Runner: The Fringe, Book 3

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Roberts’s eyes lit up with a thousand evil plans. Jynx fought down an urge to scream and run. Why he was telling Roberts this information?

  “The teeming masses want her head.” Victoria washed a freezing glance over her.

  “Yeah. For a woman like you, I don’t think you’re gonna have a problem putting together a false report. You got the tech-gear to do it.”

  A creepy smile oozed across Roberts’s face. “Keeping her prisoner until I can harvest her baby.”

  Jynx’s heart kicked hard at the word harvest. Breathing deep, she focused her eyes on the far wall of the grand courthouse as she fought down every survival instinct she had. She kept her eyes vacant and disinterested even as she tried to understand what role Foster played now.

  “How was she?” Roberts eyed Jynx from head to toe, coolly assessing her, almost as if they were potential rivals for Foster’s affections.

  Foster pinched her bottom. “Sweet. Tight. Way better than you.”

  Jynx had to practically bite her tongue not to react to his touch or what he said. Foster had slept with Roberts? Why? Why would any man want to sleep with such a cold and heartless woman? Maybe he’d been a little drunk and full of himself. Much how Jynx tumbled to bed with Brandt.

  “Don’t tell me you fell for the little terrorist?” Victoria asked.

  “Get real. I bedded her like you wanted. You know I don’t give a shit about anything but my contract.” Foster plucked another electronic gizmo off his belt. “Are you satisfied that the contract has been met in full?”

  “Her shackles were supposed to be loose so I could shoot her out there for the crowd.”

  “Reader baby. That’s worth a lot more, and you know it. If you’re not satisfied with the contract, then I can take the bitch back and we can renegotiate. Under the watchful media eye.”

  Roberts considered.

  Emotionless, Foster said, “Round one included the reader restriction, failsafe, hazard pay. Round two? I’m thinking I’m gonna make off like a bandit if you don’t fold.”

  Roberts grimaced but signed off on the contract with a snarl and a snap at her assistant.

  Lifting his finger, Foster counted to three, cocked his finger to the lurking crowd who, as if on cue, roared beyond the courthouse walls. “Just hit the Tasher. We’re done now, Vic.”

  “So we are.”

  “If you have half a brain, and I know you do, you won’t keep her here.”

  “It’s none of your business what happens now.” Robert’s cool blue eyes turned cruelly cutting as they settled on Jynx.

  “Fine. I’m just telling you that security on this place blows. Get her somewhere else, or you’re gonna have a serious mess on your hands with vigilantes and media whores.”

  “It’s not your problem, Nash.”

  He laughed. “You got that right, Vic.” Foster tilted Jynx’s face back. “Bye, Sweets. It was a lot of fun while it lasted. Thanks for the ride.” Growling, he gave a biting nip to her lips and winked. “I mean rides.”

  Flipping his hair out of his eyes, he turned and walked away.

  Jynx kept her head held high and gazed impassively at Victoria Roberts.

  “And now it’s just you and me.” A smile of pure malevolence crossed Victoria’s perfectly made-up face.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Without a doubt, walking away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Turning his back on Jynx and leaving her in the care of a crazy bitch sickened him, but he had no choice. He hoped she really did trust him. She’d have to.

  Hang on, lovely lady.

  Foster knew in his heart, deep down to that sticking place, Jynx loved him. But would she believe in him? If he were in her shoes, he’d hate his ever-loving guts. He amazed himself with what an unbelievable bastard he could be.

  Foster strode back through the huge double doors of the Port Belle courthouse. Lights glared into his face. Flicking his head back, tossing his hair out of his eyes, Foster met the cameras with pride. Wicked blue eyes in a shaggy blond face, a massive muscle-bound body, defined by his gear. Look at me, he wanted his stance to say. Look at the big hulking nightmare, the walking erotic fantasy. He’d never consider himself in quite that light until Jynx spelled it out for him.

  As if born to the role, Foster played to the people around him and the people watching all over the Void. With his posturing and preening, Foster catapulted himself from not just a name but a face. A body. A whole arrogant attitude. Damn near a fucking parade!

  Drink me in, suck me up. I am a dangerous hunk of male and don’t you forget it. I am a living, breathing and arrogant legend.

  All around him, the crowd devoured him. Cheering him as they feared him, wanting him as they rejected him. He had been an interloper, an outsider, but they accepted him now because he delivered one they hated more than they’d ever loathed him. Foster Nash could not have done better but by bringing Michael “Overlord” Parkers’ head on a platter.

  A nasty sweep of power rushed through him. Foster was an ex-IWOG consumer who turned to the Fringe. The IWOG worlds pegged him as nothing more than dangerous rebel, a good boy gone bad. But now, twenty years later, they celebrated his deviancy for bringing in Jynx Brennan.

  Not a one of them realized she was not even remotely guilty of the crimes she’d been accused of. If Jynx Brennan stood on trial for anything, it would be for trusting way too much. Caring way too much. Sacrificing way too much. All around him, humans called for the blood of a woman who had not hurt them but helped them.

  Hating his reputation, knowing the falsehood of it, Foster had never admitted the truth of his kind heart until Jynx made him. Foster strutted for the crowds, the lights, the cameras and the spewing, spiraling Tasher reports, while inside, his marshmallow heart ached.

  The crowd below swelled with cheers. Letting a wide smile grace his scruffy face, Foster stomped down the steps, still playing it up for the cameras as he made his way along the gauntlet and back to his shuttle. Once inside the door, he bowed to the surging crowd, then lifted his fist into the air. The cheer that followed almost knocked him on his ass.

  He closed the door, pressed his palm against the durosteel and hung his head. The IWOG officers had five minutes to clear the area around the Darn You so Foster could take off. While he waited for clearance, Foster checked his scanner. A shimmering blip could be seen inside the courthouse.

  Most scanners would not pick up the faint traces of the iridescent paint. But his could. He’d discovered it by accident as he’d been checking his equipment. Rather than having to find a way to put a tracker on Jynx, he discovered he already had, thanks to her indulgence with the special pleasure paint.

  “Trust me, lovely lady.”

  Roberts, being a pigheaded fool, wouldn’t move her from the courthouse now, because Foster suggested it. “Told you security on that place blows. But you don’t want to listen.” Sometimes, stubborn streaks paid off.

  Once he received clearance, Foster took off and returned to the Damn You. He left Juno behind and made his way to the Fringe.

  He couldn’t even imagine what Jynx was thinking now. How he’d manhandled her for a million eyes to see. A trillion by live streaming vid over every channel on the Tasher. Strutting and posturing like an arrogant cocksure male and worse, admitting that he’d slept with Roberts. That thought alone probably made Jynx sick. It made Foster sick. Much like the tale she’d told him of her night with Brandt, Foster could tell such a tale about Roberts. He’d been drunk and full of himself. Victoria hadn’t been that bad in the sack, really, just had a cold edge. Still, it felt good to get in a dig at her. Besides, he wanted Jynx to hear it from him and not be shocked by the news when Roberts brought it up, because Foster knew Vic would.

  As he implemented the second part of his plan, he thought that if Jynx lived through all this, she’d probably hate him.

  Jynx was scanned, then stripped of her clothes. She suffered snickering jests at her lack of panties. It didn’t faze her. Kee
ping her head high, Jynx faced the male and female guards with cool indifference. She discovered it wasn’t so difficult to master such an attitude.

  They gave her a drab charcoal gray jumpsuit to wear, but they didn’t bother to give her any underclothes. When she asked, they said Roberts told them a little tart like her probably didn’t like wearing them anyway.

  Jynx did not react to that either.

  Once the guards realized Jynx regarded all their comments with a blank face, they gave up trying to torment her. There was no pay-off, so they stopped. Foster’s advice helped a great deal. Indifference took all the fun out of picking on her.

  After two days, they just brought her meals, traded dirty jumpsuits for clean and left her alone. Jynx treated them with an indifference she never had for Foster.

  Her cell was far more plush than what she’d had on the Damn You as Roberts wanted her comfortable. “For the baby,” Roberts said, her eyes gleaming.

  Jynx refused to react to that either.

  For the first few days, every little sound made her shoot to her feet in the vain hope Foster had come for her.

  Bright thoughts of Foster bursting in to save the day grew dimmer as the days became a week. Security, once so tight, began to slack off as the angry populace held content to wait and see what happened. No one tried to break in to kill her, and Roberts told Jynx this with a triumphant smile. “Clueless imbeciles. They’re treating it like a juicy daytime drama. Breathlessly waiting for the next installment. And I won’t disappoint them.”

  Losing hope, Jynx began to wonder if Foster really had played her. Well, maybe he’d done what he could to help her. She wasn’t angry with him, just sad and disappointed. If he really loved her, how could he leave her here? Maybe because he never did love her. He never really said he did. Foster just mouthed the words to her lips. Perhaps all he’d been able to do was save her from a bloody public execution. How could she fault him for that when she couldn’t do any better herself?

  Foster looked around the crowded transfer hub again. Nobody paid any attention to him as he made his way to the Port Belle trans. He had buzzed his hair short, shaved his face to within an inch of its life and popped brown-colored contacts in for good measure. He didn’t look anything like the swaggering macho shithead he’d been a week ago, especially not while wearing an IWOG officer’s uniform.

  On an IWOG planet like Juno, most folks never paid any attention to IWOG officers. They were everywhere, ubiquitous with their dark blue suits with a red swath down the front. Bloody maroon swath. Creepy, if one considered it long. Foster had all the time in the world to consider everything but his goal of saving Jynx. Forcing her to the back of his mind, he dropped his gaze down his body. The weird fabric didn’t cling to him like motton did. It made him look flat, utterly devoid of genitals, like a doll. Whatever it was shed stains and wrinkles but also muted the powerful display of his body.

  Male or female, anybody in an IWOG uniform looked like an androgynous manikin. Twenty years later and his uniform still fit and looked brand new. It amazed him that they’d never updated the design. Black equipment belt, filled with his own special toys, and short black boots capped the outfit off.

  Other officers, male and female, acknowledged him with a nod as they went past each other. Higher or lower rank didn’t matter. They all just nodded as was the custom on an IWOG planet like Juno. Otherwise, they’d spend the whole day saluting each other and never get anywhere.

  Slathering himself with cologne, antiperspirant, hair gel—the usual slew of IWOG products—that morning, before he took the flight from Banna to Juno, Foster smelled just as chemical as everyone else. Wafting bits of it burned his eyes and nose, but he kept his attention on a chattering palm com just like everyone else. Difference was, Foster took surreptitious glances around, looking for even the tiniest flicker of recognition.

  He didn’t find any. He looked the part, smelled the part and even walked with that stick-up-the-butt march he’d learned long ago in the military. Look like a duck, walk like a duck, smell like a duck and quack like a duck—everyone is going to think you’re a duck.

  With a prissy gesture, just as one of his rank would, he settled himself in the first class section of the trans. Plush blue-and-red seats that mimicked the color of his uniform cradled his butt. Silent scanners looked his body over for the credit key, and a light flashed from green to red. Foster acknowledged the confirm module with an impatient sigh, pressed his thumb to accept the charge, then turned his attention away when it went green.

  Computers would read him as Lieutenant Jerry Shelton and deduct credits for the ride from Jerry’s account. Poor Jerry. He’d wake up two days from now in a heap of hot water, but Foster didn’t give a shit. He didn’t care how many people he had to hurt or even kill to get Jynx back.

  Even if she slapped his face, kneed him in the nuts, bit his finger, then told him to get bent for good measure, he was still bound and determined to get her off Juno alive and kicking. Or die trying. 260Mil in credits, two metal cylinders and a long letter were already on the way to Windmere. Foster shot off one of his shuttles, Darn You Too, with the package, then immediately turned the Damn You to Corona.

  Landing his ship in Borealis, he sucked up fanfare for three days. Foster paraded to the media just long enough for attention to shift from him back onto Jynx. Drinking and carousing, always keeping an eye to his com, Foster outwardly played a tough guy celebrating a job well done as he waited, agonizing over every step of his carefully crafted and likely doomed-to-fail plan.

  Once people stopped paying so much attention to him, he carefully made his way back to Juno. He changed his appearance, strapped a cool 10Mil to his hips, and blended right back into a world he left behind almost twenty years ago.

  The forward vid of the Port Belle trans sprang to life with breaking news. Foster wanted to sigh with relief but didn’t dare. Worry left him as he looked up expectant, just as did everyone else. It all came together in a shocking rush.

  Jynx Brennan, still dressed in that lilac spring dress, hands cuffed in front of her, sat on trial. Her lovely hair obscured her face as she hung her head. Deep down Foster recognized that woman was not Jynx. No way would she sit so downcast and beaten.

  Foster watched as did all the other passengers. To look away would single him out. To further blend in, he made a comment about how they should just cut the crap and hang the bitch as a trial was a waste of everyone’s time and money. Feeling sick to his stomach, he nodded agreement when the man next to him suggested a public stoning would be entirely justified in a case like this.

  Without warning, Jynx shot up from the defendant’s table, turned to the guard behind her, and plucked out his gun. Before she could shoot anyone, Roberts, sitting behind the prosecution table in the spectator seats, pulled a gleaming IWOG officer’s pistol from her shoulder holster and blew a perfect hole in Jynx’s heart.

  Jynx slumped to the floor as screaming spectators flooded the exit doors of the courtroom. IWOG officers fought to restore order, and cameras drew in for a close-up of Jynx’s dying face. Her eyes snapped with insanity and fury then slowly faded to death. But the eyes were blue, not violet. Someone had tried to make them violet but hadn’t quite captured the right color. Not a chance in the Void those were Jynx’s eyes.

  Amazingly, everyone believed what they had witnessed.

  Just like everyone else he cheered and claimed Roberts a hero. If he didn’t, he’d attract attention to himself as the only one who failed to rejoice. They all really thought that Jynx alone was accountable for the Tyaa plague. Foster wanted to stand and start bashing their stupid, gullible heads together but didn’t. He just cheered and made rude comments then settled back to watch the rest of the show.

  Jynx Brennan, lifeless and kicked facedown on the floor, was pronounced dead. According to the breathless reporter, within an hour, her body would be unceremoniously tossed to the nearest crematorium. Cries that it be carted through the streets were shot down
that, if nothing else, they should at least harvest her chemicals to recyc. Not a soul would want her organs, so using her as a donor was out of the question.

  Foster thought Roberts had covered all the bases well. Idly he wondered who Roberts had really shot, because it wasn’t Jynx. Some clueless lackey would be tossed to recyc as Jynx lived on.

  Switching channels on his custom palm com, Foster tracked the now faded sparkle of paint that still lingered on Jynx. She had not moved since he’d been close enough to track her this morning from Juno. Without a doubt, she was still confined to a north cell in the basement of the Port Belle courthouse.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “I’ve got something to show you.” Roberts entered her cell and settled herself on the bunk. Lifting a remote, she flicked the com unit on with one slender red-tipped finger.

  Jynx saw herself sitting on trial. Confusion filled her, but she didn’t react. She hadn’t been summoned to trial. She’d been sitting in her cell for well over a week, going crazy from thinking of Foster and wondering if he was okay. Wondering with a foolish heart if he ever really loved her or if he had just been playing her all along. In the dark of night, Jynx melted in her mind to his brutal then tender touch. Heaven help her, she still trusted him even though hope faded more day by day.

  Turning her attention back to the com unit, Jynx saw herself get her bound hands on a gun that in real life she wouldn’t know how to shoot. Roberts pulled a gleaming pistol from under her smartly tailored jacket and shot a hole in her doppelganger’s heart. The fake Jynx slumped to the floor as screaming spectators scrambled to get out of the way.

  Nausea clutched her belly hard, and she fought down an urge to hurl her lunch all over Roberts. Who had they killed in her place? Another innocent life lost, more blood on her hands. How could she not feel responsible?

  “Not many get to see their own death. Did you enjoy yours?”