Fontanas Trouble

by T C Archer

  “Yep,” Fontana said. “And he knows how to use a tractor beam.”

  Stephaney had sent someone to arrest her for running her own covert operation? Did Sorens think he was after a rogue agent? At the very least, the Corps would bring her up on charges of alerting the cartel that someone at Sagitariun was on to their smuggling operation. If nothing else, she had to get Swayne and Brent off the hook.

  Fontana dropped to a squat and swept one leg in a circle, catching the back of Swayne’s knees. He went down. She vaulted over him, grabbed his handgun, and rose. The Colt 200MeV pulse gun had enough energy to render a person unconscious but wasn’t intended to kill. She cranked the power knob on the bottom of the handgrip into the red. The setting would knock out an elephant and give the recipient one hell of a headache for a week.

  “Sorry, but I must insist you beam me over to that cruiser.”

  The captain shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”

  Swayne shoved to his feet and backed away as he spoke commands in a language she didn’t recognize.

  She leveled the weapon at his head. “No funny stuff. Brent, beam me over.” Brent she could trust not to beam her into empty space—she hoped.

  Oddly enough, Brent used the console instead of voice command. A few seconds later, the air around her began to sparkle, and the scene changed to the interior cargo bay of another ship. Shipping crates and plastic-wrapped equipment sat strapped to the decking. Brent materialized by her side.

  “You fool,” Fontana cried. “What have you done?”

  The sound of running boots echoed toward them.

  He looked crestfallen. “I couldn’t let you go alone. After all, this is my fantasy.”

  “Damn you.” She tossed the handgun to him as two men in brown overalls rounded the corner. They skidded to a stop—one tall and thick, the other about Brent’s height with a receding hairline. The tall one hefted a stubby laser pistol. The other one had a short-range sonic blaster. Brent pointed his weapon at the two men.

  “It’s not him you want,” Fontana told the men. “Let him go, and I’m yours without a fight.”

  “Fontana.” Brent reached for her, but she stepped away.

  “Let him beam off,” she said.

  “You’re ours anyway,” the big guy said. “Gaelen’s gonna love hearing we finally got you.”

  “I can kick your ass,” she said.

  “Not if we get you first.” His thumb tensed on the laser’s button.

  Fontana dived to the side behind the crates as a beam of light flashed from his weapon. Someone cried out, and she rolled to her knees in time to see the pirate crumple to the floor. Brent stood, his weapon aimed at the second man.

  “Try me.”

  The steel in Brent’s voice sent a shiver down Fontana’s back.

  Apparently, the man detected the same determination, and he let the weapon drop from his fingers and raised his hands.

  “You all right, Fawn?” Brent asked.

  She rose from behind the crates. “Yeah.”

  “Back up,” Brent ordered the pirate. Brent waved his handgun in the direction of a built-in equipment locker. The man backed up as Brent approached the fallen man and snatched the laser from the floor. “Grab that,” Brent told her. He pointed to the sonic blaster on the floor.

  She did as ordered.

  “Come on,” he told her, eyes still on the man, “let’s get out of here.”

  Fontana crossed to him, and they backed out of the room. When they reached the door, it slid open. As they stepped out, Brent fired at the man. He dropped to the floor.

  The sound of pounding boots on the metal floor made them glance to the left.

  “What did you do to deserve all this attention?” Brent asked.

  “You don’t want to know. This way.” Fontana turned left, then stopped at the sound of approaching feet from the direction they were headed. She looked at Brent. “Told you to stay on Sagitariun.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “The fun ended when we left the shop on the boardwalk.”

  “We’ll see. I’ll take this way.” He pointed to the right. “You take that way.”

  She nodded, and he released her. They turned, their backs pressed against each other, and raised their weapons. She wasn’t going to make it back home in time.

  Forgive me, Jenny.

  Her pulse thundered in her ears. Major Sorens and three armor-clad Corps officers appeared around the curve. Fontana froze, her finger on the trigger. Dammit, they had monitored her and Brent’s transport to the freighter and had followed.

  “Brent,” she whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you see who’s headed your way yet?”

  “Yeah.”

  She heard the tension in his voice and knew he was facing cartel members even as Major Sorens’s gaze shifted beyond her and narrowed.

  “I’ve got the cavalry on my side,” she whispered. “Hit the deck on three.”

  He nodded.

  “Three!” Fontana whirled as Brent began firing. She hurled herself against him, firing at the cartel members as she and Brent crashed to the floor. Laser fire crisscrossed over their heads.

  “Cease fire!” Sorens shouted.

  Brent rolled over her and hugged her close. With a mighty heave, he shoved to his feet, pulling Fontana with him, and lunged toward the door. The metal slid open a second after laser fire creased her right arm, and pain seared her flesh as they fell onto the hard floor of the compartment. They jumped up and threw their backs against the wall to the left of the door. Brent peered around the edge and fired.

  The sonic blaster had too short a range. “Give me the laser,” she ordered.

  Gaze locked on the men he was firing at, Brent reached into his waistband and blindly extended it toward her. She took it, then leaped across the open doorway and plastered herself against the opposite wall. Fontana scanned the hallway. A laser beam fired from her left where Sorens and his men were. Two cartel members lay motionless on the floor. With her left arm, she aimed and fired at the man who peeked around the bend in the corridor. Her laser blast was followed by one from Brent and more from the Corps officers to her left.

  Brent glanced at her. “Fawn.”

  A laser blast bit into the corner of the doorway bare centimeters from his face. He ducked back against the wall.

  “Let’s get out of here,” one cartel member shouted. The man disappeared from view.

  Brent made a fast jump from his side of the door beside Fontana. “What happened to your arm?” he demanded.

  Corps officers inched forward past the door. Sorens paused at the doorway. “You two all right?”

  She nodded, and he motioned the other officers to follow him as he hurried forward.

  “What happened?” Brent demanded again.

  Fontana looked at her arm. “A flesh wound. I’ll live.”

  His mouth thinned. “Was this worth getting off Swayne’s transport?”

  She allowed the arm holding the weapon to drop to her side. She was suddenly very tired. “This job turned out to be more than you bargained for?”

  He pulled her into a hug. “You turned out to be more than I bargained for.”

  Fontana pulled back to see Sorens in the doorway again.

  Sorens’s eyes settled on Brent.

  “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a fantasy fanatic, Yari.”

  Brent grinned. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

  “You know him?” Fontana asked Sorens.

  “I worked with him five years ago on a new class of battle cruiser on a classified mission.” Sorens’s hard stare added, classified above your level, so don’t ask.

  Fontana shifted her gaze to Brent. “You really are an engineer? Why would an engineer—” Her pulse jumped. “You’re not an escort—part of my fantasy package? But you said you were.”

  “You said I was your fantasy. I simply quit trying to convince you otherwise.”

  “But why?”


  “You seemed set on believing I wasn’t who I said I was.”

  Sorens’s communicator chirped. He tapped his ear. “Sorens.”

  “Sir, the warp core was damaged in the fight. We’ve got two minutes to get you off the ship before it blows.”

  “Three to beam aboard,” he ordered into his communicator.

  Again, the sparkle mix began, and seconds later, Fontana stood with the two men in another compartment on another ship.

  “Fontana needs to get to sick bay,” Brent told Sorens.

  “Brent,” she began.

  “Lieutenant,” Sorens addressed the officer standing at the door, “see the major to sick bay.”

  Brent pinned her with a stare. "Major?"

  “After I’ve spoken with Brent,” she told Sorens.

  “Sick bay, then debriefing,” Sorens said, then added before she could argue, “Orders.”

  Fontana knew exactly where those orders had originated. Thank you, Stephaney. She looked at Brent. “I’m sorry.”

  He smiled. “We’re even, huh?”

  Pain stabbed her soul deep. No, they weren’t even. He was walking away with a piece of her heart.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fontana nodded to the tall black man she sat across from on the top floor of the Sagitariun Building. He was Harlan Nelson, director of Sagitariun, overlord of the fantasy resort. His shaved head gleamed in the soft light. He wore an Allipore turtleneck that conformed to his broad shoulders and washboard stomach.

  Stephaney had ordered her to attend this meeting before leaving. Fontana had acquiesced when Stephaney informed her that Jenny had reached Earth. The same relief she’d felt upon hearing the news rushed to the surface again. Jenny’s family didn’t have to live with knowing their daughter had been abandoned in the cold of space once the cartel had robbed the coffin. It was stupid, Fontana knew, but she couldn’t let Jenny’s parents—or Jenny—down a second time.

  The information that Jenny was to arrive in a week had been a lie to trap the cartel. The Coalition was well aware the cartel had smuggled Poincaré crystals off with Jenny, just as they’d been aware that Fontana was conducting her own investigation. They would be waiting for the cartel when the empty S-warp drone arrived next week. Fontana couldn’t be angry at the fact the Corps had used her. They had done what was in the best interest of the Coalition…and Jenny. That was their –- her—job.

  Nelson shifted, and Fontana returned her attention to him as he crossed his legs and smoothed the perfect crease in his black pleated slacks. Her fantasy was the first in Sagitariun history to run afoul, he’d told her.

  “We didn’t factor in the Track Cartel,” he said in a deep voice that reminded her of an opera singer.

  Fontana offered a thin smile. “No one’s perfect.” After all, she hadn’t factored in the possibility the Corps had paid for an alternate reality vacation she wasn’t aware she was participating in. Or that she would fall in love.

  “Things worked out well, considering,” Nelson went on.

  She lifted a brow. “Considering the Corps showed up when they did.”

  “Our algorithm was sound.”

  “Sound enough to risk a guest’s life? You shouldn’t have allowed Brent onto that transport with me.”

  “Mr. Yari wanted a Rogue Agent package,” Nelson replied. “You accommodated. He’s not disappointed.”

  Her heart twisted. Not even a little disappointed?

  “You, on the other hand,” Nelson said, “wanted closure.”

  Fontana stilled.

  “I’ve reviewed the data and have concluded we were given misinformation,” he said. “According to the algorithm, Mr. Yari’s true fantasy was to fall in love with someone like you. He did. You were supposed to fall in love with him as well.”

  Fontana stared. “You’ve miscalculated a second time. He isn’t in love with me.”

  Nelson’s mouth curved upward in an indulgent smile. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  * * * *

  At the spaceport, Fontana scanned the departure board from a balcony over the duty-free shop concourse. Twenty transports left in the next hour alone. Brent had told her he was in between contracts. Did that mean he was going home? Even if he was, he could be on any one of ten transports headed for Earth. How could she narrow the possibilities?

  She had to find him, had to get his attention…had to tell him. But how? The concourse below teemed with people—men, women, couples, families, tour groups. No way she would be able to spot him in the crowd.

  An epiphany struck. Brent couldn’t possibly miss seeing a woman wearing only a trench coat running through the concourse.

  Fontana whirled. She needed a clothing store.

  She started down the escalator, scanning the nearest shops. A café. The next was an antiques shop, then a casino, and next to that was a tobacco shop. On the opposite side were located a bookstore, health-food store, another café. Not a single clothing shop. She landed on the main deck and strode along the shops. If she couldn’t find a trench coat, she could simply streak through the spaceport. Would Brent understand the message?

  A man stepped from the casino/club twelve meters away. Fontana veered in his direction, then slowed. It couldn’t be. Her pulse accelerated. It was. The owner of the London Fog trench coat—and he was wearing the coat! How? But she knew. Fontana smiled.

  Thank you, Harlan Nelson.

  As if sensing her intention, the man turned and met her gaze. His brow snapped downward; then his eyes widened as she started toward him. A small crowd beyond him parted, and two officers came into view. Fontana slowed. They veered into the café on their left, and she picked up speed. The coat owner turned as if to run.

  The Lauren Bacall look-alike appeared from within the shop nearest him. Fontana halted. What the hell? The woman met Fontana’s gaze, and a corner of her mouth lifted—then she stuck out a foot and tripped the man. Fontana felt her eyes widen as he stumbled. An alert woman jumped out of the way, and he fell flat on his face.

  Fontana jerked her gaze back to the Lauren Bacall look-alike, but she was gone. Fontana couldn’t believe it. The woman worked for Sagitariun, not the cartel. The man moaned, and she broke from her shock when the group of passersby started to close in on him.

  She rushed forward and shoved past them. “He’s all right.” Fontana pulled him to his feet as the crowd dispersed. His mouth opened as if he would scream, and Fontana yanked him close. “Keep quiet.”

  She dragged him into the club next door while scanning for a private corner. Half a dozen customers sat at tables. The man behind the bar didn’t look up from the drinks he was pouring. Fontana spotted a discreet corner next to the entrance between the slots and a videophone and pulled the coat owner into it.

  “Don’t hurt me,” he said.

  Fontana seized his shoulders, spun him toward the wall, and shoved him up against it. “Don’t move.”

  Sixty seconds later, she had her clothes off and had yanked the coat down the man’s arms and off him.

  “Hey, baby,” came a deep male voice behind her as she swung the coat around her shoulders and slid her arms inside the sleeves.

  The coat owner turned around, and his gaze raked down her naked front. Then he screamed like a woman. Strong fingers closed over her shoulder, and she whirled to face a big man. His gaze also raked down her naked front, but he didn’t scream.

  “Need some company, baby?”

  Fontana shoved him. He crashed backward into a table, and she sprinted through the club and out the door. The coattails flapped against her legs as she streaked down the promenade. Commotion spread like ripples in a pond, and the crowd parted for her. A woman screamed as Fontana dodged her. A group of three men froze at the edge of the parting throng, their gazes on her breasts, then the apex at her legs when she sped past them.

  Two minutes had passed. More than enough time for Brent to have seen her. If he didn’t respond, she’d know he hadn’t ever loved her…or it was too
late. A whistle blew behind her. She glanced back. Two security officers were giving chase.

  “Halt!” one shouted.

  Fontana veered left, taking a track around an escalator and back the way she’d come, and rammed into a wall of muscle. She clutched at the man’s shoulders and blinked into Brent’s face.

  “Starting a fantasy without me?” he drawled.

  Her heart raced. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, and her face warmed. That wasn’t what she wanted to say –- and he deserved more.

  His mouth curved into a smile. “How sorry?”

  Footfalls sounded on the boardwalk at the end of the lane to their right. Brent pulled her into a rental-car booth and ducked behind a shelf. He pushed her into the corner. She glanced down, and her mouth went dry when she saw the bulge straining against his trousers. He grasped her chin and tilted her face upward.

  “We’ve really got to return that coat to its owner,” he said as he lowered his mouth to hers. “It could get you into trouble.”

  ###

  Fontana’s Trouble was such a fun book for us to write! Hopefully, you enjoyed reading about Fontana and Brent’s quirky fantasy as much as we loved writing it. For your reading pleasure, we’ve included the opening chapters to our erotic space opera Sasha’s Calling.

  Evan and Shawn

  T. C. Archer

  SASHA’S CALLING

  Spy for hire Sasha Smirnov has stolen classified data. One man stands in her way of escape: sexy diplomat Dirk Roscoepilot. A sizzling kiss burns him into her memory—and her body. She stows away on a spaceship, only to find Dirk is the pilot. She doesn’t count on the passion that explodes between them, or the choice that forces her into his bed. If she is to save her planet, Sasha must get as far away from Dirk as possible.

  Chapter One

  No day was a good day to die. Today was no exception.

  Footfalls of Pinkerton security forces echoed ever louder in the spaceport’s sterile, wide passageway, converging on Sasha. She sprinted faster, lungs and leg muscles burning with the effort in her mad race to outrun them. Dammit—dammit all to hell. Damn the scientist who’d walked in while she was downloading the retrovirus model from Centor’s main computer. She forced back the mounting panic that twisted her stomach. He’d sounded the alarm before she could knock him unconscious. That was the one piece of bad luck that might get her killed on this mission.