Deep Deception

by Cathy Pegau

  She told herself a million times as the train put more and more klicks between them that it was better this way, that there could never be anything with Natalia Hallowell other than fond memories and unavoidable regrets.

  This was her life, and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

  She hugged them tighter. “You two make me the happiest mom in the entire ’Verse.”

  “See, Bran,” Mellie said as she yawned. “You don’t always have to have a prince or a princess to be happy.”

  “Good,” he said, “because I don’t know any princes or princesses.”

  Gennie laughed and extracted herself from between the twins. “All right, you two, time for sleep.”

  They grumbled halfheartedly about not being sleepy, about wanting another story, all while Gennie tucked them into the bed. There was a second bed in the room, but rarely did both get used on the same night.

  She kissed them goodnight, turned off the bedside lamp and left the door ajar before heading downstairs.

  Delilah sat at the dining table, a mug of tea at her elbow, scanning her comm. A snug unisuit accentuated the muscles of the arms, calves and back of the two-meter-tall former cage fighter. She was barefoot, her preferred mode for her evening exercise. After six years, only about four centis of coarse, curly hair showed for her efforts of growing it out from the clean-shaven style she’d maintained before retiring from the ring.

  “Water’s still hot,” Del said, not looking up from whatever she was reading.

  “Thanks.” Gennie went into the kitchen and fixed herself a cup of tea. Back in the dining-living area, she sat across from her friend.

  “You’re spoiling them, you know.” Delilah was still focused on the comm.

  “I was reading them a story.”

  “Four stories, an hour past their bedtime.” She flicked the screen. “And an extra piece of cake after dinner.”

  “I’ve been gone too much. They deserve a little spoiling now and again.” Gennie sipped her tea. She refused to feel guilty about impinging on the routine Delilah had maintained. She felt guilty enough over not being with them and how things had ended with Natalia.

  “I suppose,” Del said with a dramatic sigh. She set the comm on the table and held her cup in both hands. Her dark eyes found Gennie’s. “You promised them you wouldn’t go away again. Are you sure you’ll be able to keep that one?”

  Gennie tightened her grip around her cup. She wasn’t angry at Delilah; the woman had every right to question her. She was angry because she probably shouldn’t have made that promise. “If this doesn’t work with Hallowell, there’s nothing more I can do, short of killing Marta and Jackson Reyes. So yes, I’ll keep it. We may have to move a lot, but I’ll keep it.”

  Delilah stared at her for a few moments then nodded. “Good. You still want me around?”

  The question startled Gennie. Del had spent six years teaching, protecting and caring for Branson and Melaine, sacrificing her post-career plans to help Gennie after Simon had died. She was more than a friend, more than a bodyguard. She was as much a parent as Gennie. “You still want to be around?”

  The hardness in her gaze softened. “I love those kids. You know that. I just want us all to have normal lives.”

  Gennie covered her friend’s free hand. “Me too, and I want this family to stay together, if that’s what you want.”

  “I do,” Del said.

  “So why are you asking me such a stupid question?” She gave Del a mock glare.

  Delilah smiled. “I guess I’m just a dumb ol’ pug who took too many blows to the head.”

  They both laughed. The former fighter was a lot of things, but dumb wasn’t one of them.

  “I guess I can—”

  The lights flickered once, twice, dimmed for a second then came back on.

  They sat frozen, staring at each other, listening. There were no storms in the area to explain an interruption, and the backup power supply would have compensated without the slightest flicker if there were. The security measures Gennie had installed should have countered any external attempts at sabotaging the house system. Should have.

  Gennie toed off her shoes.

  On silent cue, they both jumped up from their chairs and headed to hidden lockboxes. The one closest to Gennie was behind a false panel of the antique china cabinet. She pressed her palm to the side. The wood-toned screen read her print then slid aside to reveal an alphanumeric pad. She tapped in the code, using more muscle memory than active thought. The inner panel clicked open. Inside the bottom of the cabinet were six pulsers and two stunners. She grabbed four pulsers and closed the panels.

  By the time she rose and turned, Del was tossing her a headset over the table. Gennie sent two pulsers her way, caught the set and hooked it over her right ear.

  “It might be nothing,” Del said.

  “Might be,” Gennie said. “House, code alpha. All lights off.”

  The house system’s voice recognition read her near whisper as easily as if she’d shouted. The lights went out. She slid one pulser into the waistband of her trousers at the small of her back. Her eyes adjusted to the ambient light of the neighborhood coming through the windows. She and Delilah could easily navigate their home in the dark; an intruder wouldn’t get as far as fast.

  “As long as they don’t have night vision,” Del said, her voice soft in the earpiece of the headset, “we’ll have the advantage.”

  “As long as they don’t come in the house,” Gennie replied, “they won’t get shot.”

  Del’s snort was almost loud enough to hear without the headset. She quieted, and both stood still.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as Gennie could tell. They lived in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Danton, the largest city on the South Continent. Dogs barked; ground and air cars passed by. Del slid her comm off the table and tapped.

  “Security system is green, but something seems off.”

  “Let me see.” Gennie eased around the table to where Del stood, her ears still alert to anything unusual. The screen did, indeed, show everything was fine. Except for the wavering quality of the test, as if the words were trying to stay on the screen and not fade away.

  “I don’t like it.” Del pocketed the comm.

  “Me neither. Let’s—” A creak from the kitchen stopped her. The door leading to the garage squeaked again.

  Gennie pointed to herself then up. She was going to check on the kids. The former cage fighter rolled her shoulders to loosen up, nodded and pointed into the kitchen. The intruders from the garage were hers.

  Gennie glanced into the kitchen as she crossed the room to the stairs. The garage door eased open. Anyone breaking into her house was subject to whatever she and Delilah deemed necessary to protect themselves and the kids. Nevarro had a very accommodating defense of life and property law.

  She had one foot on the side of the tread when she heard Melaine. “Mommyyyyyyyyy!”

  Gennie’s heart jumped into her throat.

  “Go!” Delilah ordered at the same time she swung around the archway and shot toward the doorway.

  Pulser fire sizzling behind her, Gennie raced up the stairs two or three at a time. She burst into the kids’ room. Two men were leaning over the bed, trying to restrain the twins. But she’d taught them well. Both fought like Bidarki pumas, scratching and biting. Even softhearted Branson was yelling, his limbs flailing about as he twis
ted out of the man’s grip.

  Anger roared through Gennie. She lowered her shoulder and charged the closest one, hitting his solid back. The blow sent him sprawling on top of the bed. Melaine rolled aside and kicked at his head, screaming.

  Gennie rabbit-punched him twice in the kidneys, not risking a pulser shot this close to Melaine. The man grunted, swung. He caught Gennie in the face with his forearm. She blinked away stars. Her nose and lip throbbed painfully. She hit him in the head with the butt of her pistol—once, twice—and he lay still.

  Without missing a beat, Gennie launched herself at the man on Branson. He had her small son restrained against his large body. The boy fought, but he was at a bad angle and not being effective except to tire himself out. The man fished in his pocket with the other hand.

  Gennie grabbed that arm and pressed the pulser against his neck. “Let him go.”

  The man froze. She couldn’t discern the color of his eyes, hair or skin, but the smirk he gave her was clear enough. “You’re not gonna shoot. Even if you kill me, you could hurt the boy.”

  He was right. This close, the pulser shot could bleed through his body into Branson. She wouldn’t risk that. Damn it, she should have taken the stunner. Gennie swallowed hard, holding the bastard’s gaze in the dark. Warm blood trickled from her nose, across her lip.

  “Mommy,” Branson said in a small voice, “I have to pee.”

  The words clicked in Gennie’s brain. “Okay, baby.”

  The intruder frowned. Branson slammed his elbow into the man’s crotch. He “oofed” and instinctively shoved Branson away, sending the boy sprawling. Gennie let go of his arm, stepped back then shot him in the head. The stench of burned hair and flesh made her want to gag. She rushed to Branson.

  “You okay?” Gennie brushed the hair out of his eyes, searching for any sign of injury in the poor light.

  He nodded.

  “Mommy?” Melaine sat on the other assailant’s back, her fingers poised near his eyes should he stir again. The kids had learned a lot in Del’s training sessions. “Where’s Delilah?”

  Gennie reached for her headset. It wasn’t in her ear. She scrambled on the floor and found it on the other side of the bed. “Delilah?”

  The crackle of movement. Labored breathing. “Get out,” she whispered.

  “We’re not leaving without you.” Gennie started toward the door, fear prickling in her chest.

  “You are.” She gave the order, despite the difficulty she was having talking. “I got two of them, but there’ll be more coming. Go.”

  “Del—”

  “Now, Gennie. Go.” Wheezing, and in the background, footsteps. “Go!”

  Pulser fire erupted downstairs.

  Gennie cursed and turned back to the twins. Mourning would have to wait. “Go bags. Now.”

  Each dove under their beds to retrieve their bags. Gennie’s was in her room, but there was no time to get it. The air car and the ground car each had necessary supplies to sustain them for several days; she’d live without a change of clothes or shoes for the time being.

  Pulser in hand, she led the way through the window, onto the flat garage roof where her air car was parked. A cold breeze off the sea chilled the sweat on her body. No one came through the open trap door that led to the garage. No movement near the car. She helped Melaine and Branson out of the window. Both wore their backpacks, keeping their hands free. They’d been smart enough to slip on shoes. Gennie’s bare feet made no noise on the tiled roof, but the cold numbed them.

  Huddled against the house, she found her comm in her trouser pocket and opened the air car door. It slid up, sounding incredibly loud in the night. Another few strokes on the comm, and engine prep began. She wouldn’t fire it up until they were locked safely inside.

  “Be ready to run and get in on my mark,” she told the twins.

  They nodded, wide-eyed and scared. Even her tough little girl looked like she might cry at any second.

  Gennie smiled. She hoped her expression looked more reassuring than it felt on her face. “We’ll be okay. Hold hands.” They did. She scanned the roof again. “Now!”

  Gripping Melaine’s hand, she ran toward the car. As soon as they reached the door, she lifted Melaine then Branson in. “Buckle up.”

  Gennie climbed into the pilot’s seat and shut the door.

  “Where’s Del?” Branson asked.

  Gennie’s heart stuttered. She’d heard nothing over the headset. “She’ll catch up with us later.”

  “Is she...” Melaine’s little voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

  Gennie started the engine. “She was getting rid of some other bad guys. We’re gonna go someplace safe, and Del will follow later.”

  Please please please let that be true.

  She lied to herself to keep from thinking about reality as much as she was trying to keep from scaring the kids.

  Gennie caught movement out of the corner of her eye as Melaine cried, “Mommy!”

  A large man dressed in black grabbed the air car’s door. He yanked on it, but the lock held. It rocked the small car. Gennie pushed the thruster and angled the control stick away from him, sideways and up. The car shuddered but didn’t lift off.

  “Shit!” She’d forgotten to release the tethers, and straining against them engaged the emergency lock. She’d have to ease back on the throttle, set down and release them from inside.

  The man dug something cylindrical from his pocket. Gripping it in his fist, he slammed the end of it against the plasti-glass of her pilot’s-side window. Crack. The twins screamed.

  The man pounded on the door, the window. The crack grew.

  Gennie dropped back onto the roof. The man grinned. Did he really think she’d give up so easily? She slapped the tether release. The man frowned at the sound of the straps hitting the roof. Gennie shoved the throttle and the control stick at the same time, knocking him backward.

  Breaking every speed and route law on the South Continent, Gennie flew west, planning her next three stops and vehicle changes before she could head toward the last place she thought she’d ever go.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Natalia sat up in bed, swirling the last mouthful of whisky in her glass as she read about the strife in the Juneau System. Politics of another star system usually didn’t hold much interest for her, until now. Hutchins and Selden, two city-states on Juneau fighting over water and land resources, were very close to coming to blows. And the Reyeses were weighing things heavily in favor of one. Drop enough of the deadly fungus-bacteria on one side, poisoning the population’s food source as well as infecting their lungs, and it would be child’s play to take over. Hell, for all she knew, they were selling the yttrium-laden fungus to both sides.

  There were, of course, strict interplanetary restrictions regarding the sale of anything deemed a weapon. Bioweapons had been banned as a war crime of the worst offense for the last two centuries. Agricultural soil supplements, however, were welcomed with open arms.

  Natalia just had to get the chemical analysis from Williams to the CMA. As soon as that was ready, she’d pounce.

  Her comm beeped the four-tone signal, indicating someone was at the front door, ringing her flat. Natalia frowned, drank the last of her whisky and grabbed her pulser from the bedside table. It was nearly twenty-four hundred. She brought up the door camera view and nearly choked.

  Genevieve Caine stood at the top of the building’s front
stairs. She held the hand of a dark-haired boy, while a little blond girl wearing a backpack lay with her head on Gennie’s shoulder, supported in her mother’s arm. Gennie turned her back to the door to scan the quiet street. What could have brought her to Natalia’s doorstep?

  “Shit.” She jumped out of bed, stuffing the pulser into her waistband, and hurried down stairs.

  Natalia opened the front door. Gennie’s dark eyes seemed sunk into her head, the circles beneath them like bruised fruit. A cut on her upper lip looked to be a couple of days old. Her hair was pulled back into a loose tail. She was just as beautiful as ever, but it was the fear on her face that struck Natalia like an air car.

  Gennie opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  “Get inside,” Natalia said.

  Relief flickered in Gennie’s eyes. She guided the boy—Branson—into the foyer. Natalia quickly scanned the street. Nothing out of the ordinary. She shut the door and faced Gennie.

  “I didn’t know where else to go,” Gennie said, her voice rough and low.

  Natalia stared at her for a few seconds, not sure how to deal with the turmoil of emotion running through her. Worry, relief, joy; she couldn’t untangle them. Grateful she didn’t have to at the moment, she kneeled down in front of the boy. “Branson, my name is Natalia. Can I carry you up to my flat?”

  His dark eyes were half closed and he swayed on his feet, but that didn’t keep him from giving her a quick once-over. Was she a threat? Gennie had taught her children well.

  “It’s okay,” Gennie said, releasing his hand.

  Branson nodded. Natalia lifted him in her arms, marveling at his immediate relaxation as she adjusted her hold beneath his pack. She led the way up to her flat and palmed the lock panel.

  “Through here,” she said. Gennie shut the door behind them. “It’ll lock automatically. I’ll reset security in a second.”