by Natalie Grey
“That doesn’t ma—”
“It does.” She would not look at him. “Thank you, Mr. Williams. But it does matter.”
Why do you stay? The words were on his tongue, and then he looked at her, at the rigid lines of her profile, and he knew that he did not want to hear her answer. Clenching his hands so hard they ached, he went to look out at the city. It was a grey day, warm for winter, with clouds hanging low around the skyscrapers and freezing rain thudding against the windows.
“In fact….” Her voice was tentative, but it gained in strength as she spoke. “I believe I will stay in today. You can feel free to take the day to yourself, Mr. Williams.”
“What?” He looked over at her blankly.
“I will be in my rooms. I will be perfectly safe.” Her chin lifted slightly. “You may go.”
The words hit him like a slap, but when he looked over, he saw no anger in her face. This was not revenge.
Then what was it? He searched for some reason, any reason to stay, and luckily, one came to mind at once.
“We have more self-defense to practice.”
On second thought, it was not lucky that he had remembered this. This was bad. This was very bad. He was disappointed not to get to teach her, and he knew why in an instant: he would have her in his arms, be able to touch her hands, watch the way she curled in her bottom lip when she was concentrating on something. Worse, he knew that his tone said all of that and more. As he met her gaze, something flickered there, an answering hint of heat. Then it was gone, and she looked resolute once more.
“Tomorrow, perhaps.” She was trying for the tones of a society wife, and she achieved her goal admirably. “I have a good deal of reading to do.”
“Oh? On what?”
“Nothing.” Her face closed off entirely. She was biting her lip, wavering, but he knew without even trying that he would get nothing more out of her. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and after a moment seemed to come to a decision. “I said you may go.”
He turned on his heel and left without another word.
23
The door closed harder than it needed to, and Aryn stared after Cade, fighting the urge to go to him. He should know that it wasn’t his fault, that she believed him, truly and without reserve. If things were different, she would go after him, saying his name in the still of the penthouse, and when he looked around she would lay her hand on his arm—
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. What was happening to her?
What was happening, she told herself firmly when she opened her eyes, was that she was being sensible for once. She was acknowledging the facts that Cade’s first loyalty would be to Ellian. So while he might not tell Ellian that Aryn was hiding something, he would certainly be obliged to tell if he knew the truth. She was protecting him. She was protecting everyone from a very unpleasant situation.
She wondered briefly if she could keep this a secret forever, and decided not to think about that right now. Fact: she could not let her friends die. Therefore, logic said that her friends needed a way to fight back against the Warlord. Satellite-guided missiles would likely be better than guns, but even Aryn knew she couldn’t get missiles without someone asking questions.
Guns, then. She opened up the computer and frowned at the screen again. She had isolated the specific gun to buy, and the correct ammunition, but that left her wondering just how many rebels there presently were on Ymir. Divided into cells for each others’ protection—the Warlord’s interrogations were mentioned with shudders all over human space—the rebels had very little idea who else might be a rebel, and how many there were in total.
Aryn chewed her lip, thinking. The message she had received last night, signed Talon Rift, had laid out for her the problem now facing the resistance. There were people who wanted to get them weapons, he said. People who wanted to help. The resistance wasn’t alone.
They just needed money—in cash, and untraceable. The number blinked at her on the screen.
Running a war was not cheap. She wondered how the Warlord managed it, and then grimaced. It was easy when even the Alliance gave you its own soldiers to help. Casting a look at the door, Aryn frowned slightly. As much as she tried to remind herself of what he was, Cade did not seem like the type of man who would willingly fire on civilians.
Could she have been wrong about what she saw on Ymir, then?
No. She knew what she had seen. Everyone had seen it.
Perhaps that was why he had left the Dragons.
She shook her head. She had work to do, and whatever strange madness had taken over her mind, she could not let it distract her now. Whether Cade was an ally to the resistance was entirely beside the point.
She had exchanged another message with the man, asking how he knew about Ymir, and how he knew about her. He assured her that she was safe, that he would protect her, and she did not know how to tell him that she hardly cared. Last night had shown her how stupid it was to think only of her own safety.
And she was determined to get that money.
But how? Ellian had more money than he knew what to do with, certainly. But while he would give Aryn almost anything she asked for, she imagined that the ‘almost’ didn’t cover fifteen hundred unregistered weapons, or even the necessary cash.
Which meant she had to get the cash some other way. She briefly considered sneaking into the ballroom in the middle of the night and stealing some of the Vorekan sapphires out of the top of the chandelier. Surely no one would notice a few of them missing… But Ellian would also want to know why she wanted a ladder, wouldn’t he?
He would.
She thought, for a single moment, about telling him what she planned to do, and discarded the thought almost immediately. If he were to think she was taking matters into her own hands, not trusting him to follow through on his promise….
Aryn swallowed hard. Her hands were shaking on the desk. She had managed to forget last night, the way his eyes had gone cold and his voice had gone deadly soft. She had been paralyzed, across the table from him and every sense screaming to run, and knowing she had nowhere to run, nowhere to go but back to the mines, and her parents old enough that they couldn’t work for their keep any longer, and everyone knew what happened to the old citizens—
She was not going to let them starve, or be sold, or be executed. She made a promise to herself here, now, gripping the edge of the desk until her fingers went white, that she would do whatever it took to see them free of the Warlord by the time they died. And to keep that promise, she needed Ellian. It was as simple as that.
She would pawn her jewelry. The thought came to her in a flash, and she got up and went into the dressing room, pulling out her necklaces. She needed to rule out any of her favorites, and anything Ellian had given her as a special gift. But that left a good deal of diamonds. Making sure she was hidden from the cameras, Aryn grabbed three necklaces at random and stuffed them into a tiny purse, then went to the comm.
“Mr. Williams?” Her finger held down the button.
She could feel him waiting on the other end of the line. He was staring at the comm, she knew it, and she could sense him deciding what to say. She wondered if he could feel her, too….
No. That was ridiculous. Of course he couldn’t.
“Yes, Ms. Beranek?” He was trying to keep his voice flat, but curiosity spiked through the line. She could just imagine his eyes narrowed. He was tall enough that he would be leaning down to speak into the comm, and even hundreds of yards away, she almost felt as if she could feel his breath on her skin. “Ms. Beranek?” he repeated when she said nothing.
She shook herself out of her daze.
“Yes. Ah, I believe I will go out after all.”
“I’ll call the car around and inform Mr. Pallas. Where will you be going, ma’am?” Having taken refuge in politeness, his voice was expressionless.
“Tell him I’d like to go look at jewelry.” That was unlike her. Ellian would ask questions. She
frowned, then hit upon an idea. “There’s a dinner coming up and I want to make an impression. Ask him if there’s any gemstone, in particular, that he would like.”
“Of course, Ms. Beranek.”
The comm link closed and Aryn shrugged a cape on over her gown, making her way to the entry hall just in time to see Cade leave Ellian’s office. His gaze swept over her as if she were a puzzle, and he crossed the hall to the door with no more than a perfunctory nod.
She bit her lip. It was better this way. It was.
It was past rush hour, and they had a quick ride to the shopping district, where hovering platforms kept shoppers above the carpet of acid snow and a shimmering barrier above the streets provided both heat and protection from the sleet. It was pleasant to stroll here at any time of year, but Aryn truly did love winter, when the streets were adorned with pine trees strung with lights. Out here, staring up at the sky, she could pretend that New Arizona was everything she had hoped for.
“Ms. Beranek?” Cade’s voice was soft.
Traitorously, her mind conjured an image of them standing here together, arm in arm, snow falling gently toward their faces, the sting of the cold against their skin and the warmth of each others’ hands….
She shoved the image away.
“Let’s go there.” It was one of the higher end stores, and she knew they did not ask very many questions. She followed him as he pushed a way for her through the crowds of holiday shoppers, and in the shop, she approached the counter with what she hoped was a confident smile.
“Ms. Beranek.” The proprietor, a man with white hair and an engaging smile, had the knack of remembering every face he’d seen in his life. That might be a problem.
“Hello.” Aryn put her purse on the counter and checked to see if Cade was watching her. He was.
He was her bodyguard, what had she expected? Aryn moved the purse slightly out of his field of vision and smiled at the proprietor with what she hoped was a fetching look. She spoke very quietly, hoping Cade could not hear.
“Can you keep a confidence, sir?”
“Of course, Ms. Beranek.”
“Have you heard of Jessrain?” It was the newest fad in New Arizona City, a game with famously complicated rules. Aryn knew of at least three wives and seven husbands who had been beggared, and the proprietor’s smile said he knew of a great deal more.
“I’m familiar with it. Ms. Beranek…”
“I’m sure I need to say no more.” Aryn gave him a rueful smile and pushed the purse toward him. “Could I get an appraisal on these? And please, if there was any way I could make certain—”
“Not a word will pass my lips,” he assured her, and he was gone with the jewels in the next moment.
Aryn jumped as Cade appeared at her side.
“Yes? Can I help you?” She looked up at him with an expression that forbade him to ask questions.
He didn’t take the hint.
“You’ve never gambled in your life.” His voice was absolutely certain.
“How do you know that?”
“You grew up poor.” He did not look over at her. “You never shun food—or at least you didn’t until this morning—you hang up your clothes yourself, and you rarely wear jewelry. You would never gamble.”
Aryn looked down at the counter. If he could see this….
“You don’t know me very well, Mr. Williams.” Her voice came out harder than she expected.
For a moment, she thought he would argue. Then he nodded.
“Of course not.” He stepped back, and Aryn clenched her hands under the cape.
It was better this way. Soon she’d have the cash, and she could purchase the weapons. Her contact had been only too eager to arrange the transaction. She shaped his name in her mouth, silently rolling the syllables over her tongue.
Talon Rift. Where had she heard that name before?
24
Nyx wove through the crowd and tried to keep her lip from curling. It was snowing outside, perfect white flakes drifting down until they were zapped on the forcefield that stretched between the buildings. The pretty snow, to hear people tell it, was the exact reason so many people moved to New Arizona.
At which point, apparently, they moved into luxury apartments, got rid of any clothes that could be considered remotely practical, and strolled around on artificially heated streets while casting only a glance or two up at the snow they so loved.
It was ridiculous. The snow might as well be a mirage, as far as they were concerned, and meanwhile, Nyx was the one that was getting funny looks for wearing sensible black pants and a shirt, with boots.
If she saw one more rich woman laugh elegantly behind her hand, she was going to burn this place down.
As Cade went past, walking a step behind a woman who must be Ellian Pallas’s wife, Nyx contrived to knock something off one of the stupid outdoor carts and crouch down to pick it up, staying conveniently out of his line of sight. He knew that Talon had been here a few days ago, but he likely didn’t know the crew was still here. And Talon was right—the less Cade knew for now, the better. For all his skill in combat, he’d never been very good at lying.
The woman, she saw only a brief glimpse of. She was tiny—or maybe that was only compared to Cade—and she looked absolutely terrified.
But she was doing this. She was married to one of the most ruthless men in known space, and she was still doing this. Nyx had to respect that.
Even if her dress, like everyone else’s, was completely ridiculous. It was sleeveless, for Christ’s sake.
She watched as the pair went into a jewelry store and the woman slid a purse across the counter, murmuring to the proprietor. Cade bent to speak in her ear for a moment, and whatever she said to him, he stepped back as if she’d slapped him.
I’m worried about Williams, Talon had said, offhand. He’s falling for the wife.
He’s not that stupid, Nyx had said back. She hadn’t even looked up from her paperwork.
He was, though. Apparently, he was precisely that stupid. Now she wanted to live up to her reputation amongst the crew as the strict mother hen, and march into that store and thump some sense into him. So help me, Williams, I will turn this ship around.
Instead, she slid into a shop as they came out onto the street, and then slipped out to follow them. It wasn’t long before the woman stopped, staring up at the snow with pure delight on her features—at least someone was paying some attention to it—and then pointed over at one of the little stands selling hot chocolate.
While Cade was nodding, offering her his arm for her to step off the curb, she contrived to drop the packet of cash. She looked over, and her eyes met Nyx’s for a single moment.
She’d known she was being followed. Nyx felt herself smile as Aryn gave a slight nod, and then she started talking, softly enough that Cade had to bend to hear her, gesturing animatedly as they went across the street.
No fool, then, this woman from Ymir. Nyx could see why Cade might get stupid.
Still, he needed to get his shit together or he was going to end up very dead, and the wife with him. Nyx made a mental note to talk to Talon about it, and then, without breaking her stride, she continued in her path, stooping to pick up the packet of cash out of the snow. She activated her comm unit with a flick of her wrist.
“Got it, boss.”
“Good,” Talon’s voice came back. “I’ll tell our contact.”
“Not possible.” Christian’s hand clenched on the desk. “We’ve watched all the banks. They’re flagging any withdrawals that add to that amount. It hasn’t happened.”
“It’s happening.” The voice that came out of his computer was almost bored.
Do you know what this means? he wanted to scream. He didn’t. He knew the man would only shrug, still bored, still demanding payment.
Information brokers. His lip curled. They behaved as if information didn’t matter at all, even though it was their very business.
“Where is the trade?”
“That, I don’t know.”
“Who’s supplying them?”
“I only know the one putting people in contact, and even they may not know the specifics.” The broker spoke carefully, but without hesitation. Being circumspect was a habit with these people. There were no clues in what they said, only the subtle reminder that if Christian wanted names, he would have to pay for them.
After which, he’d need more information as he researched, which he’d only need to pay the broker for, as well.
“The money is being transferred,” he said tersely, and he cut the call with no pleasantries.
He stood and went to the window. It wasn’t a real window, just a screen showing the sky outside the tower. Ellian would never allow something as indiscreet as a window that looked in on the people doing his business.
Christian sighed. He shouldn’t have hung up. He needed more information. It was no use contracting 300 mercenaries to deal with a Dragon team, if they missed the bastards altogether.
He was just opening up the screen and preparing to swallow his pride when he stopped. He didn’t need to know where the deal was happening, did he? It didn’t matter whose hands the weapons were in when they left New Arizona.
They would have to go through the spaceport.
Try as she might, Tera could not figure out how the weapons were getting to Ymir. They must be coming from either New Arizona or Osiris—that was where you bought things like that under the table. That’s where the stock was.
But her usual tactic of following the money was getting her nowhere, save to note that a man named Ellian Pallas, a well-known arms dealer, had offered to buy every gun in the city.
And it wasn’t him helping out those resistance fighters. Tera was sure of that. She’d even come close to taking Ellian out once, before her father aborted her mission, telling her it was far too dangerous.
He’s allied with the Warlord.
