by Nalini Singh
"I will clean my house." It was a promise to himself as much as a statement to Mal. "But to do that, I need to know certain things. Such as how Hugo got the information about our future plans for a major shipping line. Did one of my people pass it on?"
Malachai shook his head. "Hugo was in comms before he was taken. Brilliant, would probably be head of the team if he wasn't also a slacker when he could get away with it." Turning with Bo to face the water again, he continued on. "He's also addicted to poker, plays in dedicated high-stakes online clubs."
"He met someone through there."
"Didn't name that person, but said the individual was human. The last time Hugo was in Venice, they met up and ended up drunk together--and the human player said something about the shipping line." Malachai's eyes were translucent pale gold when he looked at Bowen again. "He got a bad feeling about it, began to dig, cross-referenced hundreds of minor reports about ship movements, and managed to hack into the Alliance's shipping records."
Bo stilled deep within. The Alliance's shipping records weren't on a hackable system--they were totally isolated from any outside network, with the backups kept in another isolated location. Hugo would've had to be in the data room inside Alliance HQ to get the information. "He did the hacking from here?"
Malachai took the question as Bowen had meant him to take it. "Signal to and from Ryujin can get problematic. He did it from Lantia."
Lantia.
The massive BlackSea city located in the North Atlantic Ocean.
Whether it was the city above Ryujin or not made no difference. Because nothing changed the fact that Hugo had told a lie. He couldn't have hacked the Alliance's shipping records from Lantia. It was a physical and computronic impossibility. So how had he gotten his hands on the data?
And if a man could tell one lie, was he capable of telling a far more brutal one?
Chapter 37
I need your help to pull off a covert operation.
--Bowen Knight to Scott Reineke
DINNER WAS ALL set up and under way, Malachai gone. He'd made time to visit Kaia and update her on the search for Hugo: "Nothing. No sign of him."
Smashing out her anger and worry on harmless avocados had gotten the clan an extra helping of guacamole, and then she'd gone ahead and made them fresh corn chips. She'd made so much food, in fact, that people were walking around groaning while trying to stuff in an extra bite of another dish.
The one man who hadn't appeared to fill a plate was the human who'd gotten under her skin and stuck like a burr. Even the news about Hugo hadn't dislodged that burr--she knew Bowen too well now, simply couldn't see him authorizing or taking part in the cowardly abduction of BlackSea's people.
"The man needs to eat," she muttered to Tansy when her friend walked in to get dinner.
"You know those dominant types." Tansy shook her head like a wise old owl. "Have you eaten?"
"No." Kaia couldn't eat if he was going hungry. "I'll take him a plate." Was it possible the meeting with Malachai had gone badly? Her cousin had said nothing to her on that point and she hadn't asked.
It had felt wrong.
She and Bowen, they owed each other truths now. She wouldn't go behind his back to get them; she'd ask him about the meeting.
"Oh." Tansy bit down on her lower lip. "Um, I don't think Bowen's in his room. I saw him . . . and Alden was there."
"What!" Dropping the empty plate on the counter, Kaia rounded on her friend.
Tansy blurted out the coordinates of a corridor outside a disused warehouse in habitat five. "I'm sorry! I d-didn't--"
But Kaia was already gone.
What was Bo doing there, she thought as she ran, skirting startled clanmates--including a disapproving Bebe--and pelting along the connecting bridge. Despite her physically fit state, she was out of breath and had a crashing heartbeat by the time she finally reached the corridor. Yes, he could defend himself, but Alden was a berserker when he fought. And Bowen had just had brain surgery!
She braced herself for bloodshed.
And found . . . nothing. The corridor was empty, no drops of blood, no dents in the walls. Pressing a hand over her heart, she walked farther down the otherwise vacant space.
What was that?
She bent down to pick up the delicate white petal, brought it to her nose.
Rose.
How odd. Ryujin's gardener did grow rosebushes, but there was no growing area in this habitat. Maybe someone had carried a bouquet through here. Because there was another petal and another . . . She followed the trail of petals with a delighted curiosity that momentarily pushed aside the tumult of pain and anger and confusion that had twisted her up the entire day.
The last petal lay on a folded note with her name on it.
"Tansy," she said sternly to her absent friend, "no wonder you went bright red and started stuttering." But her lips were smiling and she was opening the note.
A bold and generous hand, the words shaped in deep blue ink: There's a dress in the room with the red rose on the door.
That door stood to the right of her.
Walking over on feet that felt winged, she slid it open and entered to discover herself in a small storage room that had been cleaned until it shone. A pretty little white table and chair sat to the right, a rectangular mirror standing on the table, while in solitary splendor in the center of the room stood a clothes rack. On it was a long blue dress from her own closet: one shoulder was formed of three strings of pearls that swooped down her back then up to join the other shoulder, the front a sharp vee and the shape of it slinky.
She'd fallen in love with the gorgeous creation online and bought it in a midnight shopping spree. But she'd never worn it--had been saving it for a mating ceremony when one of her single cousins finally fell and fell hard.
The idea of wearing it for her own lover . . . She sighed, her smile glowing. Because this depth of planning had a certain security chief's hands all over it.
She ran her fingers over the fabric before looking to the table she'd noticed when she walked in. Laid out on top was her hairbrush, her face cream, and a bottle of her moisturizing lotion, as well as the cosmetics and jewelry she might use when she wanted to dress up.
"Sera." Only her high school friend would know just what to choose.
The last item on the table, however, hadn't been chosen by Sera. A tiare flower sat in solitary splendor in an open blue velvet box; it looked like a glowing jewel, its scent a familiar kiss. Bowen must've done some fast-talking to get his hands on that. Or he'd used security chief skills to purloin it--because Bebe only gave flowers from her prized bushes to people she liked and who hadn't annoyed her in the past month.
Smiling with girlish abandon, she was glad she'd had to take a quick shower toward the end of the dinner prep. Scott had stumbled and spilled pasta sauce all over her. "Oh, Kaia"--she shook her head with a soft laugh--"that was your security chief's doing." She wondered what he'd said to Scott to get the boy to agree to act the klutz in front of his crush--and how he'd known she'd feel foolish putting on this beautiful dress after getting all sweaty in the kitchen.
"Because he listens, he watches, he cares."
And he was so, so dangerous to her. But Kaia didn't have it in her to turn away from a gift this sweet, this wonderful. Even if the future was a burn at the back of her eyes and the past a heavy weight on her shoulders, her worry thick with guilt.
She still couldn't step away. This moment would never come again.
Reaching back, she tugged down the zipper of her knee-length dress with its skirt just full enough to allow her to move with freedom and the fabric light and floral. It fell to the floor in airy grace. Now clothed in lace panties and a matching bra, she picked up her dress to hang it on the clothes stand, then went to the table.
The first thing she did was remove the beaded wooden bracelet from around her wrist. Pain speared her as she put it gently aside, but she thought Hugo with his laughing eyes and outgoing ways wouldn't
begrudge her this--not if he knew Bowen as she knew him. Her friend was not a man who held grudges.
After inhaling a long, shaky breath, Kaia gently rubbed in her face cream, then stroked the tiare-scented lotion over her body. The bottle of foundation was the next thing she picked up. She took her time doing her makeup and brushing her hair until it shone. A man should wait for his lover. Bowen would wait for her.
The bra had to come off at the end--the dress didn't allow for it.
Skin soft from the moisturizing lotion, she pulled on the dress. It moved over her body like a lover's hands, hugging her curves and flowing in a fall as liquid as water.
That was when she realized: "No shoes." Laughing as the being inside her twisted in an exhilarated dive, she wondered what else the security chief had noticed.
The last thing she did was tuck the tiare flower behind her ear.
Ready, she opened the door and walked out barefoot.
The man who leaned on the wall on the other side was wearing an old-fashioned tuxedo, his hair neatly combed and his face lean. "Where did you get this?" She ran her hand covetously over his lapel, sensing the tensile strength of him.
"Dex borrowed it from another clanmate." He stood still as she stroked the smooth line of his jaw, then buried her nose in his throat and took a deep breath.
"I like the smell of you, Bowen Knight."
He shivered and raised his fingers to the tiare flower. "You're wearing it behind your left ear."
Kaia's lips curved. "I am."
His own smile was young and possessive and a little smug. Oh, he noticed everything, this man--even the silent language of flowers spoken by those on Ryujin.
"Come on, Siren," he said with a touch of the flower that told the world she was taken. "I have plans for you."
Refusing to acknowledge the dark shadows that awaited in the corners on wings of night, Kaia took his elbow and he escorted her to the door of the old warehouse.
She thought she was ready, but she wasn't. "Bowen." Releasing his arm, she walked into a dream. She'd forgotten this warehouse was right at the top of the habitat and had a seaward wall above. The warehouse was currently unused because the station team was discussing how to turn it into living quarters.
Streamers of white fabric fell from the support beams below the seaward sky to pool on the floor. Those gauzy curtains were held back by ropes of tiny lights that glittered like stars under the simulated moonlight, turning this room into a cocooned piece of the night sky.
More rose petals covered the floor, and in the center of the splendor was a Persian rug in hues of midnight blue and gold. On that rug stood a table covered with a tablecloth as white as snow, and two upholstered chairs in white with black swirls. More streamers of twinkling golden lights ran across the tablecloth.
The only other thing on there was a metal bucket of ice that held a bottle of champagne.
Bowen's hand on her lower back, his mouth kissing the curve of her throat. "No tears," he whispered, kissing away the hot wet that rolled down her cheeks. "No sadness tonight."
He was breaking her heart with the gentleness with which he kissed her tears into his own mouth. "I know life can't stop," she found herself whispering, "but it feels wrong to experience any kind of joy while Hugo and the others are out there, lost and hurt."
"I get it, Siren." Bowen's cheekbones sliced into his skin. "I carry the same guilt inside me every single day." Hard words, a tender touch. "The chip protects my thoughts, but there are millions of humans who can't say the same. They wake up knowing that today might be the day an invisible hand reaches in and rapes their mind."
Her gut lurched at the idea of it. "I'm sorry." She couldn't imagine being so without moral boundaries that she'd violate another's mind. Her parents hadn't had to teach her that; she'd known right from wrong even as a small girl. Other people's minds were private places unless they invited you in.
"You have no reason to be sorry." He rubbed his thumbs gently over her cheeks to capture the final remnants of her tears. "Take this night with me, Kaia. Live this dream."
Unspoken was the bleak reality hanging over his head.
She held on to the passionate life of his eyes. "No tears tonight." It was a pact that shut out the world: the chip in his head, the compound, the inevitable end of this dance, the accusations against the Alliance, Hugo, the other vanished . . . all of it.
Tonight was their impossible dream.
Chapter 38
Love is a razored blade of glass.
Gleaming facets more brilliant than rubies and emeralds.
A jewel among jewels.
--Adina Mercant, poet (b. 1832, d. 1901)
"POUR ME CHAMPAGNE," she whispered, then took a kiss, her hand on the warm skin at the back of his neck, his overlong hair soft on her fingers.
His own hand on the curve of her hip, he let her lead. When she pushed playfully at his chest in an echo of their morning encounter, he smiled and walked to the champagne bucket. He'd had flutes tucked in there, pulled them out to place them on the table before he popped the champagne.
The liquid he poured out was a cool gold, the foam a delicate white.
Picking up a flute, he held it out. "For my lady."
Laughing, she took it, clinked it against his with a clear bell-like sound that was a delight to her senses. It bounced around the room, brought the shape of that room to her. "To us."
"To us."
Their second kiss tasted of the crisp bite of champagne.
Music filled the air in the aftermath, soft and romantic. She nuzzled his nose. "Magic?"
"Or a remote in my pocket." He put the flat black rectangle on the table, did the same with his champagne, and held out a hand. "Dance with me?"
Setting aside her flute, she placed her hand in his and they danced under the moonlight and the starlight.
No one swam above them and she knew he'd somehow arranged that, too. Tonight, they existed in a cocoon, in each other's arms, in each other's eyes.
It felt dreamy and wonderful and a gift.
They danced, they drank champagne, they whispered silly things that lovers say. Later, her security chief asked her to wait a moment, then, as she watched, he whisked the bucket to the floor before pulling out the chairs. Taking the ropes of lights off the table, he placed them behind the chairs.
As if the stars had fallen to earth to create a carpet just for them.
When he lifted his hand again, she took it, allowed him to seat her. Smiling, she sipped champagne as he ducked behind a curtain. Of course she'd made pasta today. But even the prosaic simplicity of the meal wouldn't change the romance of this night--Bowen had worked so hard to pull it all together.
He entered pushing a cart that held several covered dishes. "Don't judge me too harshly," he said before pulling off the lid on the first plate.
Her hands flew to her mouth. "Crepes? How did you know I love crepes?" Savory like these, sweet, experimental flavors, all kinds.
"I have sources." He slid the plate in front of her with a lopsided grin. "But I'm not the best cook."
Kaia's heart melted into a puddle. "You cooked?" There were small kitchens in all the other main residential habitats, for use by those clanmates who felt like cooking for themselves, but she'd never imagined that Bowen Knight, security chief and weapons specialist, would do that for her.
"Cooking is how you show care, affection, love," he murmured as he took his seat. "I want to speak your language."
He'd told her no tears tonight, but he was going to make her cry if he kept this up.
She ate every bite, and with pleasure. He'd created more than one course, even included dessert. It was strawberry ice cream.
"I ran out of cooking mojo."
Laughing and giddy as a schoolgirl with her first love, she lifted a spoonful of ice cream to his lips. He fed her in turn and it was silly and young and wonderful. She saw no tension in his face, no weight on his shoulders.
If she could, she would'
ve lived this night forever, but time kept moving on.
The station was quiet when they snuck through like teenagers out too late. Once inside her room, they kissed slow and deep, undressed each other as slowly, stroked and touched with endless patience, found pleasure in every fragment of a moment.
But dawn, it still came, and the clock, it continued its inexorable countdown.
Chapter 39
Genetics is a game with an infinite number of possibilities. Every so often, the rarest of those possibilities combine in a single individual.
--From the draft of an unpublished paper titled "Recessive Gene Markers and the Rarity of True Genetic Death" by Dr. Natia Kahananui and Dr. Eijiro Kahananui
DR. KAHANANUI CALLED Bo in for a scan after breakfast. Lily had sent him more files overnight and he'd been sitting at the kitchen counter reading them while Kaia did her meal planning for the next few days.
"I'll come," she said, putting down her computronic pen.
Bo could still smell her on his skin, as if she'd become fused into his very cells. But it wasn't enough, would never be enough for him. He was like KJ's mate, who wanted the orderly to wear a wedding ring--Bo wanted Kaia to wear his brand and he wanted her to ask him to wear hers.
Ten more mornings.
He could make no promises before that, could ask for no loyalties. That would be a selfishness too far. So he took her hand and he took a kiss that made a passing Pania giggle behind her hand, while Scott gave him a thumbs-up. And he hoped his siren would forgive him if it was oblivion that waited on the other side of the door.
Dr. Kahananui was standing by her data display panel when they entered, her head on her mate's chest while Dex rubbed her back.
Bo and Kaia both froze on the doorstep, went to move back out, but the couple had seen them. "Come in," Dr. Kahananui said. "Dex has to get to work."
Rumbling in Dex's chest. "I told you I can take the time off."
"You'll spend it driving me crazy." Rising on tiptoe, the coolheaded scientist kissed her scowling mate's nose. "I'll see you at lunch."
"Count on it," Dex promised darkly before he left.
Bo got himself into the scanning chair, used to the procedure by now. Kaia silently strapped down his arms, then lowered the strip that went over his eyes. He was ready for the kaleidoscope in front of him, but what he saw in the back of his mind was Kaia's face . . . and the shadows that lived once more in her gaze.
