Her plain face with the haunted velvet-brown eyes peered up from the holoplas. “Come near me again, and I’ll rip your balls off and stuff them up your nose with the finger I bite off.”
The holoplas went black with a faint whizzle.
Tapping at the boards, he couldn’t reestablish the link.
A million questions surged in his mind. Within moments, the live audvid request again flashed red. He traced it back to Windmere. Mary again? Trying to tap his ship? He verified a complete lockdown three times before he opened the channel.
“What took you so long?” Duster’s furious face leaned close to the camera. “I’ve got a job for you.”
Relived that Duster still drew breath, Foster nonetheless held back his hand like an expert poker player. “What job?”
“Find Mary.”
“You mean that crazy chick who scares the crap out of you?” Foster gave Duster a wry smile.
“She scared the crap out of you too,” Duster said pointedly.
“Scary Mary got away, did she?” Foster asked as if it were news to him. No way was he going to admit the woman in question just called and threatened him. If Duster didn’t know, Foster certainly wasn’t going to enlighten him, not when she’d broken Windmere security. Doing so pretty much confirmed Foster’s estimation that Mary was one scary and dangerous lady to mess with.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Duster sighed like he’d been running a marathon. “I’m sitting here not believing it myself.”
“You want me to go get her and bring her back to you?” Foster couldn’t understand why. “I thought you wouldn’t feel safe with her in the same quadrant?”
“I want you to find her and give her whatever amount of money she wants on the condition she stays the hell away from Windmere.” Duster sounded dead serious and looked more determined than a gambler with a royal flush.
“What about Michael?” Foster sensed some kind of pissing match between the two of them. Not like that was anything new. Duster and Michael were best friends, but they’d always had a fairly combative relationship from what he could see.
“He’ll want her back,” Duster said. “I’ll pay you bonus to blow Michael off when he calls. Because he will.”
“How much?” Foster asked, not seriously considering the job but curious as to how far Duster would go to keep Mary away from his boss.
“To pay her off?” Duster pondered. “I don’t know. A couple of Mil. Just give it to her. I’ll give you double whatever she wants. I’ll give you triple the amount to tell Michael no when he tries to hire you to get her back.”
Foster wondered what would make Duster so desperate. “Last time I took such a generous deal, I found myself in a rather deep pickle barrel with my naked ass in the air.”
“You know what you’re getting with Mary,” Duster countered.
“Exactly.” Foster nodded. “I’m not going anywhere near her.” Partly because she threatened him, but even without her pointed warning, he didn’t want to deal with her again. “If she’s gone from Windmere, count yourself lucky. There’s no way in the ever-loving Void I’m going anywhere near her again.”
“Coward,” Duster said scornfully, leaning back in his chair, clearly disappointed but not all that surprised.
Foster let the insult slide for about half a second before he snidely returned, “I don’t see you all geared up to go after her.”
“Nash, you got her once—”
“Did that woman take a swipe at you?” Foster’s balls and finger throbbed with remembrance.
“Not directly, no.”
“She almost rendered me infertile with her knee, then almost bit off my trigger finger. For a lousy 180K. You can’t pay me enough to go after Scary Mary again.”
“I really need your help.”
“If you want to pay Mary off, you go find her yourself. I’ll tell Michael the same thing when he calls.”
“Swear?”
“I ain’t putting it in blood. Things change. For the moment, someone would have to make it painfully sweet to get me to go after her a second time. I don’t want to ever knowingly set foot within a hundred yards of that woman. A planet away sounds like a sane distance to keep.”
Duster frowned but had to admit, “I don’t blame you.”
“Besides, I’m a little busy at the moment.”
“Jynx Brennan.”
“Yeah.” Foster thought of the look on her face when he said she didn’t love him, and he winced at his folly. What in the Void had possessed him to say such a foolish thing? Had loneliness driven him to such pathetic depths?
“Roberts is demanding a full-scale investigation into how Jynx carried off her insidious plan without anyone knowing. Heads will roll.” Since Duster now understood that no amount of wheedling would sway Foster to change his mind about Scary Mary, he seemed content to move his mind to other matters.
“That’s why Roberts needs Jynx. Her head will make this whole mess disappear in a very clean and tidy way.” Foster gritted his teeth at the idea he’d been suckered in by money. If not for Laura ripping him off, he never would have desperately needed cash, and therefore never would have agreed to bring in Jynx.
Duster pulled out a handful of crackleseeds and began to munch them with practiced efficiency.
“One problem.” Foster dropped his gaze to the contract in his lap.
“For you?” Duster asked.
“I’ve got a hell of a lot more than one at the moment, my friend,” Foster said, thinking of Jynx willing and wanton in her cell. “But Roberts’s generosity and my greed may be a problem for Roberts.”
“You found something?” Duster dumped his spent pods to his vest pocket, then leaned over to check something in Windmere base command.
“Maybe,” Foster hedged. “I didn’t put in a reader restriction.”
“You’re kidding.” Duster’s eyes went wide. “That’s one of the ‘dur-heys’ of a Runner contract.”
“I know. That’s why I can’t believe it.” The irony of the lack of a dur-hey in the contract meant that he might automatically be able to invoke it. Reader restrictions were standard. That Foster mistakenly left it unwritten in the contract didn’t actually preclude him from invoking it.
“Is she? A reader, I mean?” Duster popped another seed between his teeth.
Foster didn’t want to reveal the cards in his hand, so to speak, but he welcomed the opportunity to discuss his mind. “Is there anything on the media about it, anything about any special ability Jynx has?” He’d never heard of projection, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t out there. Psi abilities were rare but varied in form and strength. He believed Jynx about what she could and couldn’t do. She just flat-out didn’t lie. As disturbing as he found her honesty, he respected her forthrightness. He would do his best not to take advantage, but frankly, taking advantage of Jynx wouldn’t be difficult at all.
“Not a breath about any ability,” Duster said. “Are you reaching here, Nash? You found something and are desperately trying to make it fit?”
“Maybe,” he hedged. “If I invoked the reader restriction, I’d have to prove Jynx is a reader, though, wouldn’t I?”
Duster nodded. “You’d also have to prove that at the time the contract was signed, Roberts knew Jynx was a reader.”
Therein crouched the troll. Foster could invoke the reader restriction, and he could prove Jynx was a reader, but how could he prove Roberts knew before signing the contract?
Duster whistled lightly. “There’s always the failsafe.”
Foster had left that “dur-hey” out of the contract along with the reader restriction. “Roberts won’t bring that up.”
“For something this big?” Duster tsked as he shook his head with a knowing grin. “You invoke the reader restriction, and I’m thinking Roberts will invoke the failsafe.”
Duster hit his worst fear on the head.
“No way. Triple triple triple?” Foster calculated in his head. “Rober
ts isn’t going to spend 270Mil to take Jynx out.” He found a bitter irony in the fact that was close to what Laura had bilked him for. Such a payout would put him right back where he was after twenty years of being a Runner. The ruthless bastard in his soul knew that in one fell swoop, he could play Jynx Brennan for a fortune and retire.
Jynx heard music thrumming through the ship shortly after Foster left the cell room. As she tried to identify the tune beyond the throbbing bass, she remade her bunk.
Apparently, he liked music with a beat that matched his pulse. Sexy throbbing notes shook his ship with a subtle nudge that teased and provoked.
Without warning, the cell room plunged to darkness.
“Nighttime.”
Her voice echoed in the room of six cages. Foster’s music continued to dance all around her like caresses that came close but never actually touched.
At what she estimated to be a sixteen/eight split, the lights went on and off like clockwork. In the dark, Jynx undressed and slipped on the flannel robe. She washed her panties and bra in the sink and hung them on the showerhead. Her dress smelled clean, so she draped it over the chair bolted down by the table. She washed her face and brushed her teeth.
Finding her way confidently in the dark, she crawled into her crisply made bunk.
The bass lessened as Foster turned down the volume. She had a brief thought that he knew she was going to bed and turned the music down for her, but she dismissed it. She shouldn’t go down that road of thinking he gave a care for her. Too dangerous.
Lying on her back with her hands over her head, she thought of Foster suddenly against her, grasping her hands, pinning her to her narrow bunk with the weight of his muscular body. Rolling her eyes back at the delicious thrill of the imagined sensations, she settled deeper into her bed with a lusty sigh.
If he watched her at the moment, he would know exactly what she was thinking. She didn’t care. Heaven help her, she wanted him to see the truth of what she’d said earlier. What added to the lovely torment was she shouldn’t want him the way she did. If he stood a treat beyond her reach, she stood one beyond his.
She was a caged woman desperate to seduce her jailer. Not that she wanted to get away. No, no. If he gave her the key to her cell, she would lock him in with her. She wanted to stay on the Damn You with Never-Fail Nash and immerse herself in the pure pleasure of his touch. She thought about his nickname with a new and lusty twist.
“I’ll bet you never fail to deliver, especially in the sack.”
Pressing her lips together, she tried to stop the chugging train of her thoughts but was woefully unsuccessful. What was wrong with her? Had her looming demise made her nothing but a woman driven by baser instincts? Between her legs, she grew moist and then downright wet as she let her imagination take the musical beat thrumming through the ship and make it physical with the thought of his body grinding against hers.
It wouldn’t solve anything if they let passion sway them. Sex would only make things more complicated, but she didn’t care. With a week left, she wanted to do all the things she’d never done. Indulging herself in a reckless passion with a man who held her very life in his hands was crazy. But why not? How could it really hurt anything?
Reluctantly, she’d accepted her fate and come to terms with what she could not change. But then she realized she wasn’t the only one who could be hurt. For all his bluster and fierce pride, Foster Nash was an honorable man. Yes, he was a bounty hunter, living on the Fringe, doing what he had to do to survive, but she had a feeling he’d done his best to live without hurting anyone, especially not a lady.
She wondered then, if the reason he held back was from the fear of being hurt or from the fear of hurting someone he idealized. Foster already hurt over the position Roberts forced him into; that was clear enough. Perhaps he didn’t want to compound the problem by taking what she so willingly offered. Foster seemed to feel guilty for even wanting her, regardless if she wanted him.
Frustrated, she rolled to her side, trying to understand his reluctance. Foster had a marshmallow heart despite his open hostility. As she lay there, one hand above her head and the other pressed to her heart, she considered what he’d said right before he left.
You don’t love me.
Was that the problem or the solution?
Did he want her to love him? Wouldn’t that make the noose around his neck tighter? Or did he fear that she would come to love him if they slept together? Sex didn’t equal love to her, but perhaps Foster feared it might. If she loved him, that would make the inevitable, handing her over to Roberts, even more painful for him.
“I don’t want to fall in love with you, Mr. Nash. I just want to have sex with you. If only once.” She wouldn’t fall in love with him. That wouldn’t be wise, and she didn’t consider herself a stupid woman. She had a few days of life left. Most people didn’t know the time of their demise. Most people probably wouldn’t like to know, but since she did, she was determined to take advantage. Jynx would like nothing better than to spend her remaining moments in Foster’s arms.
He couldn’t save her.
She wasn’t asking him to.
He’d told her again and again that he wouldn’t let her go, and she still wanted him. With limited time left, she would enjoy spending her last days in the arms of big blond hulking erotic nightmare from a thousand IWOG tales.
Chapter Ten
“Damn it!” Foster winced and tore off a bit of toilet paper and stuck it to the deep nick he’d just cut into his chin. He continued shaving around the oozing slice. “Stop thinking about Jynx and you won’t rip the hell out of your face.”
He tossed the razor into the sink with a disgusted grunt. If he would have taken the thirty minutes while on-world, he could have gotten a replacement for his electric shaver, but he’d been too cheap and too hell-bent to nab Jynx.
“Stupid!”
As if talking to himself wasn’t bad enough, now he started yelling at himself. Bellowing wouldn’t relieve his frustration. Knowing it was pointless didn’t seem to curb his inclination to do it one bit either.
He finished shaving, then debated splashing on aftershave. Jynx noticed the mix of spices and confessed she found the scent pleasing. Realizing that he stood there debating it for a good five minutes, he stomped out of the bathroom without splashing the cologne on.
Automatic actions suddenly became infinitely debatable. Who was he doing it for? Him or her? When he caught himself sifting through his T-shirts, looking for the new blue one that matched his eyes, he dropped to the floor and popped off thirty pushups.
Covered with a thin sheen of sweat, he pulled on the ugliest shirt he had. Mustard yellow motton with grease stains and a hole under the right arm stretched over his chest. Yanking out his rattiest pair of jeans, those held together by a hope and a prayer, he pulled them on defiantly.
“And just who am I defying here?”
Grunting, he slapped on his belt, hooked up his gear and stomped his way to the kitchen. He debated what Jynx might like for breakfast, then deliberately tried to find something she wouldn’t.
Rolling his eyes at his asinine behavior, he yanked the first thing he found out of the pantry, threw it into the micro, then stomped his way to the cell room with her meal steaming on a tray.
Jynx sat on her bunk, already showered and dressed and looking so sexy he wanted to yank his clothes right back off, hers too, then spend the day making love to her on that thin mattress. Afterward they could make a fort out of it and pretend that they were the only two people in existence. Superheroes with the hots.
“Good morning, Mr. Nash.” Her eyes followed him, unblinking, gleaming with longing.
Afraid if he said anything he would likely yell it, he slid the tray of food under her cell door. Even getting that close to her, with solid durosteel bars between them, he felt a lusty determination possess his body. If it came right down to it, he’d bite his way through those bars to get to Jynx. He gulped and backed off.
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br /> “Thank you.” She picked up the tray, giving him a far too brief glance of her cleavage, stood and set the food on the table. She sat and flicked the paper napkin to her lap. She ate as she peered at him with those otherworldly eyes. Never in his life had he ever seen eyes like that. Lavender sweet and so open, so honest, and from such an impossibly lovely face.
He told himself to leave, but he couldn’t get his legs to obey his brain’s commands. His eyes were a bit too busy watching every move Jynx made.
“How are you feeling today?” Shoulders thrust back, her head high, she ate as if she sat in a five star IWOG restaurant.
He growled. He hadn’t meant to, but that was what he did. Curse himself a thousand nasty names, but he gazed at her like an animal in rut, a wild beast barely held at bay by a veneer of civility.
“Pardon me?” Ever polite, she set her fork aside as she waited for his answer. She tilted her head back, exposing the sleek expanse of her neck. He wanted to bite her neck and hear her gasp in surprise, pleasure, and ultimately surrender.
“Don’t you even get me started—” He swore he would not talk to her, yet, here he stood, bellowing at her again. What was it about her that drove him to act so nasty? “Just eat and be quiet.”
“While you watch me?” She took another bite.
“My ship. I’ll do what I want.” Now he sounded like an angry little boy.
“Didn’t you sleep well?” She took a bite with cultured refinement. After chewing and swallowing, she dabbed her lips with her napkin. “You look exhausted.”
“I slept just fine.” No he didn’t. Half the night, he’d twisted in his sheets with visions of a naked Jynx running through his mind. Well, not running. Actually, she’d been twisting around in his blue sheets with him. That was why he was so pissed off right now. He wanted her there, in his bed, not just in his mind. He longed to touch her and taste her and do things to her that would make her as wild for him as he was for her. What made everything worse was that she wanted him to do all those things to her.
“I slept exceptionally well.” She took another bite that she slowly chewed, and swallowed. “I dreamt of you. Very vivid. I could have sworn you were with me, but sadly, I woke up alone.”
Runner: The Fringe, Book 3 Page 8
