Caught in Amber

by Pegau, Cathy

  She laid her hands flat on the table. “I do know it. I told you, I don’t want to get involved with him in any way, shape or form. I appreciate the status change, but that’s not going to do more than get me to listen to your story. I doubt you could tell me something that will persuade me otherwise.”

  “Then I won’t tell you,” he said, reaching for his comm. “I’ll show you.” A tap of the screen brought up a pic of a young woman with long, curly hair. “This is Rebecca Cornish. Look familiar?”

  Sasha studied the face and shook her head.

  He pulled up another pic. “Abby Reese?”

  Another negative response.

  He arranged the images of the vibrant, smiling girls side by side on the screen. “It’s difficult to see in this light, but both these women have the same hair color, the same fair skin tone, and their features are similar. To yours, Sasha.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So?”

  “Christiansen was a bastard to you, but he never stopped thinking about you. Or, in his twisted little way, caring for you.” He gestured toward the screen. “These girls were your replacements.”

  Sasha shook her head. “Once I left, he forgot all about me. Ignored me.”

  “Because you hurt him by leaving. It was the only way he could deal with losing you. Until Rebecca came along. Then Abby.”

  And now Kylie.

  Sterling took a deep, steadying breath to keep his voice from shaking with the anger and fear coursing through him. “Here are the latest shots of them.”

  The images that replaced the ones on the screen were a harsh pool of brightness. Sasha flinched away from the comm. Sterling couldn’t blame her; he’d been sickened the first time he saw them too. They still made him nauseated, made him want to hurt Christiansen in so many ways he’d lost count.

  Rebecca Cornish’s luxurious mane was matted and lank, her eyes half closed, unseeing. A dark bruise marred the pasty gray skin of her left cheek. A trickle of blood had run from her nose, smeared across her upper lip.

  Abby Reese appeared to be asleep, her brow smooth as a child’s, the face of an angel. Beautiful. Except for the caved-in skull.

  “Christiansen did this?” Sasha’s voice was strained and quiet. He barely heard the words over the music.

  “No,” he said, noting a flicker of relief cross her face. “Not directly.” Her eyes met his, and while he regretted her disgust and fear, he was glad for it too. “Rebecca was killed during a correctional facility brawl. She was in on a felony assault charge herself after Christiansen tossed her out and she went searching for amber. Abby was found in the last car of a PubTrans train late one night. A deal gone bad, the local constables said. This is what happened after Christiansen got tired of them. What could have happened to you.”

  Her face paled. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the stage. “Lucky me, it didn’t.”

  Sterling leaned closer, his voice grating in his throat. “Help me stop him from causing another girl’s death.”

  She faced him again, eyes blazing. Her gaze held him captive in its intensity. “Why? I got myself out from under his thumb and managed to survive. Why should I risk my ass for someone else?”

  “Not everyone’s as strong, or as lucky, as you.”

  “Yeah, real lucky.” Sasha turned away. “It’s not my problem.”

  “No, it’s mine.” He grasped her upper arm—her skin felt chilled through the thin blouse even in the overheated club. Her eyes snapped back to his, and he leaned close, close enough to smell the enticing mix of flowery soap and a hint of beer on her breath.

  “Christiansen has my kid sister.”

  * * *

  The way he said it, the way his hot hand trembled on her arm, Sasha knew his sister was just that: a kid. Probably not much past legal.

  She closed her eyes against his urgency. Damn him. He wasn’t trying to take Christiansen down as some lawman exercise. That she could have walked away from without another thought or care. He wasn’t seeking justice for complete strangers, admirable as that sounded. No, he had to be doing it for someone he cared about. Someone vulnerable. Someone who probably thought Christiansen could hand her the world.

  Someone like the girl she’d been, once upon a time.

  She’d lived the life of a fairy-tale princess under Guy’s roof. Parties, clothes, fine foods and rubbing elbows with Pandalus’s elite in business and entertainment. For a girl from the middle of nowhere—which was quite remote on an under-populated planet like Nevarro—it was a dream come true after she’d run away to the big city on the northern continent’s east coast. But the dream started to crumble when Sasha had become caught in amber. Then it turned into a nightmare when she’d been remanded, sick and angry, to Nevarro’s Correctional Rehabilitation Center.

  The detox program had slammed her like a pulse cannon. Had she been lucky not to die on the street or in the correctional facility? It didn’t feel that way during withdrawal, not when the pain in her head and gut made her pass out or puke, often both. The NCRC medicos had given her something to lessen the effects, but withdrawal still incapacitated her for days at a time.

  Had she been strong to survive that? Hardly. Just too much of a coward to slit her wrists.

  She wouldn’t wish Christiansen or amber on her worst enemy, but she couldn’t risk it for herself. Not again.

  Sasha opened her eyes. Sterling stared at her, his jaw muscles bunched, trying to keep control. He wasn’t the only one. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “Please.” His fingers bit into her arm for a nanosecond before he relaxed his grip and let go. “Please. I just need you to introduce us. He’ll trust you, and I need that trust to reach Kylie.”

  A humorless bark of a laugh broke from her throat. “He doesn’t trust me. He hates me.”

  “No, Sasha, he loves you. He’s loved you, through them.” He tapped the comm on the table. “But they didn’t live up to what you gave him. He loves you, and he’ll want to trust you. Like you trusted him before he deserted you.”

  She shook her head. “No. Guy Christiansen doesn’t know how to love, only how to possess. How do you know what it was like with me and him? Who the hell are you?”

  Sterling wrapped his hands around his beer glass as Jules came up to the table. She deposited two steaming plates of beef empanadas with red pepper dipping sauce from her tray. “Donal is cooking, so the chimichurri is super hot tonight. Be warned.”

  “Thanks.” Sasha drank half her beer down in a few gulps. Maybe it would help her forget this conversation ever happened. “Another round of these, too.”

  Her roommate eyed Sterling warily. He continued to stare down into his glass. “You okay, Sasha?”

  She forced a shaky smile. “Sure.”

  Jules stayed at the table for another few seconds, waiting for their pre-arranged “Get this jerk away from me” signal. When Sasha didn’t give it, Jules nodded and moved off.

  A heaviness settled in Sasha’s chest for a moment. Level Two parole status meant she would be moving out of the halfway house. Would Sterling help her find a new place? Wherever it was, she probably wouldn’t see Jules every day, maybe ever again. Parolees weren’t the “keep in touch” sort. Sasha could lose the one person she’d met since getting out of the NCRC whom she really liked. But if Jules knew it meant a chance to deactivate the chip, she would understand. Hell, she’d probably want to help. Not that Sasha could tell her.

  “You were more or less right pegging me as a lawman,” Sterling said just loud enough to hear over the music. “But I’m not a constable or sheriff. I’m a senior agent with the Colonial Mining Authority.”

  Sasha frowned. A government man? The CMA regulated the keracite mining industry—the economic backbone of Nevarro. Its enforcement branch of agents left day-to-day legal issues, like drug dealers
and other criminal activity, to the Justice and Corrections Departments or local authorities. “What does the government want with Christiansen?”

  “Nothing. That’s my problem,” he said, his tone bitter. “Kylie went to Christiansen of her own accord, got hired on with his PR department. She’s of age. No crime has been committed. The CMA has no jurisdiction even if there had been.” He took a large swallow of beer, wiping the foam from his lips with the back of his hand. When he looked at her again, none of the anger at Christiansen or the CMA showed on his face, but she knew it was still there. “I figured I had to go in and get her myself, so I accessed interagency links with Justice and Corrections for information on Christiansen and his operations, legal and otherwise. Several sources of data on him mentioned you. When I decided to go after her, I thought you could provide the connection I needed.”

  Of course he had. Her life hadn’t been her own since she’d met Guy Christiansen. First it became entwined with his, then open to scrutiny by any law or government agency with due cause.

  “You know we were close. That I did everything and anything with him. We were more than dealer and user. We were companions. Lovers.” Her stomach threatened revolt at the memories. She watched Sterling for a reaction.

  He remained expressionless, his eyes ice cold.

  “What made you think I’d help?”

  “Because he deserted you? Made you an addict? Ruined your life?”

  She shook her head and sighed. “No. I ruined my life. He was just there to provide the means.”

  “Making excuses for him?” Sterling sneered, his disgust for Christiansen—for her weakness?—undeniable.

  Sasha traced the spot where the chip was embedded in the side of her neck. “No. Never. I’m just being honest with myself. For once.”

  His sneer melted into a frown. “I can appreciate that, and I want my sister to get the hell away from him before her life is ruined, or worse.” He rubbed the scar on his forehead with the side of his finger. “I tried going through channels but got stonewalled.”

  “He has the local constabulary pretty much in his pocket,” she said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a few regional offices on the payroll as well.”

  Sterling nodded and lowered his hand, weariness in his eyes. “I know. Thought it better to back off for now rather than force things and make myself known to him.” He winced. “Or scare Kylie into hiding from me.”

  And she would, Sasha knew, because she had done that exact thing when her father came for her. Christiansen’s security insulated him and his entourage from the outside world when necessary. She hadn’t cared about her family while she was caught in amber, but their refusal to even accept a message from her since then hurt more than detox ever had.

  “You want me to do what, Sterling? Get back into Christiansen’s good graces to save your sister? I barely saved myself, and that was unintentional.” Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Crying for herself had ended long ago; she wasn’t going to resume now.

  “I can’t force you to help me.” His hands fisted on the table.

  Sasha studied the white knuckles, the blue veins bulging beneath ruddy skin. The hair on the backs of his hands was blond and fine, almost invisible. Slowly, she brought her gaze up to his face. “But you will if you have to?”

  His eyes widened slightly as if in surprise, perhaps insulted. He glanced down at his hands and flattened his palms on the table. “No. Of course not. But if you help me, I can help you.”

  “How? Get me a job in one of the keracite mines? No, thank you.”

  “Name your price. What do you want?”

  What did she want for being face to face with Guy Christiansen again? Something Sterling couldn’t ever give her. She said it anyway, unable to hide the smirk that curled her lips. She’d be back in her flat in no time. “Deactivate the chip.”

  He stared at her for several heartbeats. She remained still to show she wasn’t scared of him, that her pulse wasn’t suddenly pounding in her head or that her throat had dried as he leaned closer, giving her a hint of his earthy, masculine scent.

  He raised his hand, and the tip of his finger feathered over the skin covering her offender status chip. She shivered. An electric pulse surged from the point of contact, through her chest and along her limbs.

  His voice rumbled through her, low and earnest, as he replied, “I can do that.”

  * * *

  Sasha jerked back as if his touch burned her, bumping her chair into the wall. “That’s not funny.”

  Sterling lowered his hand to his lap, curled his fingers against his palm and tried not to think about the softness of her skin. “I’m not trying to be funny.”

  He knew she’d demanded deactivation as a way out without outright refusing. Even after changing her status, Mickelson still owed him, but getting the tech to deactivate an offender chip would definitely swing the debt back the other way. It was well worth it to Sterling.

  “These things are permanent.” She covered the side of her neck with her hand, as if to protect it from accidental contact. “I’ll die if it’s tampered with.”

  She spoke with the conviction of someone who’d been warned ad nauseam, perhaps as a daily part of her routine at the NCRC. She was right. For the most part.

  Once embedded, the chips relayed information to the Corrections system database until the person died. Even after serving out their time, offenders were placed on inactive status but forever trackable. With another arrest, it was merely a matter of a few keystrokes to reactivate their chips. Disturbing the chip or the tissue within three centimeters of it, or any attempt to use electronic or magnetic disrupters, triggered the release of nanos that sent the person into cardiac arrest. Usually not fatal if the medics reached them in time.

  But the warnings offenders received weren’t completely true.

  “I know people,” he said.

  Her gray eyes narrowed. “Yeah? I’ve heard of those people. Back alley scammers who offer to fry your chip for a few thousand in cred chits. If they don’t kill you outright, you’re left drooling, sitting in a puddle of your own piss.”

  Sterling shifted closer to her, surprised she didn’t try to move away. Then again, with her chair against the wall there wasn’t much room for escape. “My friend in the tech department changed your status easily enough, didn’t he? Only current Corrections techs can reprogram or deactivate the chips.”

  Wariness furrowed her brow. “It’s one thing to change parole status. Why would he mess with my chip for you? Why wouldn’t he help you save your sister?”

  “The guy I know doesn’t have the kind of influence I need to get to Kylie.”

  “But he can get me out of the system without anyone the wiser.” She sounded skeptical, and he couldn’t really blame her.

  “You’d have the freedom to go where you want, when you want. Without Corrections or anyone else looking over your shoulder.”

  Hope blossomed in her eyes, but it was tempered by disbelief.

  “Help me, and I can make that happen for you.”

  “You want me to risk my neck to get Christiansen.”

  “Isn’t reclaiming your life worth it?”

  Lips pressed together, Sasha stared at him. He knew she was afraid of Christiansen, afraid of being that close to the temptation of amber again. Weren’t the physical dampeners in the chip enough to convince her she’d be able to resist, or was it something else? Once she helped him, she could have a normal life. Would she pass up that opportunity? He hoped not.

  “All you have to do is introduce us. I swear,” he said, holding her gaze and meaning every single word. “I will keep you safe to the very end.”

  Sasha didn’t speak for several seconds as she seemed to weigh his sincerity, weigh the risk. She swallowed hard. “What’s your plan?”

&nb
sp; Chapter Three

  “Not here.” Sterling rose and dug a few cred chits from his pocket. He tossed them beside the plates. “Want the food?”

  Sasha glanced down at the cooling empanadas, her stomach protesting the mere thought of eating. As it was, the beer sat in her gut like keracite slag. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  He offered his hand to her. “Me neither. Come on.”

  She stood to don her coat. “Where are we going?”

  Cupping her elbow, he guided her between tables and hooting customers toward the door. “Someplace I don’t have to tell the whole neighborhood what we’ll be doing.”

  Sasha couldn’t argue that. The noise of the club helped to mask their conversation to an extent, but some exchanges required more privacy, and this was going to be one of them. As they passed Jules, the dancer raised an eyebrow in question. Sasha mouthed, I’m okay, and waved. Her roommate nodded and returned to taking orders.

  Back in the alley, her ears thrummed in the relative silence. Sterling buttoned his coat and took a deep breath, blowing it out in a silvery stream. The temperature had dropped significantly in the short time they were inside. Tiny pellets of snow collected on his shoulders and caught in his short hair. A metallic bite to the air promised more of the same for the remainder of the night.

  “We can get some food later, if you want,” he said.

  Sasha shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets and hunched her shoulders. “Yeah, okay, but where are we going?”

  He took her elbow again, and she was surprised to feel the heat of him through the thick material of her coat. The gesture made her feel safe—even while it sent a nervous tremor through her. She resisted the urge to lean closer into him as they started to walk toward the street.

  “I’ve got a room.”

  Her sturdy shoes kept her feet firmly planted in the alley, forcing him to stop or yank her off balance.

  Sterling read the obvious question on her face. He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, disturbing the snowflakes. “We need privacy. The halfway house isn’t a good place for us to be seen together. We’ll talk. Nothing more.” He held a hand out, palm up. “Do you trust me?”