by Cathy Pegau
Natalia shifted on the bed, obviously uncomfortable. “Tell me what you have so you can untie me.”
Gennie reached into her trouser pocket for the stubby data drive the size of her thumbnail. She set it on the bedside table. The ruby-colored crystal glittered in the artificial light. Natalia didn’t take her eyes from Gennie’s. “The files on this drive come from various Reyes Corporation reports and documents. There were more, but some were corrupted before I had a chance to look at them. None contain direct evidence that would merit an official inquiry, let alone an investigation that would serve my purpose, but with CMA resources, a smart woman like you will be able to connect the dots.”
“If it’s enough to have you tie me up to get my attention, I’d think it’d be enough to get the CMA involved. Why not send it anonymously?”
“I did. Months ago. Nothing has come of it.”
Natalia gave a derisive snort. “So government sluggishness is cause for unlawful restraint and assault of a Colonial agent?”
“If that were the case, Agent, most of the CMA would be tied up on a regular basis.”
Natalia’s sudden, heartfelt laugh made Gennie smile. “Good point.”
But the lighter mood deflated quickly. “I tried regular channels,” Gennie said, “or rather, as regular as I could risk. When that failed, I was hoping my earlier favor for Sterling would help move things along.”
Natalia studied her with those piercing blue eyes. Gennie’s gut quivered, but not in fear. Far from it. She was beginning to regret drugging Natalia so soon.
“Sterling told me you were smart and cagey,” Natalia said. “If you thought you had to go through all of this to get me to look at your information, I’ll believe you had no other options. I’ll read through it and see what I can do. Now let me go.”
“I will.” Gennie rose and palmed another sedative cartridge from her jacket pocket. Her stunner was in the opposite pocket with a laser knife. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to take another short nap.”
What little friendliness and cooperation Natalia had projected, as false as it may have been, evaporated. She jerked on her bindings, eyes filled with anger once again. “Damn the void, no! Do not stick me.”
Gennie sat on the edge of the bed, and Natalia’s body tensed. She could easily imagine the woman in a similar position, yet in a more receptive mood. “I either use the sed and untie you so I can leave without you following me, or I leave you awake, as you are now, and make an anonymous call to the hotel manager to release you. Your choice.”
If Natalia had been able to break free, Gennie was sure the agent would have strangled her with her bare hands. “Fine,” she ground out through gritted teeth. “But this sure as hell doesn’t win you points.”
Gennie twisted off the cap of the two-centi-long cartridge, exposing the micro-porous end and priming the miniature trigger. It had been a delicate operation to prepare the cartridge with one hand while they’d been kissing at the door. Natalia was an excellent kisser, and Gennie had been distracted by her taste and touch.
Lamenting the lost opportunity, she slid the hem of Natalia’s sweater up. Smooth skin covered the flat, tight muscles of her abdomen. Gennie couldn’t help caressing the spot below her ribs to the waist of her trousers, along the curve of her hip. Natalia sucked in a breath, and Gennie’s gaze jumped to the agent’s wide eyes. Her pupils expanded, reducing the bright blue irises to thin rings. Gennie’s body heated. Neither looked away. What would Natalia do if Gennie kissed her now?
“Wait,” Natalia said. She swallowed hard and licked her lips. “What if I decide to pursue this and need to ask you something? How do I contact you?”
Was Natalia trying to figure out a way to hunt her down? She wouldn’t put it past the CMA agent for a second. “You shouldn’t have to contact me. You’ll have everything you need, everything I know.” Where Gennie had gotten the information wouldn’t matter. The files were copied bits of official reports, some public, many not, but all legitimate.
“No.” Natalia shook her head. “I need to cover my ass, and it sounds like you can’t afford any technical legal errors upsetting your plans either. Tell me how I can get in touch with you if I need more information, or I guarantee the stick will stay on that table.”
Even in their short time together, Gennie knew Natalia wasn’t bluffing. It was a risk to maintain any ties with the agent, but what choice did she have? She recited the twelve digits of the virtually untraceable, throwaway comm in her bag. The higher-quality comm in her pocket was for more important things.
Natalia nodded once, confirming she’d memorized the numbers.
Gennie sighed, conceding the agent had won that small battle, and touched the cylinder to Natalia’s side. “It’ll sting a little, like before, but I swear it’s safe. Please, just look at the files.”
With a squeeze of the cylinder, five centiliters of compressed gas in the upper portion of the cartridge injected the sedative into Natalia’s skin. She winced as the drug spread into her body. The injector itself was supposed to be painless, but the chemical burned a bit on contact. Almost immediately, Natalia relaxed. Her eyes fluttered closed.
Gennie checked her pulse while the drug took full effect. Natalia’s heart rate was a little slow, but just as strong and steady as before. Gennie used her laser knife to cut through the cords. After stuffing the pieces in her black bag and picking up any other debris that might be linked to her, she turned back to the bed.
Leaning over, she brushed her lips against the unconscious agent’s mouth. “I’m very sorry we didn’t get to finish what we started,” she whispered. “Maybe under other circumstances, things would have been different.”
She gathered her bag and left.
* * *
Black bag slung over her shoulder, Gennie hurried down the walkway three blocks from The Hotel Carmen. She shoved her hands into her coat pockets. The right one closed around her vibrating comm. Only one other person had the digits to this comm. If Del was calling, it was important. For the sake of security, there would be no message.
The wind had picked up, and sleet pelted her as she searched for a quiet alleyway. Turning down the dim corridor between two mega scrapers, she threaded her fingers through her tangled hair and walked far enough away from the street to reduce surrounding traffic noise. Unfortunately, that increased the stench of urine and garbage. She brushed her thumb across the accept icon then held the device to her ear.
The triple beep indicating the security program had checked and accepted the call was followed by a small voice. “Mommy, is that you?”
Her hand spontaneously tightened around the comm. “It’s me, honey. Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Branson’s reply was just above a whisper, but she heard the tears in that one word. “Delilah punched in the numbers and said I could talk to you. Is that okay?”
“Sure it is. Anytime you need to talk to me, ask her for help.” She kept her tone cheerful and encouraging, despite the tension coursing through her. Damn the Reyeses for making her son feel like he couldn’t speak to her freely. “What’s the matter?”
“Mel’s being mean to me.”
“What’s she doing?” Gennie paced the dim alley, sidestepping puddles of who-knew-what and solid debris, silently urging him to get to the point. It was a risk to have the comm link open, even with all the security measures in place. Part of her wanted to snap at the child and Delilah for violating safety protocol over such a mundane thing. But maternal instinct—a trait she would have sworn she didn’t have six years ago—told her he needed to talk to her. And truth be told, she wanted to talk to him and Melaine too.
Branson’s voice grew a little stronger as he launched into testimony against his twin. “She told me it was her turn to pick the vid before bedtime, but she got to do it the night before. Then Delilah sent us to bed withou
t a vid ’cause we were fighting. Then today, Melaine hit me twice with rocks and said it was a accident, but it wasn’t.”
Gennie could picture Melaine putting on an innocent face after attacking Branson. She was her mother’s daughter in more than appearance. “Is your sister there now?”
“No, she’s outside. Want me to get her?” He sounded eager, anticipating the tongue-lashing he knew would befall his sister and how it would upset Melaine even from ten thousand klicks away.
“No, I have to go soon, honey. You tell Mel I’m going to call at bedtime and I’ll be talking to her about it, okay?”
“Okay.”
Gennie wished she could risk turning on the visuals, but facial recog programs could scan comm signals and she didn’t want to put the patterns out there too often. It had been a week since she’d seen her children over the comm, two since she’d kissed them goodnight. She cleared the thick lump from her throat and blinked at the sudden sting in her eyes. “Let me talk to Delilah. You go play. Tell Mel I said I love you both, and I’ll call later.”
“Okay. Love you, Mommy. Bye.” There was a rustling sound, and she heard Branson say, “Here, Delilah.” As her friend took the comm, Branson’s voice called in the background, “Mellie, Mommy said you’re in bi-i-i-g trouble.”
Gennie smiled at the exaggerated ways of six-year-olds. Then her chest ached. She missed them so much, but she had to keep them away from the Reyeses until she could get them all off Nevarro. And that meant staying away from them herself in case the Reyeses found her.
“Sorry about that, Gennie,” Delilah said. “He was so upset.”
“It’s fine.” She clenched and unclenched her free hand. “I’ll be home tomorrow.” Guilt and misgivings made her grimace. “Think they’ll be okay?”
“Oh, sure.” Her voice held the same forced, positive quality it always did when Gennie asked that question. They both knew the kids hated that she was gone so much. Hell, she hated it too. “As long as you call, they’re fine.”
“Thanks, Delilah. This will be over soon, I promise.”
“I know, hon. You be careful.”
The double click of the disconnect sounded in Gennie’s ear. She slipped the comm into her pocket and sagged against the cold, damp steel-crete wall.
Damn the void. If Natalia Hallowell doesn’t help me, I’ll find another way to get the Reyeses off my back. A more permanent way, if necessary.
Chances were she wouldn’t survive that, but maybe Delilah could get Branson and Melaine away. Maybe.
Pain lanced her chest. Gennie slid down the wall into a squat and hugged her knees. The black bag dropped to the wet ground. Pressure against her sternum helped ease the ache, but it didn’t go away. Only escaping the Reyeses would accomplish that.
Alone in the stinking alley, Genevieve Caine, former associate of one of the most ruthless drug dealers on Nevarro, silently wept in fear and frustration.
Chapter Three
The stubby drive sat on Natalia’s desk, right beside her third cup of coffee, the morning after a sleepless night. She read through preliminary reports of her next case, but glanced at the small, red crystal more often than the words on the SI screen.
Anger, embarrassment and curiosity battled it out in the queasiness of her gut. How could she have fallen for Caine’s ploy? How had she missed the woman’s deception? Her damn job was to read people. She should have seen right through Caine the moment she introduced herself. But no. She’d been too torqued at Garces and too desperate for company to think straight.
Then to get caught with her trousers practically around her ankles when the woman knocked her out? Unacceptable.
At least whatever Caine had used had no lasting effects. Other than making Natalia feel foolish.
She rubbed her suddenly aching temples. Fine. She’d been duped. She couldn’t trust Caine any farther than she could throw an air lorry.
Her gaze fell onto the crystalline drive again.
Whatever the Reyeses were doing, and doing to her, was serious enough to force Caine out of hiding. The woman had disappeared months ago, after Natalia’s sometimes-partner Nathan Sterling had saved his sister from Caine’s then-employer Guy Christiansen. Caine had been working for Christiansen in his legitimate business ventures, but according to Sterling she was also involved with his amber trade. A check of the Corrections and Justice Departments’ databases, however, came up with a big fat nothing on Caine.
Lack of an official record or not being a person of interest in a particular crime didn’t mean Caine was innocent. But if a woman with her background felt she had to go to extreme lengths to get the CMA to investigate the Reyeses, surely it was worth checking out. And if it involved pirqinero miners, Natalia wanted answers.
Pirqineros, or pirqs, were throwbacks to independent old Earth miners who worked as individuals or in relatively small groups, compared to the massive number of miners employed by the Big Three companies. Pirqs used old-fashioned techniques that honored simplicity and working with your hands, rather than tech. Many pirqs also followed the Revivalist faith that celebrated those same merits.
Reyes Corporation played middle man, collecting ore and selling it to processors for pirqs. Owners Marta and Jackson Reyes were highly regarded in both social and business circles, but no one was above the lure of taking shortcuts to increase revenue. Hell, even Exeter, the richest mining company on Nevarro, had played fast and loose with regulations in order to develop new air filters and gain an advantage in the market. Plenty of people had died in their quest for a larger profit margin.
Were the Reyeses doing something to the pirqs? To hardworking people like her parents had been? That would explain Caine’s insistence that there was something nefarious going on.
Still, Natalia couldn’t help thinking there had to have been a better way to get the CMA’s attention than with seduction and sedation.
Like you’ve never gone that route.
A sharp rap sounded on her door as she reached for the drive. Before she could answer, the door swung open, and Garces stepped in. He wasn’t in uniform this morning but wore a sleek black suit and pale pink shirt. His dark eyes homed in on her and he frowned.
She closed her fist around the device.
“Get your ass up to the director’s office. Now.”
Natalia rose, both hands clenched, every nerve on alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Hirahm’s solicitor sent us a vid of you and Hirahm discussing your payment—” he spit the word out like a curse, “—for keeping your mouth shut about his contracts.”
Something flipped in her gut. “I never had a conversation like that with Hirahm.”
Garces’s face turned a disturbing shade of red. “Tech can’t determine if it’s simulated. As it stands, it’ll be taken as genuine by the Justice Department.”
A wave of surreal dizziness melded with the throbbing ache already in Natalia’s head. CMA techs—supposedly the best on the planet—couldn’t determine authenticity? Shit. “It is a fake. I wouldn’t do something like that, and you know it.”
His color returned to almost normal. Garces pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Just get up there.”
Without a word of agreement or reassurance, he left with a slam of her door.
Fuck.
If Tech couldn’t determine the vid was a fake, not only was the case against Hirahm at risk, but her own career was headed for the commode. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She reached to close out the file she was reading and realized her hands were still fisted. Opening them, she stared at the red drive on her palm. Natalia slipped it into her trouser pocket then turned off the computer. In an odd mix of dazed confusion and racing thoughts, she left her office and took the elevator up to the top floor.
The elevator door opened onto the d
irector’s hall, carpeted in a lush royal blue. The walls projected vids of CMA ceremonies and portraits of directors past. At the end of the corridor, Director Matthews’s door, the black-and-gold insignia of the CMA at its center, was closed. Natalia walked down the hall, mentally girding herself along the way.
You haven’t done anything wrong. This is an attempt by Hirahm and his solicitor to get his case thrown out. Tech will figure it out soon enough.
She took a long, slow breath and released it in the same manner before levering the handle. Inside, the director’s assistant looked up from his SI screen. Andrew continued to speak into his comm headset as he nodded toward Matthews’s inner office door. His lack of expression meant either Natalia had nothing to worry about or she was screwed.
She gave the door a couple of quick knocks then pushed it open. A variety of awards and commendations hung on the walls, but there was very little in the way of personal touches. Garces sat in one of two guest chairs on the near side of the massive steel desk, arms crossed. Behind the desk, Director Matthews was rod-straight, her plum suit jacket immaculate, as was her short, wavy black hair. In comparison, Natalia felt like she’d slept in her clothes, despite the trousers and blouse having been fresh from the cleaner.
“Shut the door, Agent Hallowell.” Matthews’s tone revealed nothing. The lines around her mouth and eyes, however, showed her agitation. “Sit down, please.”
Natalia did as she was told. Minimally padded, the guest chairs were intended to keep visits short and concise; Matthews did not abide superfluous conversation.
“Watch and listen,” the director said.
Her fingers flew across the projected console, and the back of the thin SI screen lit up, showing, Natalia assumed, the same image as on the side that faced Matthews. The gray screen flickered then brightened into an image of Hirahm’s office. Natalia recognized the desk, chairs and the ugly piece of supposed art bolted to the wall over the couch. The angle suggested it was shot from the corner near the door. Damn, had her earlier scans missed the camera?
