fabric curtain that hid a metal door.

  He pressed his palm to the lock plate. When it opened, he stepped inside, and Max started to follow. When Amber held back, he took her arm and ushered her into a cramped office. As the door closed behind them, she went rigid.

  “It’s okay,” Max said.

  “Why are we locked in?”

  “So, nobody knows what we’re doing here.” He looked at Harry. “My lady friend needs papers.”

  Harry turned up the lighting and gave Amber a long look. “Nice disguise job.”

  “You can tell?”

  “Oh, come on. I’m a makeup expert.”

  “I hope my work holds up better in the general population.”

  “You’ll have to makeup it. I need to take a picture of her to go with the file.”

  Max swore. “Since when?”

  “Since too many people were taking advantage of the Danalon system.” He rummaged in one of his drawers, took out a pack of wipes and handed them to Amber. “Go in the bathroom and clean yourself up.”

  Harry didn’t ask why Max had brought this woman here. He didn’t ask where she had come from and why she needed an identity. He might be curious, but he would never pry.

  He pointed toward a door to his left, and she stepped inside.

  When she was gone, Max said. “And one other thing.”

  “Yeah, what?”

  Max told him.

  “You don’t trust her?”

  “Just a precaution.”

  The men waited for a few minutes before they heard water running inside.

  “How are you paying?” Harry asked.

  “Not my credit account. I brought some credits from a transaction on Palamar.”

  “Okay.” Harry held out his hand, and Max laid some credit slips on his palm.

  Harry shuffled through them.

  When Amber stepped out, Harry gave a long whistle through his teeth. “I see why you wanted to disguise this beauty.”

  “Yeah.”

  “First and last names,” Harry said.

  “Amber . . .”

  “Jackbo,” Max supplied

  “DOB?”

  “What . . .what is that?” Amber asked.

  “Date of birth.” He gave one that would fit her apparent age.

  “How much are you putting in her credit account?” the hacker asked.

  Max named a modest sum and handed over more credits. They wouldn’t get her far, but it would look odd if she had nothing in the bank.

  “Stand over there,” he said to her.

  She did as he asked, and he raised a device that was hooked up to the service unit on his desk.

  When he had taken a picture of her face and a close-up of her eyes, he had her press her fingers and palm to the view screen.

  Harry bent over the keyboard, processing the information he had obtained.

  “Accessing the Danalon database,” he said.

  Max didn’t ask how he got into a restricted government account. He only trusted that Harry wasn’t slatting him. He’d done business with the guy before, and it had always turned out okay.

  It took only a few minutes for a picture to appear on the screen. It showed a headshot of Amber. Below it was her handprint and a scan of her retina.

  Next, he showed them the Danalon central records, where they could see Amber Jackbo listed between Acana Jackbo and Arturo Jackbo.

  “All done.”

  Max bent to the screen, seeing there were more credits listed than he’d given Harry.

  “Where’d the extra heavy come from?” he asked.

  “As long as we’re starting from scratch, I can increase her pot a little. Not enough to make anybody wonder where the money came from.

  “Thanks.”

  Amber stared at the screen. “I have means of payment?”

  “Don’t get excited,” Max said. You could probably live on that for a month.”

  “How would I spend it?” she asked.

  “Your print will tell how much heavy you have.”

  “You didn’t use a print.”

  “Because I’m keeping this off the record.”

  “But I’m legal?” she whispered, looking a bit dazed and maybe a little apprehensive as she contemplated everything that had just happened.

  “Yup,” Harry answered.

  ###

  “Do I get a card or something?” Amber asked.She was pretty sure she didn’t, but she was stalling for time, trying to decide what to do.

  She was legal now. A citizen of Danalon, as far as anyone knew—if this man named Harry could be trusted.

  She could disappear into the crowd of people on the station, and Max would never find her. But was that what she really wanted?

  She might be legal, but she knew nothing about this place, nothing about life in the worlds outside Naxion besides a few things she’d learned from Max.

  The man named Harry was speaking.

  “No. The ID is in your hand and fingerprints—and in your retinas.”

  She nodded.

  Harry came up behind her. “Hold on a minute.”

  “What?”

  “Just adjusting your collar.” He touched the back of her neck, then stepped away.

  When she turned, she saw Max staring at her face with a mixture of admiration and unease. “I didn’t bring more makeup. Do you by any chance have a cloak with a hood she could wear?”

  “No. Sorry,” the print dealer said.

  Max repressed a curse. He should have thought of this further precaution before they left the Golden Fleece. When he contemplated taking Amber back through the central bazaar area, he shuddered, then remembered a boutique where Amber had wanted to stop.

  “Probably that dress shop will have something.”

  “We can stop there?”

  “Yeah. And I can get you something you’ll like better than my shirt and pants.

  She couldn’t keep excitement out of her voice. “Real women’s clothes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will it use a lot of my heavy?”

  “I’ll pay.”

  “Why?”

  “My treat. But we don’t want to stay here too long. Let’s go.”

  Amber turned to Harry. He was looking at her with an expression she thought was lust. It was another proof of what Max had told her. She was
a desirable woman here.

  She raised her chin. “Thank you.”

  “No prob,” the man answered, and she wondered what he would have done if Max weren’t with her.

  That reminded her once again that Max didn’t just lust for her. He seemed to care about her. And that was certainly worth a lot.

  Out in the corridor again, she whispered, “Harry—you trust him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “He spent some time on Ameti. He’s no fan of the system.”

  “What, what’s Ameti?”

  “A very nasty prison asteroid.”

  “What did he do to get there?”

  “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, like I was in the pilot training program,” Max answered, apparently unwilling to elaborate. “Come on. We’d better stick to business.” He turned to her and pulled some of her long hair to the front, partially hiding her face. “Keep your head down when we’re in the crowd.”

  “Okay.”

  They retraced their steps, heading for the dress shop called Ilina’s. Glad that it wasn’t too far away, Max whisked her quickly inside.

  A slender woman wearing a bright blue dress that flattered her pale skin tone glided up to them. She was aging, Amber thought, but she wanted to stay as attractive as possible. For her job? Or for her vanity?

  She gave Amber’s clothing a doubtful look, and her voice was questioning as she asked, “Can I help you?”

  Max ignored her reaction to the scruffy disguise. “We want to buy a cloak. And some practical outfits,”

  “What kind of cloak? And what kind of outfits?”

  “A cloak that will cover her head.”

  Amber was struck by the way Max had just walked in here and decided to buy a bunch of clothing. On Naxion, you made your own or hired a seamstress.

  She saw the woman’s attitude change. If these were legitimate customers, she would do her best to make a sale. This time her gaze was appraising on a different level as she studied Amber’s face and figure.

  “You would look stunning in evening attire.”

  “We don’t need any,” Max snapped.

  Amber kept her voice steady. Wondering if she was testing Max, she said, “I have my own money. I can buy something pretty.”

  “Save your credits for something you really need,” Max snapped.

  “A woman is entitled to look her best,” the woman said in a knowing tone.

  “Are you Ilina?” Amber asked.

  “Yes. And I do have some very nice half-price sale items that you might like.”

  “Why are they half price? Is something wrong with them?” Amber asked.

  “No, they are six months old, and I need to make room for new inventory that has just come in. Would you like to see them?”

  Max shrugged. “Okay, I guess we’ve got some time. Look at them if you want.”

  She longed to say she didn’t need his permission, but perhaps that was going too far. If he hadn’t rescued her, she wouldn’t be here at all. Had she won a victory, or did he just think that her spending her own money wasn’t an argument worth winning? She flashed him a little smile, as the shopkeeper pointed toward the back of the establishment.

  As Max turned toward a rack of blouse and trouser outfits, movement at the door caught Amber’s attention.

  A new customer? Someone who was a better prospect for Ilina?

  She turned, just as two men stepped smartly into the shop.

  Immediately she revised her assumption. They were not customers. They were criminals, she thought as she took in their hard-faced appearance. She took a step back but one of them lunged forward and grabbed her, quickly shifting his hold so that she was positioned in front of his body like a shield.

  Max instantly whirled, but the other man raised a metal stick and brought it down on Max’s head.

  As he crumpled to the floor, the shop woman screamed.

  “Max,” Amber gasped, before the man holding her clamped his hand over her mouth. When she bit down on his finger, he did something to her ribs that was like the stab of a fire stick in her side.

  She gasped and struggled to stay on her feet.

  His voice was hard and cold as one of the ship’s metal walls when he said, “Cooperate—if you want to live.”

  She was in too much pain to answer, but she was aware of her surroundings as he pulled her into the corridor. Desperately, her eyes scanned the people around them. Didn’t anyone care what was happening to this raggedly dressed woman?

  It seemed not. Residents here were intent on minding their own business.

  Chapter Seven

  Max felt something wet press against his forehead. His eyes blinked open, and he found himself staring up into the worried gaze of the shop woman.

  His head was pounding like a son of a bitch, and it took him a moment to remember what had happened. When he did, he tried to push himself up, but Ilina laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  “Stay down. You’ve been hurt.”

  “The woman who was with me?”

  “Two men snatched her and hustled her away.”

  “Fek,” he growled. Then, “Sorry.”

  “I understand.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “A short time. Maybe a minute.”

  He fought panic. “I have to find her.”

  He pushed himself up. When he got to his feet, he almost fell over. He stood swaying for a long moment, breathing hard. When he put his hand to the back of his head, it came away sticky with blood.

  “Slat.”

  “Let me see how bad it is,” the woman said.

  He wanted to rush out and find Amber, but in this kind of shape, he’d probably get himself killed instead of doing her any good.

  The woman was back with another cold compress, which she used to wipe some of the blood out of his hair.

  “Leave it,” he growled, knowing that the best thing to stop the bleeding now was to let it clot. Unless they’d split his skull.

  He winced as he probed the wound. It seemed to be only skin deep.

  “I can give you a stim.”

  He hated relying on drugs, but under the circumstances, he knew he could use some extra mojo.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  He took the bright orange tablet she offered and sucked on it as he headed for the door of the shop, then stopped short as he realized he needed to figure out where he was going. He hadn’t completely trusted Amber, and he’d asked Harry to slap a transponder on her when they’d finished the process of making her a citizen of Danalon. Now he thanked the fates that he had a way to find her.

  Leaning against the doorjamb, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the tracker, which he activated with his thumb. For a moment, there was nothing on the small screen, and an icy chill went up his spine. Could she already be off the station?

  Then a green dot appeared and began to pulse.

  It was over at the extreme right edge of the screen, and he hurried off in that direction, teeth gritted as he fought the pain still pulsing in his head.

  The dot slipped off the side of his monitor. When he got it back, it was moving in a direction that should be down the corridor he was following. He quickened his pace, expecting to see Amber around the next corner, but she wasn’t there.

  Still, it looked like he was at the same position as the dot. There could only be one explanation for the readout.

  He began searching the walls of the corridor and came to a door that was almost invisible in the dim light. With his beamer drawn, he cautiously opened the door. Nobody was on the other side, but he saw metal steps descending—confirming his guess that the men must have taken her to a lower level of the station.

  Stopping, he listened intently. There was no sound of footsteps on the stairs. Amber’s captors must have reached a lower level and taken her into a hidden corridor.

  With his beamer in his hand and his senses alert, he proceeded cautiously. The next do
or he came to was easier to see. He stepped through and consulted his tracker. He still saw Amber’s signal, but she wasn’t in this corridor.

  He went back to the stairs and repeated the procedure. Once again, when he saw Amber was not here, he cursed. How many levels did this damn place have?

  And who were these men? The best he could figure, they were hang-arounds—guys who had no steady job but who would do almost anything for money.

  Was this simply bad luck? Had they seen an opportunity to hold a beautiful woman for ransom? Did she look like she had arrived illegally? Or was somebody specifically looking for her? He couldn’t figure out their motive, but at least he was sure the men were still in the station. They could have hustled Amber directly to a docking bay and into a ship. This far into the depths of the station, they were either taking a tricky route to make it hard to follow, or they were taking Amber to a storage area.

  To do what? He shuddered as he kept closing the distance between himself and the pulsing beacon on the screen, wondering what he was going to do when he caught up with the trio.

  ###

  The man had moved Amber rapidly through the crowd and down several flights of steps. From there they accessed a musty side corridor, where water dripped down one of the walls. When they stopped, she wondered if they’d reached their destination. Instead, one of them opened a door and shoved her into another stairwell. The steps went in only one direction—down.

  “Hurry up,” the one who held her ordered, and she struggled to keep her footing as he hustled her along.

  She felt like she was being ushered into an underground cave. When she tried to wrench away, he slapped her.

  “Behave.”

  A few minutes ago, she’d been sparring with Max over whether she was allowed to buy a pretty dress. Now she prayed that he could find her. But how?

  She was on her own, and she knew that if she let these men take her where they wanted, she was dead. Or maybe she would only wish she were dead.

  Desperately, she dug her elbow into the side of the man who held her, trying to wrench away.

  He grabbed a fistful of her hair. Behind her, the other guy moved up, pressing something hard into her back. “You want me to cut you in two with a beam?”