Rulebreaker

By Cathy Pegau

Liv Braxton’s Felon Rule #1: Don’t get emotionally involved.

Smash-and-grab thieving doesn’t lend itself to getting chummy with the victims, and Liv hasn’t met anyone on the mining colony of Nevarro worth knowing, anyway. So it’s easy to follow her Rules.

Until her ex, Tonio, shows up with an invitation to join him on the job of a lifetime.

Until Zia Talbot, the woman she’s supposed to deceive, turns Liv’s expectations upside down in a way no woman ever has.

Until corporate secrets turn deadly.

But to make things work with Zia, Liv has to do more than break her Rules, and the stakes are higher than just a broken heart…

89,000 words

Dear Reader,

I feel as though it was just last week I was attending 2010 conferences and telling authors and readers who were wondering what was next for Carina Press, “we’ve only been publishing books for four months, give us time” and now, here it is, a year later. Carina Press has been bringing you quality romance, mystery, science fiction, fantasy and more for over twelve months. This just boggles my mind.

But though we’re celebrating our one-year anniversary (with champagne and chocolate, of course) we’re not slowing down. Every week brings something new for us, and we continue to look for ways to grow, expand and improve. This summer, we’ll continue to bring you new genres, new authors and new niches—and we plan to publish the unexpected for years to come.

So whether you’re reading this in the middle of a summer heat wave, looking to escape from the hot summer nights and sultry afternoons, or whether you’re reading this in the dead of winter, searching for a respite from the cold, months after I’ve written it, you can be assured that our promise to take you on new adventures, bring you great stories and discover new talent remains the same.

We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

Happy reading!

~Angela James

Executive Editor, Carina Press

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Acknowledgments

Many thanks to my friends and crit partners, Sharron

McClellan and Jody Wallace, for their (sometimes

brutal) honesty. Your knowledge, insight and

support saved me from throwing in the towel many

times. You rock!

Undying gratitude to Kym Hinton, for the amazing

R&R letter that pushed Rulebreaker over the edge

from “Maybe” to “Yes.” Also, to Rhonda Stapleton,

for her enthusiasm and jumping in to whip the

manuscript into final shape. Wine-Fest, here I come.

And Lauren, thanks for catching the things that

almost slipped by.

Agent Natalie Fischer signed me based on this book,

taking a chance on a brand spanking-new author.

Thanks for seeing the potential, Natalie.

Most of all, thanks to my family for their patience

and understanding. The years between “My mommy

writes” and “My mom is an author” were long and

filled with many cereal dinners (because I just needed

to finish that one scene while it was in my head!).

Scott, thanks for not making me get a real job.

Special thanks to R., for her help untangling some

plot issues, and to K., for a rockin’ title.

Dedication

This first novel is dedicated to my parents, who

always told me I could do or be anything and

supported even some of my more eyebrow-raising

decisions. Love you, Mom. Love and miss you, Dad.

Contents

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

About the Author

Chapter One

One of the three masked men raised his rifle and shot a short burst of energy pulses into the ceiling of the First Colonial Bank of Nevarro. Fft-fft-fft-fft-fft. Plaster hit the wood floor in a staccato patter louder than the shots themselves. Ozone, dust and cries of alarm filled the air.

The shooter swung the muzzle toward me. “I said, heads down, lady.”

Gut tight, I complied, imitating the others who had been caught inside the bank when the black-clad men had entered just before closing time. It wasn’t often that I stared into the dark, deadly hole of a weapon. I don’t recommend it as a regular activity.

“Everyone stay down and stay quiet,” he ordered. “We’ll be outta here in two minutes, and y’all can go home alive.”

One of the men in black escorted the teller and the manager to the back of the bank where the vault was. The guard, an elderly couple, Calvin and I lay on our bellies, hands on the backs of our heads and cheeks to the rough wood. The elderly couple had come in to check on their savings.

Cal and I had come in to rob the place ourselves.

Despite the pulse pistol nestled under my clothes against the small of my back, and Cal’s gun tucked in a holster covered by his right pant leg, neither of us was inclined to play hero.

Cal turned his head away from the shooter to glare at me. “Only you, Liv,” he whispered fiercely, “would pick the exact same day to rob a bank as real criminals.”

Real criminals? I opened my mouth to loudly voice my indignation but snapped it shut. I’d already drawn enough attention to myself. Instead, I returned his harsh whisper. “We are real criminals. This is just poor timing.”

Cal and I had been planning this job for a while. The Exeter Mining Company deposited its employees’ pay during an undisclosed period each month to avoid such actions as, say, robbery. But Cal had finagled the schedule and amounts from a friend. Seventy-five thousand in cold, hard cash had been delivered to this bank in Milchner the day before. Many small-op contract miners preferred hard money to electronic transfer—fewer slipped digits and short changings to worry about.

We chose this branch because it was the most remote, the least secure and had the fewest personnel. Despite its lower take than a branch in one of the larger cities, like Pembroke, it was the perfect hit.

Apparently the competition thought so too.

“We should have done this sooner,” Cal grumbled.

“It’s not my fault my car died,” I said.

This had not been one of my luckier days, or months, or years for that matter. The job was supposed to go down last month, but fast transportation was a must. Cal only had access to a slower model Airvan. A week before the original hit date, the lifters on my somewhat newer, sleeker and more sensitive light air car went offline. Part of this take was earmarked to pay that bill. Damn the void.

And while PubTrans was an efficient mode for us working-class folks of Pembroke City, it was not the ideal getaway system. Besides, PubTrans didn’t run to way-the-hell-out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere towns like Milchner.

Before Cal could remind me we’d had ample opportunity in prior months, the black barrel of the second gunman’s rifle tapped down on his temple. Cal’s eyes widened. The breath caught in my chest.

My gaze traveled along the length of the rifle, hesitated where a gloved finger rested on the trigger, then up to the man’s face. I assumed it was a man; he looked tall and broad from my view from the floor.

Like the other two thieves, this one wore dark glasses and a garish cloth to mask his features. The hood of his black jacket covered his head. There would be no facial recognition program to help catch these guys even if this bank had decent video, which it didn’t. Yet another reason Cal and I had targeted it.

Black lenses reflected twin images of my prone body. The man raised his index finger and placed it against his mouth. Quiet.

I nodded, getting a splinter from the floor jabbed into my cheek for my troubles. The gunman moved away.

My stomach did a flip. I closed my eyes, trying not to puke as bile bit at the back of my throat. So this was what it felt like to be utterly helpless, to have complete strangers decide if you lived or died. The fear. The uncertainty. The praying they would just do their thing and go away without hurting anyone.

Somewhere behind me, the old lady began to sob quietly. Her husband made soft shushing noises, his voice shaky. I hoped the gunmen wouldn’t notice.

Forget about them, Liv, my brain ordered. You’ve got your own ass to keep alive.

Right. Felon’s Rule Number One: Don’t get emotionally involved. I forced professional curiosity to replace victimization—the old couple’s and my own. I opened my eyes and took in as much of the scene as I could without lifting my head. Shooter at the door. Second gunman? Out of my line of sight for the moment.

What was the third man doing with the manager and teller? You only needed one or the other to open the vault. The money sat right there in its happy little lockboxes, which also required only one key. Why risk having to deal with two employees? These guys had a different technique from mine and Cal’s, but now was not the time to open a discussion.

“Liv,” Cal whispered through unmoving lips. His dark eyes watched something behind me.

The soft scrape of a boot. The gunman had returned. I didn’t dare turn toward him. Cool, ion-hardened ceramic touched the back of my hands. I swallowed hard, eyes fixed on Cal.

The gunman didn’t speak. His palm skimmed the length of my leather jacket from shoulder to just above my buttocks. He pressed down, jabbing my pistol into my spine, then moved the tails of the jacket and shirt aside, exposing the waist of my trousers. And the gun. Like he knew it would be there.

My gut quivered. Shit! If he took me for a lawman, I was dead.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” he whispered close to my ear. He eased the gun out, resting it on the bared skin of my back. His gloved fingers slid under my trousers. My muscles stiffened when he tickled my tailbone just below the waistband of my bikini panties. “Got anything else there?”

His hand trailed back up to my gun, and its weight disappeared. The barrel of his rifle nudged the back of my hands. “You’re quite lucky today, amante. Quite lucky.”

Amante. Lover.

Only one person used that word with me, and he’d lost the privilege three years ago.

Tonio Calderon.

Over the indignation and disbelief buzzing in my head, activity from near the vault told me the job was done.

The bastard leaned closer. His breath warmed my ear. “Gotta go, darlin’.”

He dragged a finger up my spine then was gone.

My body shivered in memory of his touch while my mind screamed. No! No no no, double damn the void, NO! This went beyond poor timing.

My ex-husband had just felt me up, taken my gun and spoiled my hit.

“Here’s your water, Miss Braxton.” Sheriff Nathan Sterling set the heavy glass tumbler in front of me and resumed his seat on the other side of the table. He wasn’t particularly tall, only a dozen centis over my 167. But his dark uniform with its shiny badge, his broad shoulders and erect posture made him seem bigger.

“Thank you,” I said and took a sip of tepid water.

We sat in the windowless, overheated interview room of the Milchner sheriff’s station. Like most of Milchner—and Nevarro, for that matter—the room and the station had seen better days. Peeling paint and rickety furniture proclaimed the sheriff department’s lack of budget.

Sterling shuffled through a few sheets of synth paper on the table. Paper. I swallowed a chuckle with another sip. No handhelds in sight, and the bulky System Interface terminals in the main office were about a decade behind the rest of civilization. How did they chase down criminals? With a posse on horseback? Just as long as they didn’t go in for lynching, I’d be fine.

A thin scar running across his forehead blended with frown lines as he read my statement. “You went into the bank to withdraw some cash.” His blue eyes met mine. “Your ID says you’re from Pembroke. What’s your business in our little burg?”

Cal and I had worked out details well beforehand. “My friend and I were taking a weekend trip. We needed a room.”

That was a lie, but the fleabag hotel we’d scoped out only took hard money, not credit vouchers or weepy promises. Though the guy behind the desk was scary enough that he probably would’ve taken a kidney or small child as payment. The trade in both was rampant on some worlds.

Sterling quirked a dark blond brow at me. “You were gonna stay at the Milchner Arms?”

I gave him a weary smile. “It’s the only hotel in town. We’re tired and poor.”

This part was true, hence our plan to rob the bank.

He held my gaze for a moment. As he stared, his right eye drifted, shifting its focus to the wall. Artificial organ. And a cheap one at that, if it couldn’t hold position. If the Milchner constabulary couldn’t afford decent furniture, why was I surprised its sheriff received second-rate eye replacement?

The sheriff rubbed the corner of his eye, setting it back into place before nodding. “All right. Tell me what happened.”

Despite the fact he had my full statement right in front of his baby blues—at least the colors matched—the lawman wanted to see if there were any discrepancies in my story. To see if I’d left out any details of the robbery, which I hadn’t. Or was lying about anything, which I was, but he’d never know it. Lawmen were suspicious types; “trust no one” was their mantra. I could relate.

I cleared my throat. “Cal and I had come in to get some cash. It was getting late, and the bank was about to close.” Classic time for a hit. The robbers knew it. Sterling probably knew it. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to admit I knew it. “Before we got up to the teller’s cage, these three guys in black burst in, hit the guard and pointed guns at us. They told us to lay on the floor, and we did.”

My hands clenched on the table. Sterling probably thought it was a reaction to the frightening situation I’d been through. Actually it was from being torqued that our plans had been thwarted. Again. The idea of switching careers had crossed my mind more than once since this afternoon.

“What about the teller and the manager?” he asked.

“One of the men yelled to them to come out from behind the cage. I guess they did. I couldn’t see them, but I heard movement when the gunman told them to hurry up.”

The reason the robbers needed both people still niggled at the back of my brain.

He tapped on the table and rested his other hand against his face, two fingers pressed against the corner of his right eye. “One of the other witnesses says you were approached by a gunman. Want to tell me about that?”

I shifted on the wooden chair. “It’s in my statement.” Mostly.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear it out loud, Miss Braxton.”

Like the distraught victim I was supposed to be, I dropped my gaze to my hands encircling the tumbler and waited for him to prompt me again. I didn’t have to wait long.

“I realize this is difficult for you,” he said in the lawman tone of sympathetic interrogation, “but we need your help if we’re gonna catch these guys.”

That brought my eyes up to his. “Do you think you will?”

I hoped I sounded more like a justice-seeking victim than a vengeful ex. But oh, to have Tonio and his new little gang tossed into a Colonial Correctional Mine for a dozen or so years would make my year. Teach the bastards for messing up my hit.

“I can’t make any guarantees, but every little bit helps.” Sterling’s earnest desire to see the bad guys put away was admirable. He actually seemed competent, an unusual trait in backwater lawmen. Though I’d rather have been the one to make the hit, I was glad it wasn’t me he sought.

“All right.” I took another sip of water. “We were all lying on the floor. I said something to Cal about how scared I was. One of the men stuck his gun against Cal’s head.” I swallowed hard, remembering the look in Cal’s eyes when he felt the barrel.

Sheriff Sterling asked, “Did he say anything?”

I shook my head. “No. He just raised his finger to his lips.” I demonstrated. “Then he left us alone.”

“But he came back to you. Touched you.”

Renewed indignation seared my cheeks. “Yes,” I whispered. “He put his gun to my head.” I’d never forgive Tonio for that little bit of theatrics.

Sterling leaned forward, his forearms on the table. “Mr. Crosby, the elderly gentleman, said the gunman crouched down beside you. What did he do?”

Took my gun and copped a feel. But the first part wasn’t in any statement and never would be. My pulse pistol wasn’t exactly legal. Between its scatter coat to deflect security detection and not being registered, merely possessing it was an automatic five years in the CCM.

“He ran his hand along my back and—” I let my voice break appropriately, “—and m-my backside.”

Phantom fingers sent tingles up my spine. Damn Tonio for having that effect on me after three years!

The sheriff’s jaw clenched and cold fire glinted in his eyes. “Slag mucker,” he muttered. Apparently, taking advantage of a woman while holding a gun on her was one of his pet peeves. “Did he say anything?”

“Just that he was s-sorry they didn’t have more time.” I let my gaze drop again. Total lie, but it made Tonio look that much worse to Sterling, which made me feel somewhat better.

“Anything else?” he asked. I shook my head, too “distraught” to look him in the eye. “Do you think you could recognize him? His voice?”

Sure I could, Sheriff, because he’s my ex-husband. I haven’t seen or heard from him in three years, but I clearly recall his voice, his touch.

And when I help you nab him, Tonio will be happy to tell you all about how he knew me. How we’d hit banks, mercantiles and jewelry stores from Weaver to Hawkins’ Rock before landing here on Nevarro.

I shook my head again, hard enough to rattle thoughts of vengeance out and some sense back in. “No, I don’t think so.”

Sterling’s eyes locked on mine again. “I know you’re scared, Olivia.”

Uh-oh. Lawmen used your given name to make you feel like they were your friend. Had I been nothing more than a victim of groping and robbery, I would have felt safe and secure knowing Sheriff Nathan Sterling was my pal. But with a friend like him, I’d get a quick ride to the CCM myself if I wasn’t careful.

“These men will keep on with their thieving,” he continued. “They’ll keep terrorizing old people and assaulting young women like yourself.”

Sympathy with a side of guilt. He was good.

Hands clenched, I dug a fingernail into my palm and let tears flow. “I know he’d have hurt me if he could, but I don’t think I’ll be of any help, Sheriff.” I hung my head. A soft sob escape my throat and I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Sterling laid one of his red, chapped hands over mine. I wondered if it was real or another replacement part. “It’s all right. Thanks for your help.” He stood, the scrape of the chair covering my sniffles. “I’ll get in touch with you in Pembroke if I have any more questions. Will you be heading back there tonight?”

I looked up at him and wiped away my crocodile tears. “Yes. It’s a long ride, but Cal and I decided we just want to go home.” I stood, offering a wan smile. “Thank you, Sheriff. I hope you catch those men.”

I did and I didn’t, but I had to mouth the appropriate words.

Sterling nodded then held the door open for me. Cal waited on a bench in the hall. The older couple had been interviewed before us and was nowhere to be seen. My partner stood but didn’t approach.

“Just out of curiosity,” I said turning back to the sheriff, “how much did the robbers get?”

He gave me a hard look for about a second before his features softened. “Don’t know. They didn’t take the cash sitting right there. They took the contents of some safe deposit boxes.”

That explained the need for both the manager and the teller.

It took every gram of willpower for me to merely nod and walk away. The bastards messed up our hit and didn’t take the cash? Worse, there must have been something more valuable in those safe deposit boxes. Something Cal and I had no idea about. Now I felt inept as well as pathetic.

I was going to kill Tonio if I saw him again.

One week later, in my flat in Pembroke, I tried to convince Cal we should hit another bank next month. He wasn’t biting.

“Damn it, Cal, you can’t quit on me,” I said over the encoded line. More expensive to maintain than an open link, but when one conversed about bank robbery and other acts of larceny, the extra cost was worth it.

I held the headset to my ear with one hand while I ransacked the living room, searching for my wallet. The delivery guy from the A1 Food Emporium would be here soon with my dinner.

“I’m sorry, Liv,” Cal said. “You’ll have to find somebody else.”

“Like who?” I complained. It had taken me the better part of two years to find a decent partner. What little savings I’d stashed had dwindled dramatically until Cal, and I didn’t want to dip into it again as well as find a new partner. “This was one small setback. A blip. A minor interruption.”

“That was just too close.”

I thought I heard a tremor in his voice, but ignored it. Cal wasn’t easily frightened.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to sound calm. “It was an unusual situation. We’ve been involved in violence before. Remember when the clerk at the Jubilee store pulled a gun? You took care of him quick and easy, and no one got hurt.”

Between the recoil and his nervousness, the muckhead of a clerk had nearly killed us all—thieves and customers alike—when he’d squeezed the trigger on his popper and sent a spray of miniature bang darts flying. As he stood there looking stunned, Cal walked up to him and punched him in the face, knocking him out cold.

“I told you on the way home, Olivia, this was different.”

Shit. He only called me Olivia when he was upset.

But I couldn’t really blame Cal for wanting out. I’d thought about it more myself of late. Despite the adrenaline rush and my desire for the better things in life, including not having to become a regular worker drudge, it was getting harder and harder to do this. Smaller towns usually didn’t have the security systems of a big city, but acceptable targets were scarce. If I got caught I’d end up in prison or a correctional mine, and there was no way I’d let that happen. My mother raised a felon, not a fool. And I didn’t have the concerns Cal did, namely a wife and kids.

“I talked it over with Debra,” he said softly. “I’m done. Sorry, Liv.” The click of the disconnect sounded in my ear.

I yanked the headset off and threw it on the couch. No money. No partner. No—

A heavy knock on the triple-locked door stopped my mental tirade. Barefoot, I snatched my short duro-silk robe off the back of the couch as I passed it. No need for the delivery boy to get an eyeful of me in my tank top and shorts. I tied the sash and spied my wallet under the junk table near the door.

Another knock, even harder and more impatient, to make sure I’d heard. The door was thick metal, but cheap pay-as-you-go anonymous housing didn’t have amenities like security vid screens. Someone had cracked the peephole before I moved in.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold on.” I threw the locks and turned the latch.

But of course it wasn’t the pimply kid from the A1 Food Emporium because as I said, my luck had been all bad for some time now.

Tonio leaned against the doorjamb, a black leather jacket and chocolate-brown shirt and trousers setting off his dark looks. A smile quirked his mouth. He held my dinner in one hand. My pulse pistol dangled from the other. “Lose something, amante?”

With a low growl I dropped my wallet and made a grab for the gun, but he jerked it out of reach. Tonio had long arms to go with his 190-centi height.

“Damn you, give me that.” I took another swipe and he sidestepped, letting me stumble into the dimly lit hall.

“We should go inside,” he said. “You don’t have shoes on and there may be a stray tack or somethin—” I jabbed a fist in his gut and he doubled over. “Oof!”

“Thank you.” I took the bag and the gun, flicking the safety off with my thumb and tapping the power switch as I pointed the pistol at his chest. “Now go away.”

Tonio straightened, one hand raised near his shoulder and the other rubbing the spot I’d hit. He didn’t seem particularly concerned that with a twitch of a finger I could put a few hundred thousand volt bursts into him and play havoc with his heart.

Then I realized why. The little “ready” light located at the top of the grip was black. No juice. The gun made a better hammer than it did a lethal weapon.

“Shit.” I lowered the pistol.

Grinning, Tonio slid his hands into his coat pockets. “Did you really expect me to leave it powered, amante?”

“Stop calling me that.” I held out my hand. “Give me the energy pack.”

His grin faded. “First, we need to talk.”

Across the hall my neighbor’s door opened a crack. I hid the gun behind my back.

“Everything’s fine, Mrs. Halverson.” I gave Tonio a pointed look. “He’s leaving.”

The door eased closed.

“Liv,” he said ignoring my less than subtle hint and looking very serious. “We need to talk.”

“About what? I didn’t tell the sheriff anything,” I said, edging toward my doorway. “Though I really wanted to.”

His mouth quirked into a half smile. “I appreciate your restraint, but that’s not what I want to talk to you about. Even so, this is not the place.”

He glanced around the hallway. Mine was one of three flats on the top floor of a three-story walk-up. Mrs. Halverson was probably listening at her door. The other neighbor, a middle-aged guy who mumbled to himself and smelled of cheese, was rarely seen or heard.

Tonio brought his dark brown eyes back to mine. “Five minutes. That’s all I ask.”

I huffed my frustration and led him inside. “Two minutes.”

With my back to Tonio as he shut the door, I heard something hit the little table with a dull thud. He must have picked up my wallet. What a thoughtful guy.

“How’ve you been, Liv?”

I whipped around and thumped the handgrip of the pistol against his chest. “Fine until you and your little friends screwed me up.” He flinched, but I knew it was more from the vehemence in my voice than from any damage I’d inflicted. Anger renewed, I thumped him harder. He winced. Good. “Fine until you put your gun to my head.”

Fine until you showed up at my door.

“Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry. “But I had to make a show of it so no one would suspect we knew each other. It might have been bad for you.”

He sounded sincere enough, and Lord knew I didn’t need help in the “bad for me” department.

“And the hand down my trousers?”

His smile showed straight white teeth against his dusky skin. “That was purely for my own pleasure.”

I thumped him again and tossed the useless pulse pistol on the couch. Sitting beside it, I dropped my dinner on the table, crossing my arms over my chest. “You have a minute and a half left.”

Tonio sat on the scuffed table, facing me. “It’s simple, Liv. After seeing you in Milchner, I got to thinking about us.” Oh crap! Did he want to get back together? He rested his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands between his knees. The scent of leather and spice wafted toward me. “We made a good team. Every job we did, it was like we read each other’s minds. In sync, you know?”

Oh, I knew, all right. Never any major problems, and no one ever got badly hurt. We were good together. On jobs. Other facets of our relationship hadn’t been as painless.

Forcing both pleasant and unpleasant memories aside, I said, “What about your new buddies? Get tired of them already?”

Typical Tonio—have a little fun and jump ship when things got tough or boring or serious.

He shook his head. A dark lock of hair draped over one eye. I fought the urge to brush it out of his face. “Not at all, Liv. In fact, I want you to join us.”

The next words came out without thought as my defense system kicked in. “I wouldn’t work with you again for a million credits.”

He leaned closer, invading my personal space, but I didn’t back down. God, he smelled good. His eyes glinted with amusement or irritation at my snub; it was hard to tell which. “How about for fifty million?”

Chapter Two

My mouth dried like the deserts of Weaver. “Fifty?”

“Yep.”

I licked my lips. “Million?”

“Untraceable.”

How did a middle-of-the-pack thief hook up with folks looking to steal fifty million untraceable credits? The most we’d ever taken in one shot was 50K in hard money. That seemed like a lot when Tonio and I were together. But we’d always managed to blow through it faster than we could figure out what we’d spent it on. And then we had to find another place to hit. Then another. And another. The rush of the hit was as addictive as the spending sprees.

The Jubilee job with Cal had yielded a modest take, but half of “modest” was “pitiful.” Little remained, and I had been living on my regular wages, such as they were. Milchner would have netted me over 37K, and I’d promised to be more frugal.

But millions of credits? I could disappear and retire in one smooth stroke.

“Who are you hitting?” I asked.

Tonio eased back. The table creaked under his weight. “Can’t tell you.”

I snorted a laugh. “Or you’d have to kill me?”

He didn’t laugh.

A chill skittered up my spine. “Aw, hell, Tonio, who are these guys?”

His dark eyes held mine. “People who know what they’re doing. It’s a multiphase operation, and I thought you could get in on the rest. My colleagues were agreeable.”

“So the hit last week was only part of it.”

He nodded once in confirmation. I still wondered what they’d taken but figured Tonio wouldn’t tell me.

“What’s the next step?”

“Sorry, Liv. Until you sign on, that’s all you get.” He smiled. “But you’re less likely to get shot at on this one.”

I narrowed my gaze. “You want me to go in with you without knowing what I’m supposed to do or what the job is? I’m supposed to trust you?”

The bright smile faltered. “I know that might be a bit beyond your abilities just now, but I swear it’ll be fine. You have my word.”

“It’s not your word I’m worried about.” A strange mix of satisfaction and guilt ran through me at the hurt in his eyes. I slid off the couch and began to pace my living room, arms crossed. “I don’t know, Tonio. I just…”

I just want to know if you’ll ditch me again.

A flicker of pain twinged in my chest. To be fair, it wasn’t completely his fault our relationship had failed. We’d both been too selfish, too demanding of each other, too unwilling to bend. Add to that the stresses of our chosen profession. But when push came to shove, when it came time to earnestly work out our problems or lose our marriage, he’d cut and run. I woke up one morning to a two-line note and half of what was left from our latest hit on the kitchen table.

His leaving wasn’t unexpected, just abrupt.

We hadn’t been married in an official capacity—we shunned the legal system, not the idea—so our “divorce” was more of an agreement rather than a proclamation. But the grief was the same.

He stood. “Tell you what. Think on it for a day or two. I’ll come back, and we’ll have dinner. If you decide you want to work together again, I’ll introduce you to the others. If not, we’ll just call it a pleasant reunion.”

I stopped pacing, my back to him as I stared out the window. It was after 1800 and dark. Grimy buildings filled most of my view, but over the roofs the white glow of floodlights from Hub Station Two to the north and the mines to the east made it look like midday. Low rumbles from air lorries and junk grounders vibrated through the plasti-glass. The building shimmied as PubTrans trains passed beneath the street. It was non-stop around the clock here. Too bright. Too busy. Too full of memories.

I wanted out of Pembroke, preferably off Nevarro altogether. Maybe find a little hamlet somewhere and retire, live a long, unpretentious, quiet life.

“A cut of fifty million is a nice bit of money,” I mused.

Tonio came up behind me. He laid his hands on my shoulders, and I silently berated myself for not shrugging him off. “Not a cut of fifty million, amante.” He squeezed gently. “Fifty million each.”

My body and brain froze at the words. Fifty million. Each.

“I’ll see you soon.” He kissed the top of my head and was gone.

For the next day and a half I shuffled aboard shabby PubTrans trains with the rest of the huddled masses, disembarked at the Alpha-Omega Mining Company building, trundled to my cubical then reversed the order when my shift ended, as the phrase “fifty million each” played over and over in my head. Luckily my day job didn’t require rapt concentration.

Sitting at my SI terminal, I plugged productivity numbers into the mother computer and made them look pretty for the stockholders, one of which I was not. Alpha-Omega, the smallest of the Big Three, didn’t wholly rely on automatic data dumps from the field to generate boring old monthly assessments. The human touch I provided made the CEO feel like the company was for the little guy. Which was a crock of ore muck. I was merely cheaper to maintain than a multimillion-credit computer. How sad is that?

Toward the end of the day, Rudy the Phlegm, the floor supervisor, dumped a half dozen colorful data sticks into my Inbox. “Jock’s Landing, Harrity and Youngman. Reports due upstairs by twelve-hundred tomorrow.”

I whipped my swivel chair around to face him. “Twelve-hundred? Are they skitzie?” I gestured toward the sticks. “Jock’s is one of A-O’s busiest sites, and these are two weeks late.”

The Phlegm shrugged in a “not my problem” sort of way. “I’ll sign off on an hour’s overtime.”

I wanted to hit him, but assaulting fellow employees was frowned upon. “Gee, thanks.”

Rudy stared at me for a few seconds and went off to harass some other peon. He never responded to—or perhaps didn’t get—the sarcasm in my voice. After working with me for the two years I’d been at A-O, you’d think he’d have picked up on it by now.

Shunting another report aside, I shoved one of the Jock’s Landing sticks into my terminal jack. Column upon column of dates, metric tonnage and keracite ore quality data rippled across the screen. Another stick in the box contained worker hours and machinery logs. I’d marry the two data sets to show the stockholders they were getting their money’s worth out of the employees.

With me, they got exactly what they paid for. Which wasn’t much. Oh, I’d get the job done. Hell, I could do it in a couple of hours. But I wouldn’t. I’d wade through the data on the sticks, run my formulas, curse the slowness of the programs, make my charts and graphics complete with color-coding and get the finals upstairs five minutes before deadline. There wasn’t enough overtime in the world to make me care to do it any faster. The sooner I got out of my cube at the end of the shift, the happier I’d be.

With the demand for keracite and its derivatives on the rise, you’d think Alpha-Omega would be rolling in enough credits to upgrade their software more often and pay their workers better. But no. Times had gotten tough, even for the Big Three. Exeter, A-O and Blue Mountain were all struggling.

The companies were flush back in 2082, shortly after keracite was discovered here. A denser, cleaner-burning cousin to good old Earth coal, the mineral had been found on a few of the other planets but not in the quantities this cold rock contained.

Over the next half century the Big Three prospered as keracite supplemented then replaced other carbon-based fuel and product needs on Earth’s colonies. Megatonnes of keracite ore or microfabricated fuel cells were shipped off Nevarro on a daily basis. The amount of keracite required for the production of carbon nanotubes easily equaled its demand as a fuel source. CNTs were everywhere, used in everything from clothing to electronics to space elevators.

Competition escalated to fierce and cagey as demand for keracite increased. Companies poured money into technology, searching for faster and safer extraction with less than spectacular success rates. And being a single-source economy, when the mining industry stumbled so did the planet.

Cities like Pembroke and Pandalus appeared glitzy and modern at first glance, but ninety percent of Nevarro’s population were working stiffs like me, who sometimes found it necessary to supplement their meager incomes by other means. Some of us were even reduced to thieving.

Okay, that’s a bit of a lie. I’d been thieving before I came to Nevarro, but having a lousy job certainly didn’t help. High tax rates across the board meant indigents received a little extra help, and a single girl like myself should have been lolling in disposable income. Right. The government needed to update its poverty chart.

Last week, sharing 75K would have made me happy. Part of me wanted to say no to Tonio. To tell him I didn’t need him and his little gang. The other part of me—the poor part—smacked that self-righteous idiot in the head and made the obvious decision. With fifty million I could be more than merely happy.

When I left A-O at 1800 that evening, Tonio was out front, leaning against the building, dark and roguish in his black jacket and clothes. I grinned when I caught his eye, and he grinned back.

I realized I looked forward to working with him again. We were good together, and as I walked toward him I promised myself it would be strictly business until the job was over. Then we’d go our separate ways because we’d already proven we couldn’t handle real life in proximity to one another. Felon’s Rule Number One about not getting involved applied to co-workers as well as victims and marks.

“How much did you embezzle, dear?” he asked as I joined him.

I laughed at his old end-of-the-day greeting. I’d worked numerous menial jobs to help us get by. Once in a while the till didn’t add up at the end of the day or a case of lav cleanser disappeared and found its way to the black market, but I tried not to steal from merchants who needed money more than we did.

“Millions,” I said, giving the standard reply.

I’d never actually embezzled from A-O. They may not have updated their data software often, but their security apps were topnotch. Felon’s Rule Number Two: Don’t bite off more than you were prepared to chew. Or get arrested for.

“Let’s go live on a beach on Pacifica,” I threw out. That had always been one of our pipe dreams: Make a big enough hit to retire on the resort planet.

He pushed away from the wall. “You can go to Pacifica after this job.”

Not “we,” “you.” So he was keeping the idea of “us” at arm’s length, as well. Good.

“If I take the job,” I said, just to be ornery.

He ignored my retort. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Tonio drew my left hand up under his right arm and laid it in the crook of his elbow. The leather jacket was baby-bottom soft. He kept his warm hand over mine as we walked away from the A-O building and the day shift workers heading in the opposite direction. The evening cool and crisp, I shoved my other hand inside my jacket pocket.

We strolled down the almost-empty walkway while air cars, much nicer than my balky LAC, zipped high overhead and a few sleek grounders hummed along the street. The subdued lighting of gourmet shops, private clubs and jewelry stores wasn’t like the garish glare of my neighborhood, where neon all but screamed to passersby to eat a sandwich of questionable origin or watch the latest vid of questionable reputation. The establishments here, in posh uptown Pembroke, gently invited us in. Well, not us, but folks who didn’t need to rush toward the nearest PubTrans station.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“My flat,” he said. “It’s not far from here.”

Several thoughts vied for dominance in my brain, short-circuited my motor skills and caused me to stop walking.

Tonio stopped as well, a suspiciously innocent look on his face. “What?”

It took a few moments for the jumble of questions to sort themselves out. In no particular order of importance I asked, “How can you afford to live uptown? How long have you been back in Pembroke? What do you mean ‘your place’? You said we’d go to dinner.”

Okay, that last bit wasn’t a question.

His slow, easy grin gave me a good reason not to be alone with him in his flat. We needed to stay in public as much as possible so we wouldn’t do anything stupid. So I wouldn’t do anything stupid.

“I said we’d have dinner. We’ll need privacy when the others arrive.”

He hadn’t responded to my first two questions, but I probably didn’t want to know the answers anyway.

Arms still linked, we resumed walking. Hell, a free meal was a free meal. “You invited your friends over even before knowing my answer. That’s rather presumptuous of you.”

“I know you better than you think.”

I studied the tasteful holo sign for the Golden Flute Gentlemen’s Club down the street, avoiding the smirk I was sure Tonio wore.

“I knew you’d say yes, amante.”

“Well, aren’t you the clever one,” I said with a huff. “And stop calling me that.”

Tonio poured both of us a second glass of wine. “So after Paulie nearly shot me—with my own gun, mind you—I decided it was time to revisit my career goals.”

“Probably a good idea.” I ate the final forkful of the spicy chicken dish he knew I loved and washed it down with a sip of smooth red wine. “Mmmmm. You could become a chef.” I settled back against the velvety cushion of the dining room chair. His flat wasn’t large, but it was considerably more comfortable and better appointed than mine.

“I was a cook at the correctional facility on Deemers. Does that count?”

I nearly spit my wine across the table. “You were inside on Deemers? How long? What happened?”

The idea that he had been caught, had served time, sent a chill through me. Colony institutions were not for the faint of heart.

His brow furrowed at my question then he threw his head back and laughed. It was my turn to be confused. “I wasn’t an inmate,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “It was honest-to-goodness employment.”

My mouth dropped open. “You?”

He nodded and sipped his drink. “It was right after the Paulie incident. We’d gone our separate ways, and I was looking for a new angle.”

Of course he was. Tonio never held a steady job while we were together, which was fine when we were making somewhat regular hits. He had a tough time with authority figures, like lawmen and bosses. And wives.

“I’d heard there was a guy in Deemers who knew a guy,” he continued, “so I applied for a job.”

The irony of his being employed by the very type of facility we’d strenuously avoided made me chuckle. “Serving up prison slop so you can hook up with another crew. Only you, dear, would have that kind of nerve.”

Realizing what I’d called him, I took a quick sip to cover it up and glanced away. Maybe he hadn’t noticed.

“I cooked up the best food the inmates had had in a long time,” he said with a touch of indignation in his voice. When our eyes met again he grinned. “Dear.”

Damn. I set the half-full glass back on the table.

He stood and started clearing the dishes. “It paid off. I learned a lot and eventually made contact with Willem. We’ve been working together ever since. Almost two years now.”

I helped take dishes into the kitchen. “You met him inside? Doesn’t getting caught kind of tarnish one’s resume?”

“Willem wasn’t inside. His father was.” Tonio rinsed the dishes, and I loaded them into the washer. “The father took the heat for a job. They’d been ratted out by a fourth guy. Willem and his brother Chaz got away.”

“Nice little family business,” I said as I took a plate. Though I wasn’t one to talk. “What happened to the person who ratted them out?”

Tonio’s hands paused under the running water. He held my gaze and passed me a glass. “Let’s just say no one’s heard from him since he testified.” He tapped the faucet to turn off the water as snatches of low-budget mob vids swirled in my head. “These guys don’t fool around, Liv. If you’re in, you’re in. This is going to be a big take, but you have to be willing to play on the team. Can you do that?”

Felon’s Rule Number Three: Be reliable, and have confidence in your crew mates. It was imperative to have a partner you trusted, like Cal, as well as slept with, like Tonio. As long as they didn’t ask me to kill anyone, directly or otherwise, or to cause small children any suffering, I’d be willing to play.

“Sure,” I said. “You know I’d never do anything to jeopardize a hit.”

What could the judicial system of Nevarro possibly do to me that would be worse than getting killed by my new partners? Okay, getting sentenced to the Colonial Correctional Mines would be close to worse.

We locked gazes again, reestablishing the trust we’d had. I couldn’t count on Tonio to be a good husband, or myself to be a good wife, but we could count on each other during a job.

“That’s my girl.” He smiled and leaned forward to peck me on the cheek. The scent of leather and wine tickled my nose. Before I could protest his familiarity, the door buzzer sounded. “And that’s them,” he said straightening. “Ready?”

I wiped my hands on the seat of my trousers. “Let’s go.”

Tonio led the way to the door. I stood back as he opened it. The first man through was as tall as Tonio, fair and dapper in his tone-on-tone burgundy suit. His hair was neatly trimmed, and he was clean-shaven. He and Tonio shook hands. Then both turned to me.

“Willem Grey,” Tonio said, “this is Liv Braxton.”

Willem smiled politely and held out his hand. “Good to meet you.”

I smiled back. This was starting off more like a corporate gathering than a meeting to discuss a felonious event.

The second man through the door had similar, but coarser features. He sported a mustache and a bit of a scruffy beard. His dark clothes weren’t as snappy as Willem’s. Though he was shorter than his brother, his shoulders were broader. Maybe Willem was the brains and this one the brawn.

“This is Chaz,” Tonio said, “and Natalia.”

Natalia?

I looked past Chaz, who nodded instead of taking my offered hand. A tall, thin blonde in a black catsuit and oversized purple sweater stood in the doorway.

“Nice to meet you.” Her voice was husky and her hair somewhat mussed, as if she’d just woken up. She shook my hand while giving my darker, shorter stature an arched eyebrow of disdain.

Bitch.

“Nice to meet you too.” It’s hard to sound sincere with a tight smile plastered on your face, but she bought it. And if she didn’t, who cared?

The three of them moved into the living area. I caught Tonio’s eye, tilted my head and gave him a silent, What the hell’s her problem? look. Tonio shook his head, telling me now was not the time, and guided me to the others.

“Tonio told us you were his partner a few years ago, Liv,” Willem said.

Chaz and Natalia sat on the couch, leaving the two chairs unoccupied. She was as close to him as she could get without sharing his suit.

“Yes. We did well together.”

“Why split up then?” Chaz asked.

I glanced over at him and Natalia. Chaz’s pale eyes held more intelligence than I would have given him credit for. “We needed a break.” True enough.

When neither Tonio nor I offered to elaborate, Willem said, “Tonio vouches for you. We trust his judgment.”

Satisfied with that, Chaz turned his attention to Natalia and murmured in her ear.

I looked back at Willem. “Thank you. Now can you tell me what I’ve signed on for?”

“This isn’t your run-of-the-mill smash and grab or bank job,” the blond man said. “It requires several steps to accomplish.”

“And you’ve taken care of at least one.” I almost mentioned Milchner, but something made me hold back.

Willem shot Tonio a questioning glance and cocked an eyebrow at me. “What did Tonio tell you?”

Oops. I licked my lips, hoping I hadn’t gotten us into trouble. “Just that the operation would be complex.”

He studied the two of us then nodded. “He’s right.” Willem came toward me, scrutinizing me with the critical eye of someone purchasing a new air car or livestock. He circled behind me and I tensed, half expecting him to pat my ass and ask about my fuel efficiency stats. “Do you know data systems? Can you find your way around an executive office with conviction?”

I glanced over at Tonio, but his face was unreadable. “Sure.”

I may have spent my days plugging in data, but I could maneuver through most systems—legally or otherwise—with ease.

“No problems lying, pretending you’re not what you say you are, or keeping a cool head under pressure?”

Data systems? Deception? Where was this going? I was sure Tonio had already told Willem I could handle the task, whatever it might be, but if he wanted an interview that was fine with me. “I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t.”

When Willem stood in front of me again, he was smiling but it didn’t reach his ice-blue eyes. I wasn’t inclined to smile back. Though looking at me, he spoke to Tonio. “You were right. She does fit the part. She’ll do just fine.”

“What part? Do what just fine?”

“Have a seat, Liv. We’ll tell you all about it.” Willem gestured toward a chair. “And welcome to the crew.”

Chapter Three

It took Willem less than an hour to explain the job, with Tonio offering comments here and there. Chaz and Natalia sat on the couch, hands roaming and sometimes disappearing in places I didn’t want to know about.

When Tonio and Willem finished, I leaned back in the chair and tried to take it all in. “All I have to do is become some Exeter Research and Development VP’s favorite girl and access files on this K-73 air filtering system they aren’t sharing.”

As cutthroat as the mining industry was, the safety and wellbeing of its miners had always come first, no matter who worked for whom. Companies had the right to develop new safety equipment without announcing their intentions prior to implementation, but if Exeter was using the filters they had to report it. Once they were approved by the CMA, Exeter could charge licensing fees, as long as they were equitable and adhered to fair market standards. No one was forced to use the technology, but everyone had to have access. What sort of advantage did the K-73s have that Exeter was willing to risk fines by the CMA and not collect licensing fees? It didn’t make sense to me, but what did I know about the corporate mindset?

My gaze flicked between the two men. “What about going at them from outside?”

Willem shook his head. “Exeter’s building is too well secured for remote access. The only way to retrieve the files is by logging into the internal SI network. We’ve tapped into less secure comm bands, but everything else requires being inside.”

And that, apparently, was where I came in.

I admit, I was looking forward to emoting some womanly charms rather than being the tough chickie called for on most other jobs. Getting in touch with my feminine side would be a nice change.

“Not a problem,” I said. “How hard can it be to play a little office chase around the desk with some overindulged, middle-aged man?”

“R. J. Talbot,” Willem said, “is a woman.”

So much for the cute and girly approach. But the glint in Willem’s eyes told me I might not have to alter my tactics.

“Talbot prefers women, doesn’t she?” I asked. He grinned. Great. I turned to Tonio. “You knew about this?”

Tonio’s cheeks reddened as he glanced at Willem. Maybe he was under orders to keep his mouth shut, to let the joke play out. Maybe he wanted to see if I’d be able to handle these little bombshells, like he told Willem I could. Maybe I needed to smack him and remind him that he had come to me, and that I deserved more consideration in the future.

“You could have said something about that at the beginning,” I said to Willem.

The blond man’s smile broadened. “Where would be the fun in that?”

Chaz gave a lecherous chuckle, a smirk on his face as if he was imagining a girl-on-girl thing. Men. Natalia looked torqued. Maybe I’d taken her spot. Willem had said I “fit the part.” Did R. J. Talbot prefer short brunettes to tall, bitchy blondes? Ha! Take that, Natalia.

Oh, wait.

“Just how far will I need to take this ruse?” I asked with some trepidation. I’d been attracted to other women but never intimate with them, and wasn’t inclined to put out for anyone, male or female. Though fifty million was coming awfully close to my purchase price.

Willem’s eyes held mine. “As far as necessary.”

Despite discomfort at the idea of selling myself, I could only nod. But that didn’t mean I’d take their shit without being sure of the job’s viability. Official involvement gave me the right to know more. “Where did you get the information about the filters?”

Willem and Chaz exchanged looks and shrugs I interpreted as “As much fun as it is to be the asses who keep to ourselves, we should share.”

“A friend did a little time at one of the Exeter managed correctional mines five years ago,” Chaz said.

A friend? Where was this “friend” now? Back inside? Dead? Sitting across from me with his hand on a blonde’s thigh?

“Rumors about a new filtering system sounded like more than inmate chatter,” he continued. “When he got out, I brought it up to Willem and we did a little recon.”

“One thing led to another,” Willem added, “and here we are.” He straightened his tie and stared at me. “Any other questions, Liv?”

This was my cue to shut up, so of course I had another question. I leaned toward Willem, holding his ice-blue gaze. “How reliable are your sources? Other than this friend, I mean.”

“Practically from Talbot herself. We’re not chasing our asses here. The intel is good, but we need the corroborating files to snag them by the short hairs.”

Nice visual, that.

“Is that satisfactory?” He smiled, but it wasn’t warm and reassuring.

“Sure,” I answered. “For now.”

He fished inside his jacket and withdrew a narrow, pinkie-long data stick. The hardware plugged into a standard jack on any computer or personal comm. “This has information on her, an overview of the data systems Exeter uses and the Exeter chain of command flow chart. We’ll get you into Talbot’s office after next week, so be ready.”

I took the stick from him. “Don’t I have to apply for a job or something?”

Willem’s grin was just this side of disturbing. “Already in the works. Part of what we obtained in the first stage was access to their Human Resources department. We’ll create your résumé and get it to the top of their list. I’ll send you a copy to study. It’s a temp job, so HR will handle it and a face-to-face interview isn’t required. Talbot will likely read your file, but unless there’s something glaring she probably won’t care who’s sent.”

He started toward the door with Chaz and Natalia, who followed like sulky shadows. Tonio and I trailed behind them.

“Doesn’t Talbot have an assistant now?” I asked.

Chaz glanced over his shoulder and winked at me. “That’s been taken care of.”

I managed not to visibly cringe, though my skin wanted to crawl away and hide. Thoughts of the guy who had ratted out the elder Grey came to mind, and I shuddered. Maybe this was going to be a bit rougher than I realized. “You didn’t—”

Willem, Chaz and Natalia all turned toward me, doubt blossoming in their eyes.

“Relax, Liv,” Tonio said. “It’ll be fine.”

In other words, Shut up, Liv, you’re already in too deep to balk now.

Willem and Tonio shook hands. “I’ll get in touch with you two next week.” He gave me a stern nod, and the three of them left.

Tonio closed the door. “No one will be intentionally hurt. I wouldn’t have signed on with them myself if that were the case.”

Suddenly chilled, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I know.”

Tonio had never been one for unnecessary violence. We’d always been grateful when a job came off without incident; most folks were smart enough to do what the people with the guns told them to do.

I hoped he hadn’t changed his M.O. for these guys.

He rested his hands on my shoulders, his fingers massaging my tense muscles. “There’s always a chance of someone getting hurt. You’ve known that from the beginning. Even one of us,” he said softly.

My chin rose with my defenses. “Is that concern or warning?”

Confusion filled his eyes. “Concern. I’d never let anyone hurt you.”

“No,” I said, stepping backward out from under his hands, “you save that little treat for yourself.”

The words came out before I had a chance to think them through. Another reason to follow Rule Number One; it kept me from making foolish and ill-timed remarks. Usually.

Maybe part of me wanted Tonio to finally understand what I’d felt three years ago. From the hurt and anger in his eyes, I’d made my point.

“That’s not fair, Liv. We both knew it was over long before I left. Punching a guy in the chest to keep his heart pumping doesn’t make him alive.”

Great. He was comparing our broken marriage to a near-corpse. And what happened to near-corpses who weren’t properly tended? Exactly.

The sting of tears caught me by surprise, and I dug my fingers into my upper arms to stop the flow. I thought I’d gotten over the death of our marriage a long time ago. I’d be damned, and damn stupid, to let him see me cry. Turning away, I went to the closet for my coat. “Let’s not make this any worse.” I kept my back to him as I shrugged into my jacket.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I did a piss-poor job as a husband. I know that, and I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. But it’s not like you were spouse-of-the-year either.”

He had a point.

When we faced each other again I could see his remorse. That was something, anyway.

“Is this going to be a problem?” he asked. “For the job, I mean.”

Ah, Tonio. I could always count on him to keep us from delving too deeply into our feelings. He was much better at obeying the Rules than I was.

“No,” I said as I headed to the door, “no problem at all. I told you I wouldn’t do anything to mess up the hit, and I meant it.” I opened the door and held up a hand to stop him as he started to follow me out. “I’ll find my own way. I’ve gotten quite good at it.”

I maintained a normal routine at Alpha-Omega the following week while getting to know Exeter, R. J. Talbot and my new background. Neither Tonio nor Willem contacted me. They were busy setting up living arrangements and jobs at Exeter headquarters in Pandalus, a city across the continent a few thousand kilometers.

The workings of the Exeter power structure weren’t terribly exciting. A corporation is a corporation is a corporation. It didn’t surprise me that Talbot was one of only a handful of women in any position of real power there. Despite the Equal Work Articles in the Nevarro Constitution, it wasn’t easy for a girl to get ahead in some of these old-boy networks, even in the twenty-second century.

However, R. J. Talbot wasn’t just any girl, according to her file. Not only as an exception to the gender rule, but as an exception to most rules.

Regina Jadzia Talbot had been born into a family of spacers who’d spent the last several generations hauling cargo between the Colonies. From what I’d heard it was barely-scrape-by kind of work. Young R.J. apparently decided the cramped, smelly quarters of a freighter weren’t for her. Couldn’t blame her there. She’d gotten a hands-on education in mechanics and engineering aboard ship then attended a private university on Hamlin with a full-ride scholarship.

R.J. came to Exeter fresh out of school and rose from assistant site engineer to Chief Engineer to VP of Research and Development in just under fifteen years. Though recent pics showed a stunning, dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties, the spark in her green eyes told me she hadn’t slept her way to the top.

Sitting on my dingy couch in my dingy flat, I touched the icon for a vid file labeled “Talbot @ Mining Symposium.” The clip started as she stepped up to a podium before a room full of suited people, Exeter’s giant gold E emblem on the wall behind her.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she said with a smile. Her husky alto floated from the speaker of my comm. She had a strong voice, but not loud or overbearing.

I ignored the presentation images behind her as she spoke to concentrate on the woman, to learn what I could from her expressions and gestures. Focusing on R. J. Talbot was not a hardship. If it had been anyone else talking about breakthroughs in ore spectrum analysis, I would have shut off the comm before a minute passed. But her enthusiasm for the subject captivated me as much as her looks did. The way her eyes lit up when she discussed the research her labs had conducted and the strides they’d made in distinguishing ore quality. The cooler tone of her voice and the lines of strain around her mouth when she mentioned “readjustment of fiscal priority” had put the project on hold for several years. I wondered if that was corporate code for “The guys with the purse strings were damn stingy.”

Every so often, her steel-green gaze met the recorder and held there, as if she were speaking directly to me. My stomach fluttered. I’d have to keep a cool head when I finally met Talbot in person. She was a beautiful woman. A smart, beautiful woman. And my job was to outsmart her.

By the beginning of the next week I still hadn’t heard from Tonio or Willem, but I did get a visitor.

Sitting in my semi-partitioned cubicle, plugging in numbers that seemed to blur together more often of late, I heard a distinctive moist throat clear behind me. Even if the Exeter job fell through and I was arrested or forced to take work as a muck hauler, I was more than ready to ditch A-O just to get away from Rudy the Phlegm.

“What do you want?” I asked with my back to him. “I’m trying to work here.”

The position of floor supervisor afforded Rudy all the respect he deserved.

He rasped again. “Visitor, Olivia.”

I swung my chair around so fast I almost fell off. Was Rudy making an attempt at some kind of a joke? No one outside A-O, except Cal and Tonio, knew I worked here. I’d taken extra care in keeping my known whereabouts limited. But Rudy’s glittering dark eyes and razor-straight line of a mouth held more disapproval than hilarity. It seemed.

“Who?” I stood, my gut churning from the sudden movement.

He glanced around, making sure the rest of the peons weren’t listening. Which they were. I knew I’d be, were our positions reversed. His wide forehead wrinkled as he focused on me again. “Break room two. Make it quick.”

Someday I’d get him to speak in complete sentences.

He didn’t answer my question, but now I knew it wasn’t an upper level A-O exec. If it had been, Rudy would have been more smug than miffed about my unscheduled break. Visits from them meant you’d be looking elsewhere for gainful employment. Another example of the A-O “human touch” instead of some note in your comm Inbox telling you to clear out your cube.

I slipped past Rudy, feeling his disapproval burn into my back until I turned down an aisle between more drab cubicles. Curiosity about who could be asking for me made my palms sweat. Tonio? Possible, but not probable. He wouldn’t make the mistake of connecting us. Unless something had gone wrong.

Shit.

I realized I’d been standing at the door of Break Room Two with my hand on the latch for almost a minute. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t astrally project myself into the room or penetrate the metal door with my nonexistent microwave vision to see who it was. I opened the door.

And it took every gram of will power to look merely perplexed rather than slam the door shut and make for the nearest exit.

Wearing a tatty blue wool coat, Sheriff Nathan Sterling leaned against the stainless steel counter, sipping what the A-O commissary claimed was coffee. He set the chipped company mug down and stepped toward me. “Miss Braxton. Thanks for seeing me.”

I shook his hand, silently cursing Rudy. My supervisor—the bastard—was probably sitting in his own little cubicle laughing his weaselly ass off.

“Not a problem, Sheriff,” I lied. “Though I’m surprised to see you here.”

That certainly was true.

He released my hand and slid his palm over his short hair. “I tried to find your home address, but there must have been some glitch when we took your information.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I wasn’t. The bogus addy on my ID was just real enough to keep my flat off official screens. Unfortunately, my work location was legitimately in the system. While Alpha-Omega didn’t hand out employee directories, lawmen had access to tax files and such. One can’t have everything. “What can I do for you?”

He gestured for me to have a seat in one of the six chairs surrounding a dinged and scratched table. “I’ve got some pictures I’d like you to look at.”

Luckily I was lowering myself into a chair, because my knees wobbled like a drunk in low G. Pictures. He had images from the Milchner heist? I made sure my apprehension didn’t show on my face. He was trained to sniff out the likes of me, but I’d spent a few years playing it cool myself. “They were masked. How could I be of any help?”

Sterling reached into an inside pocket of his coat and withdrew a handheld. So they were modernized in Milchner. He powered up the unit and tapped screen icons. “If you could just give these a look. You never know what might trigger the mind.”

There was an odd glint in his blue eyes. I couldn’t read it, and I hoped he couldn’t read me either.

“I’ll do my best.”

The lawman turned the unit toward me. The black display screen began to brighten.

Okay, Liv, here it comes. You are a rock. You feel nothing.

A low-resolution washed-out color picture of a strange man popped up. He was balding, with dark hair and squinty eyes. I stared hard at him for a few moments then shook my head. Sterling tapped, and the screen changed to someone I did recognize. Willem. It was a candid shot of him looking toward something to the side. Another thoughtful perusal, another shake of my head. He changed the picture again. Chaz’s grimace filled the screen. It was an official picture of some kind. His CCM ID?

“No.”

A fourth picture.

Tonio. Another candid shot, but a head-on view of his handsome face and shoulders. The background was blurry, but was that the top of someone’s head just to his right? My head?

My toes clenched inside my boots, but otherwise I kept my outward reaction the same. I hoped.

The screen split into four miniatures of the men.

“I’m sorry. I don’t recognize any of them.”

Sterling’s eyes stayed on me. Maybe he’d gotten the drift adjusted. “You haven’t seen them in your neighborhood or anything, have you?”

I shook my head. “What’s this about? Why would these men come to my neighborhood?”

He rubbed the corner of his fake eye as his gaze skittered across the table before returning to me. “Miss Braxton. Olivia.” Uh-oh. He flicked a finger across the screen. Large, red words flashed beneath an official-looking seal. “I found Intercolonial Alerts on some of these men. They’re very dangerous.”

Willem and Chaz? Dangerous? I was shocked. Shocked, I tell you.

“It’s not like I could pick them out for the bank robbery,” I said. Let’s just ignore that I was an accessory after the fact, which was a lesser crime, but a crime nonetheless.

Had Sterling somehow linked me to the Greys and Tonio? A ball of ice coalesced in my gut. I had to throw him off; the best defense was a good panic.

I let my eyes widen and crossed my hands over my chest, like trying to hold my heart in. “But now I can ID them, thanks to you. Are you trying to get me killed?”

The lawman frowned as if I’d asked him what his illicit drug of choice might be. “Take it easy, Miss Braxton. I wanted to give you warning in case they decided to eliminate witnesses. One of them did such a thing, on Deemers, despite his never being identified.”

I swallowed back bile. Not Tonio. Chaz was my first choice for witness tampering in that manner, though Willem had a coldness in his eyes. And who knew about the strange man. Maybe he was some kind of silent partner. Other than Tonio, I wasn’t sure who the Milchner thieves had been.

“I’ve gone to see the Crosbys,” Sterling continued, “and was going to visit Mr. Trotter after I left here.”

Cal.

“Let me tell him, Sheriff.”

He fixed his lawman’s narrow-eyed gaze on me. “That’s not your job.”

“I know.” I had to come up with some reason to keep him away from Cal. Not only did I owe my former partner some peace and quiet, but the fewer people who could connect me with Tonio and the Greys, the better. “The thing is, Sheriff, Cal and I are more than friends, if you get my meaning.”

I gave him a sheepish smile then glanced away. Playing guilty was as easy for me as playing innocent.

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me for a full three seconds. “I’m guessing there’s a Mrs. Trotter.”

“I’m afraid so. Cal is nervous enough about our…liaisons…that if anyone were following him he’d know it. I doubt your thieves have been looking for him but just in case, I’d be happy to give him the head’s up.”

With the quirk of a blond eyebrow, his esteem for me dropped a few notches, but it was the price I’d have to pay. “And avoid my letting Mrs. Trotter in on your friendship with her husband,” he said with less warmth in his voice.

Goodness. Allude to a little adultery, and the world’s against you. Not that there was any such thing going on. Cal and I were friends. Period. I knew about Debra, and she knew about me, but we’d never met. Cal liked to keep his private life private.

Sterling pushed away from the table and stood. “Fine, Miss Braxton. Tell Mr. Trotter to call me if he sees anyone suspicious.”

I stood as well and offered my hand. He took it, but I could feel his new coolness toward me. “I’ll tell him. And thank you.”

He gave me the lawman nod of dismissal and left.

I sank back into my seat and rested my head in my hands as both relief and concern filled me. I’d tell Tonio and Willem about my visitor as soon as I could. Maybe they already knew something of the sheriff’s investigation. Hopefully he’d return to Milchner without further ado; Sterling was nosy for a local lawman.

By next week we’d be in Pandalus, and I’d be off his screen. This job would either be the pinnacle of my criminal career or see me swinging a pick along a vein of keracite.

Chapter Four

I called Tonio as soon as I got home from work that evening. He’d left his digits in my comm’s message folder the morning after our dinner the week before. I wasn’t listed in the database, of course, but still had the number Tonio and I shared when we were together. If it hadn’t been such a pain in the ass to get a new one, I would have changed my number after the divorce. And moved too, but cheap housing was hard to come by. Which is how he’d found me again to begin with.

“Willem and I have everything arranged,” he said as I paced my small living room. “We’ll be in Pandalus by the end of the week, so you can relax.”

What was left of my chewed fingernails cut into my palms as I squeezed my hands closed. “Relax?” I pressed the earpiece closer to my head. Surely I’d misheard him. “A lawman comes sniffing around my office, and you want me to relax?”

He drew a breath and, knowing Tonio, made a great effort not to sigh exasperation into the comm, which would have really irked me. “You haven’t done anything. Knowing we did the Milchner job would get you a slap on the wrist, if that. I can almost guarantee they won’t get us on it.”

“‘Almost’ isn’t good enough,” I said. “I haven’t spent a minute in custody since I was fifteen. I’m not going to screw that up now.”

The worst I’d ever experienced was a night in juvie. Word of advice: Have a reliable lookout when running a teenage pyramid scam out of your neighbor’s basement. I’d managed to talk my way out of serious trouble, but staying awake all night to avoid being beaten or sexually assaulted by my cellmates made me determined never to get pinched again. Though it wasn’t bad enough to stop me from doing what got me there in the first place. I just needed to be smarter about it.

The idea of being sent to the CCM or the facility on Deemers, even for a slap on the wrist, made me shiver. I didn’t like enclosed, dark places where the roof might fall in on you, and the “camaraderie” of Deemers didn’t appeal to me in the least. I’d met ex-cons who came out of there with horror stories about the loyalty rites of various prison gangs. No thank you.

“You won’t get caught,” he said confidently. “You have my word.”

“Yeah, well, your word and a couple of credits—” I stopped myself before another round of Bash Tonio’s Character could begin. I had more important things to focus my energy on, and I’m sure he was tired of it, as well.

His tension seemed to vibrate over the line, waiting for me to lash out.

I drew a deep breath and released it slowly. I’d chosen to go in on this caper; it was imperative I trust my partners. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it.”

“Thank you.” His voice was quiet, relieved. “But until we leave, keep an eye out for Sterling. If anything feels off, call me right away.”

“But you just said—”

A knock at the door interrupted me. The A1 Food Emporium guy.

“Damn. Hang on. My dinner’s here.”

“It would be cheaper if you cooked for yourself.”

I ignored Tonio’s taunt. He knew I couldn’t have boiled water on Weaver, even with its 112ºC equatorial summers.

Barefoot, in my usual post-work attire of tank, shorts and a robe, I padded over to the table by the door and opened my wallet for my debit card. It was one of those pre-paid in cash, anonymous cards that couldn’t be linked to me. “Just a sec,” I called out.

I threw the locks and opened the door.

It wasn’t the A1 guy.

It wasn’t a guy at all.

Standing in the dim, faintly cheesy-smelling hallway was Sabine Braxton.

My mother.

She smiled and spread her arms wide. “Hiya, sweetie!”

I blinked twice to see if my vision was failing. It wasn’t. “Fuck me.”

Tonio’s voice came over the headset. “Is everything all right?”

My mother’s smile turned into a purse-lipped grimace as she lowered her arms. “Such language, Olivia. Please.”

Funny thing, coming from the woman who taught me such language.

“Liv?” Tonio sounded worried now.

“I’m fine. Gotta go.” I yanked off the headset and hit the disconnect. “Mom, what the hell are you doing here?”

She looked suspiciously innocent. “Can’t a mother simply come visit her daughter?”

“Considering I haven’t seen you for nine years? No. Who’s after you?” Careful to expose as little of myself as possible, I leaned into the hall and glanced toward the stairwell. No lurking shadows or pounding feet, though that didn’t mean much.

She didn’t appear harried or panicked. In fact, her blond hair was delicately coifed, her clothing tasteful and fashionable. She certainly didn’t look like the grifter who’d raised me. She looked…respectable. But knowing Mom, she probably had a sweet little high-voltage—and highly illegal—stunner in one of her pockets to go with her trendy togs.

Mom crossed her arms and gave me an indignant glare. “Just because I drop in unannounced doesn’t mean I’m in trouble.” Her features softened to—could it be?—motherly concern. “I wanted to see how you were after your terrible divorce.”

Okay. Something was up.

I quirked an eyebrow at her. “It wasn’t terrible. It was three years ago. I’m over it.” Mostly.

“I know. I’m late, and I’m sorry. Travel from the Core takes time.” The motherly concern was amended to include slight confusion. “Didn’t you get my messages?”

“You mean like the one that said, ‘Too bad about you and Tino—I’m off to New Brazil’? Yeah, I got them.”

She hadn’t met Tonio and never got his name right the few times we’d exchanged messages. I hadn’t sent pictures, but that was for our own protection more than anything else.

She gave a breathy sigh and shook her head. “I’d just married Monty, and we were going on our honeymoon. I didn’t want to rub your nose in my new relationship.”

More likely, she was trying to keep this Monty guy from finding out she had a daughter old enough to be divorcing. A good portion of Mom’s income went to cosmetic tunings and sub-dermal nanos. She looked more like my fair-skinned twin than my mother.

“Who’s Monty, and where is he now?” Maybe he was the one after her.

She sniffed in disdain and planted her hands on her hips. “Monty is persona non grata as far as I’m concerned. Now, are you going to invite me in or are we going to inflict our troubles on your neighbors?”

Mrs. Halverson’s door clicked closed softly. A thump and a muffled curse came from Cheese Man’s flat.

I rubbed my suddenly aching temple. “Sure, come on in.”

Mom bent down and reached toward the wall. For a second I thought she was performing a bizarre greeting ritual she’d picked up somewhere, but then I saw the suitcase in her hand. My heart skipped a beat—not in a good way—and I think I made a sort of choked gasping sound.

Her gaze darted between my wide-eyed stare and the case. “Relax,” she said as she breezed past me into the living room. “I promise I won’t be a burden.”

That was the second time in five minutes someone had told me I should relax. And the second time I didn’t believe it.

I shut the door and threw the locks. A touch of panic fluttered in my chest. “Mom, you aren’t thinking of staying with me, are you?”

“I told you I wouldn’t be a burden.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

She set her suitcase beside the couch and sat with a sigh. “I’m sure I can find a place. Somewhere.”

Crap.

Sabine Braxton was my mother by accident of birth. She’d raised me in an environment of cons, petty crimes and disregard for almost everything legal. She’d used me for several of her scams while I was growing up and left me with the neighbors for a week or so at a time upon occasion. For what, God only knew, and I never asked. But she was my mother.

I dropped onto the other end of the couch. “No, it’s okay. You can stay here. I’m heading out of town anyway.”

I realized what I’d said as her blue eyes brightened. “Where are you going? What are you doing?”

I shot up from my seat and started picking up clutter in the living room. If I made eye contact she’d know I was up to something. “It’s just a trip. Nothing exciting.”

Mom came around the couch to step in front of me. I had no choice but to stop, or I’d run into her. Knowledge of my dodge glinted in her eyes.

“Never try to con a con, Olivia.” Her mouth curved into a half smile. “I taught you that practically from the day you were born.”

I tilted my head and returned the same smile. “You also taught me not to blab about a job to the wrong people.”

She chucked me under the chin with one perfectly manicured finger. “I’m not the wrong people, darling, I’m your mother. What’s the gig?”

I stepped away from her and tightened the sash of my robe. “I really can’t say. And don’t give me that ‘oh sure you can’ look, because if I tell you I’ll get both of us in trouble.” I gave her my best no-nonsense glare. “Serious trouble. So don’t ask.”

She held her hands up in acquiescence. “Okay, okay. I’ll let it go.” She lowered her hands and moved toward the couch. “Have you ordered dinner? I’m starving.”

Uh-oh. That was too easy. She was up to something, something other than needing a place to sleep.

“It’s on its way,” I said just as a knock sounded.

Maybe some latent precognition talent of mine was emerging. Nah. If it had been, I would have known not to answer the door when Mom knocked.

As I flicked the debit card against my thigh and headed to the door, a disturbing thought flashed through my brain. I turned to her. “Mom, how did you know where to find me? I never, ever, give anyone this address. Even the food guy doesn’t know my name.”

She winked and tapped the side of her nose with her finger. “Never underestimate the power of a mother searching for her child, Olivia. Now answer the door before our dinner gets cold.”

Mom and I were halfway through our chicken marsala and eying the chocolate lava cake—I usually ordered enough food to take to work the next day, so there was plenty for the two of us—when someone pounded on my door.

“Liv? Liv, are you all right?” Tonio’s voice sounded worried over the noise.

“Cripes,” I said, springing up from the couch. “This flat is turning into Hub Station Two.”

He shoved the door open as I threw the last lock, knocking me back against the wall.

“Tonio, take it easy.”

His eyes were bright, and the color on his dusky cheeks told me he’d run up the three flights of stairs. “Are you okay? You didn’t answer when I tried to call you back.” His right hand was tucked under his jacket, behind his back, as he scanned the living room. I was certain he had some kind of gun in his waistband. His gaze fell on my mother and his eyes narrowed. “Who’s that?”

Mom blotted her lips with a thin paper napkin sporting the A1 Food Emporium logo. She stood and smiled brightly as she walked toward Tonio, her hand extended. “Sabine Montgomery.”

Montgomery? Oh, right. My latest stepfather. Or ex-stepfather, as the case may have been. I straightened my robe as the two of them shook hands.

“A pleasure to meet you Mister…?”

“Calderon.”

Recognition glimmered in my mother’s eyes. She dropped his hand as if it were leprous. “Tonio Calderon. Of course.”

As if she actually remembered his name. One minute she’s ready to dazzle a tall, dark and handsome stranger; the next she’s sneering at her ex son-in-law.

I shook my head and shut the door. “Tonio, for what it’s worth, this is my mother.”

“I’ve heard much about you,” he said with a faux pleasant smile.

I’d given Tonio a rundown of my upbringing. My mother didn’t come off as the most maternal creature in the ‘Verse. Her methods had been somewhere between the “let them fend for themselves” behavior of a sea turtle depositing eggs in a sandy hole and the “eat the slow ones” action of a New Brazil piranha.

At least he didn’t say he’d heard she was a crappy parent. Which he had.

“I thought you and my daughter were divorced, Mr. Calderon.” Translation: You are no longer a viable part of this familial unit, such that it is, so what brings your sorry ass here? Mom returned to the table and lifted her glass of wine. She glared at Tonio over the rim as she sipped.

“We are,” he said, glancing between the two of us. “I ran into Liv a couple of weeks ago, and we’ve decided to try being friends. Let bygones be bygones and all that.”

Nice story, dear, but I doubted Mom would bite.

“So you expect her to just forget the two of you ever had an intimate relationship? That you were supposed to spend the rest of your lives together, but instead you gallivant off and expect her to twiddle her thumbs and wait for you to grace her with your presence?” Mom’s eyes had taken on a fevered glint as she ranted.

Tonio and I exchanged glances. I could almost hear him asking the same question that formed in my head: What the hell is she talking about?

My mother never got upset over the idiosyncrasies of men. Never. What was going on here?

“Then, when you finally come home, you tell her you met some little chippy. That she’s changed your world. That you’re moving to Kennecott to start an organic pig farm with her. And you don’t even like bacon!” She cocked her arm, as if to throw the glass against the wall.

I lunged forward to grab her arm and the wineglass. “All right, Mom, that’s enough.” I pried the goblet out of her hand and set it on the table. “Why don’t you go lie down for a bit?” Holding her arm by her side, I guided her toward the bedroom.

She leaned against me, her tirade having sucked some energy out of her body. She’d always been a thin woman, but she felt fragile beneath my hands. “I-I’m sorry, Olivia,” she said, her voice a rough whisper.

This was not the same woman who used people—men, especially—until they were emotionally and financially depleted then tossed them aside. I wasn’t sure what happened in the last few years, but something had changed. Something, or someone, had hit her low and hard.

“It’s okay. You’ve had a long trip.” I opened the bedroom door and the light automatically glowed just bright enough to see the furniture. “Get some sleep.”

She slid her shoes off and curled up onto her side on my unmade bed. I straightened the covers and brought them up over her shoulders. Tears pooled in the corner of her eye, spilled over the bridge of her nose. I barely resisted the impulse to back away. My mother was crying, and I had no idea what to do for her.

“I’m sorry,” she said again and sniffed. She used the edge of the blanket to wipe her eyes.

Tentatively, I reached out and stroked her soft blond hair. “It’s okay. I’ll be out in the living room if you need anything.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. I watched her for several minutes. Her breathing became even with sleep, and the tension lines in her face smoothed a bit. Had she ever watched me sleep when I was a kid? Maybe when I was an infant, but I didn’t recall any nighttime tucking-in rituals.

I left the room, gently closing the door behind me.

Tonio was sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees and his head cradled in his hands. He straightened as I sat beside him. “She okay?”

I shrugged and shook my head. Who knew with her?

“Too much wine?”

Anger flared in my chest. “No, it sounded to me like she’s hurting. Hurting pretty damn bad.”

Tonio leaned away from me. “Calm down, Liv.”

“I won’t calm down.” I stood and stalked about the room, the need to break something nearly overwhelming me. “Something, someone, hurt her, and you think she’s just some raving drunk?”

“I didn’t say that.”

I spun to face him, my breathing fast and shallow. Since when did I get caught up in my mother’s antics? It was insane, not like me at all. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and released it slowly.

For all I knew, she was putting on an elaborate show to gain my sympathy. Before she knocked on my door, I wouldn’t have put it past her for a second. She played people for a living. Even me at times.

But something in her gaze, in the break of her voice as she ranted, told me she was sincere.

I opened my eyes. Tonio stood before me, uncertainty on his face while his body braced for my reaction. Did he think I was going to hit him? Cry? Both?

Neither.

I scrubbed my hands over my face and took another deep breath. “Sorry. I just don’t know what to make of her.”

“Do you think she’s pulling something?”

My fists and jaws clenched at his second insult toward my mother, but I let the anger go. Hell, I’d thought the very same thing not a minute earlier. He’d heard what Sabine was like, so I couldn’t blame him for asking.

“I don’t know,” I said shaking my head. “She and her husband split, that much is certain, and not very amicably by the sounds of it.”

Tonio ran a hand through his hair. “No shit.” He took a half step toward me. “Want me to stick around?”

“No.” I raised an eyebrow. “Why did you come all the way over here? Did you think I was in trouble?”

Color rose on his cheeks. He shrugged. “You didn’t pick up. I was concerned. Maybe Sterling found you or something.”

“It’s so nice to know you care.”

He’d said he wouldn’t let anyone hurt me. It was good to know that included Sterling coming after me, as well as any potential problems from the job.

“Only because we have to get you into Talbot’s office next week,” he said as he walked to the door. “Exeter has approved your personnel file. It’s too late to get someone else.”

Uh-huh.

He started throwing the locks. “Your mother isn’t going to be an issue, is she?”

“I’ll take care of her.” Which meant I’d make sure she didn’t jeopardize the job, not that I’d hold her hair back if she started vomiting. I wasn’t the nurturing type.

Tonio nodded. “Good. I’ll send you the personnel file and our travel schedule tomorrow.” He reached into his jacket and offered me a card. “Here. You’ll need to get some clothes and such. Have them shipped to your new address, under the name Olivia Baines.”

I took the plastic square. “Oooh, an alias and new clothes. High-class job.”

He stepped into the hall. “Definitely not our usual gig.”

We stared at each other for a moment. No, this whole thing was becoming more and more unusual. We were thieves, loners, not extortionists who worried about their interfering mothers.

Tonio nodded toward the bedroom. “I hope everything works out. Good night, Liv.”

“Good night.”

He disappeared into the shadows of the stairwell.

I closed the door, threw the locks and slumped against the frame. “Yeah, I hope it works out too.”

Chapter Five

Sunlight reflected off the neighboring building, cut through the smears on the living room window and smacked into my half-opened eyes. I rolled over to save my retinas, hoping to slip back into sleep. No such luck. Something under the flimsy couch cushion dug into my side. I groaned and tried to shift into a more comfortable position. The lump seemed to grow in size and in its determination to bruise a rib.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

I jerked upright, and a thin blanket that had been covering me slid to the floor. It took my brain a few moments to recall who else was in my flat. And why she was there.

My mother came around the end of the couch and set a mug of coffee on the table. “Strong and black,” she said, sitting next to me. She tucked her bare feet under her. “Just the way you like it.”

Actually, it was the way she liked it, but I wasn’t in the mood to quibble. Besides, I’d run out of Kreemor two days before.

“Thanks.” I wrapped my hands around the cup and sipped the potent brew. The only thing Mom and I had in common, other than committing felonious acts, was the ability to make good coffee.

That first swallow infused itself into my system as I watched Mom out of the corner of my eye. She’d changed out of her travel clothes at some point and now wore a pearl-pink peignoir over a matching nightgown. Her hair was neatly combed, and she wore little, if any, makeup. This close, I noticed blue-grey shadows under her eyes.

“Sleep okay?” I asked and took another sip.

Mom smiled a little. “I did, thank you.” She sighed and shook her head. “I tell you I won’t be a burden and first thing you know, you’re sleeping out on the couch. I can just imagine what you’re thinking.”

What was I thinking? The first thought that had come to mind was she was up to something. Though I’d tempered that last night after her rant, it was still a viable option. Second was she needed someplace to hide. A distant third was that she needed the comfort of the only family she had. Not counting several ex-husbands, that is. She’d already dropped the first shoe by coming here. When was the next size six going to fall?

I didn’t verbalize those theories. Instead, I shrugged. “This isn’t the first time I’ve slept out here.”

That wasn’t quite true. I’d fallen asleep on the couch in the past but got up and went into my own comfy bed at some point. When Tonio and I were having problems, he was the one to sleep on the couch. Locking him out of the bedroom probably had a lot to do with that.

We stared out the grimy window, side by side, lost in thought and not speaking for several minutes. My main concern for the moment was figuring out a way to prepare for the Talbot gig without her catching on. I couldn’t dodge a natural-born snoop like Sabine Braxton in a two-room flat. I couldn’t dodge a blind man here.

“Sorry about last night,” she said softly.

I’m not sure which startled me more, Mom’s voice after our prolonged silence or her apology. Whichever it was, it kicked my defenses up a notch. “Too much wine?”

Maybe it was callous to echo the question Tonio had posed last night. As much as I hoped overindulgence was the explanation, deep down I knew it wouldn’t be that simple. With Sabine, it never was.

Still staring outside, she gave a humorless snort. A tear trickled from the corner of her eye. “Something like that.”

Double damn the void. My insides got all wiggly and restless, unsure what I was supposed to do. Running from the room, while an option, wasn’t very polite. She was my mother, after all.

She wiped her cheek with her fingertips and threw me a sidelong glance, probably hoping I didn’t catch the tears. Our eyes met, and we both looked away quickly.

“I didn’t want to drop this on you, Olivia. We’ve always been good about respecting each other’s privacy.”

If what she really meant was that we’d avoided being on the same side of the star system for the last nine years, then yes, we respected each other’s privacy. When I’d turned sixteen, nearly fifteen years ago, she’d left me to my own devices. That is, she no longer felt obligated to keep me clothed and sheltered. Which was fine by me. I guess I was supposed to feel “lucky” to have had her around for as long as I did.

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t. I had the feeling her other shoe was about to land on my foot. “You can stay here as long as you need to.”

Hell, I was leaving Pembroke anyway. The landlord didn’t care who paid the rent. As long as tenant activities didn’t attract lawmen, he was a happy guy.

She flicked a glance my way and gave me a wan smile. “Thanks, honey.” Then her brow furrowed delicately. “There’s just one thing.”

My toes cramped in phantom pain. “What?”

“I’m almost too embarrassed to say it.” She lowered her head, and her cheeks actually flushed. Either she was sincere about whatever it was, or she’d become one of the best players in the business. Either way, I was screwed.

“Just say it, Mom.” Just please, oh please, don’t say—

“I need some money.”

Shit. I knew it. Why couldn’t it have been something easy, like “I’m pregnant”?

“Not a lot,” she continued. “Just enough to get me by for a few months.”

“A few months? I’m giving you my flat. How much do you need?”

Mom had acquired some lofty tastes, if her clothing and the filmy peignoir were any indication. Pinkies extended as she held the chipped mug in both hands, she raised a slender shoulder. “I hadn’t really thought about a number.”

That was a crock of ore muck. Likely she had the preferred amount as well as acceptable alternatives in mind before she’d knocked on my door last night.

“Monty took care of the finances. He was very good to me until—”

“Until he fucked the pig farmer.”

Her body stiffened, and her lips pressed together. Slowly she leaned forward and set the mug on the table. Then she folded her hands in her lap as she turned to me. Her voice was quiet, more pissed than pained, but I got the feeling it wasn’t directed at me. “Don’t be vulgar, Olivia. I made a mistake with Monty. I let myself get too close. But it won’t happen again.” She smoothed back an errant strand of blond hair. “In the meantime, I’m asking you for help, after which I’ll leave you in peace. Gone. For as long as you wish. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

I’d never met my grandmother, though Mom had cursed her on several occasions during my misspent youth.

Mom talked a good game, exuding the perfect amount of self-recrimination, anger and determination. How could I resist the win-win situation of being the good-hearted daughter and not having my mother sniffing at my heels? Part of my brain wondered what the catch could be. There had to be a catch. Had to be. But I knew damned well I’d never figure it out before she had me completely ensnared. Best to keep her off-balance.

She’d opened her mouth, probably to continue her plea, when I asked, “How much?”

Her mouth snapped closed. She stared at me for a moment, eyes narrowed, wary that I’d caved so easily. Reading people was part of her job, so I wasn’t surprised that she saw through my acquiescence. “I’ll pay you back.”

An offer of legitimacy? I wasn’t taking the bait. We both knew the chances of her doing so, or my finding her to collect, would be slim. “Just give me a number.”

“Ten thousand.”

My hands jerked, sloshing hot coffee onto my skin. My breath hissed in response to the pain, as well as her answer. Not the number I’d expected. I had just over half that squirreled away for my escape from Nevarro, or to keep myself afloat and out of sight if things went awry with the coming job and I had to go to ground. Hard-earned cash meant for a greater purpose than keeping my mother out of my hair.

On second thought, what greater purpose was there than family?

I swallowed back my natural instinct to deny I had any cash to my name. She’d see the lie in a heartbeat. Instead, I took a deep breath and said, “That’s a lot of money.”

Mom’s demeanor returned to embarrassed self-consciousness. “I know, and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it. Monty kept everything.”

Warning bells clanged in my head. “You didn’t have a pre-nup? You?”

Even if she liked the guy, Sabine Braxton-Zander-Kepler (Kempler?)-Montgomery was not one to leave herself open and financially vulnerable. Perhaps she was slipping in her old age.

She looked at me as if I’d grown a third eye. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I had a pre-nup. Monty’s terrashark of a solicitor found some ridiculous loophole that rendered it null and void. The bastard.”

I wasn’t sure if she referred to Monty or his solicitor, but she seemed to have copious amounts of anger for both.

“Mom, I don’t have ten thousand to give you.” I set my cup down and rubbed at the beginnings of a headache. “I can give you three or four, but it’ll take a few days to get it together.”

That is, I needed to have her out of my flat so I could expose my hidey-holes sans witness.

Her features softened as she gathered my hands in hers. “Oh, sweetie, I know I’m asking for a lot. And I do promise to pay you back.”

“Yeah,” I said, giving her a wry grin, “on Granny’s grave.”

Mom patted my hand. “Just don’t tell her that part if you ever run into her.”

Not trusting my mother alone in my flat, I called in sick to work. Rudy the Phlegm wasn’t happy, but I had days coming to me. Besides, I couldn’t have cared less if he fired me; I’d be nothing more than a bad memory by next week.

Mom and I were both cleaned up and changed when Tonio called with the address in Pandalus I needed for delivery of my new wardrobe.

“How’s your mother?” he asked after transmitting the information and our itinerary.

I flicked a quick glance at Mom rinsing the coffee cups and pot and turned my back to her. “Good. Better.”

“What does she want?”

Annoyance flared, but he’d heard the stories, stories I’d told him, so I couldn’t blame his suspicions. I had the same ones. “Nothing important. I’ve got it under control. Talk to you later.” I hit the disconnect and asked Mom, “Feel like doing a little shopping?”

She gave me a dubious look. “I thought you didn’t have any money.”

“I don’t. I’m spending someone else’s.”

Anticipation glinted in her blue eyes. “Even better. I’ll get my purse.”

Normally I would not have let my scheming mother in on any part of the job; I’m not that stupid. But as long as I kept it vague I’d be okay.

Shopping for fashionable, professional clothing was not my strong suit—it was my mother’s. Mom’s grifts often required a polished look. I’d gone for the more “dirty” jobs, preferring to blend in with the masses. She claimed I’d gotten that from my father. I had to take her word for it, as I’d never met the man.

PubTrans ran through Pembroke’s manufacturing and business zones, but access to the upscale retail district required a taxi ride. The posh did not appreciate the rumble of subterranean transport beneath their thousand-credit shoes.

“What kind of look are you going for?” Mom asked as we alighted from a taxi at the end of Meade Boulevard, the not-quite-so-pricey of the pricier rows.

A dazzling array of storefronts lined the very clean, pleasantly bustling street. Clothes, jewelry, salons, even a place to pamper your pooch. I’d never bothered to case this area; I was more of a smash-and-grab kind of gal. Establishments like these rarely dealt in cash.

I tamped down my fresh-from-the-mine stare and tried to act like I was used to the glitz. “Something an up-and-coming admin would wear, but nothing drab or boring.”

The idea was to catch R. J. Talbot’s attention on both professional and personal levels to gain her trust. Not a method I typically used, and never on another woman. Would Talbot be harder to string along than a man? Hard to say, but either way I needed to look competent, as well as attractive. Recalling the vids, I could emulate her style to please her on a subconscious level. Clean, classic lines that showed off curves but didn’t reveal much skin.

Willem had said I “fit the part,” which led me to believe I was the type of woman Talbot found attractive. That would make the job easier, even if I had to go beyond flirting. The idea of taking on a physical relationship with Talbot sent shivers up my spine, and not all of them were from worry. I shook myself back on track as Mom drew me to a halt in the middle of the walk.

“Let’s see.” She circled me, tapping her chin with a manicured forefinger and making “hmmm” and “tsk tsk” noises. “Good thing I showed up. You definitely need my help.”

I looked down at my long leather coat, lightweight sweater, faded trousers and scuffed boots. “It’s not like I’m dressed for the part just now.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “Olivia, I’ve seen your closet.”

Okay, she had a point.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing my arm and guiding me toward Madam Alana’s, the nearest beauty emporium. At least it was for humans. I think. “First things first.”

The young woman staring back at me from the mirror in one of Madam Alana’s private cubicles was both familiar and strange. Sure, she had my coloring, my features—nothing short of a laser scalpel would have fixed the slight kink in the nose, a result of it being broken on my sixteenth birthday—but the even tone of the skin, the mahogany tint to the perfect-cut-for-the-face hair and the subtle makeup were all new. She was me, yet not me.

Watching my mother in the mirror as she spoke to the stylist, I couldn’t help but compare her blond hair, fair skin and blue eyes to my darker complexion. At first glance we didn’t look related, let alone like mother and daughter. But we had the same basic features, from the dimples in our chins to the slight tilt of our eyes.

Our eyes—blue and brown—caught in the mirror, and Mom smiled. Something warm filled my chest at her approval.

“You show her how to keep the hair and makeup, yes?” Madam Alana’s minion said to my mother in his New Brazilian accent. “I work verra, verra hard and would be devastated should she relops.”

Relapse. As if my lack of fancy grooming was a disease. The minion had apparently taken my former condition as a personal challenge. A plastic credit chit from Mom got me immediate attention without an appointment. He’d whisked us in like I’d required emergency surgery.

Mom took the man’s hand and pressed another chit into his palm. Where were these chits coming from? “Of course you would,” she said with pouty sympathy. “Trust me, I’ll make sure she maintains it all properly.”

The man, bald and not terribly pretty for a guy who styled hair and painted faces for a living, smiled at her and kissed the knuckles of each of her hands twice. “Blessings on you, madam. And thank goodness you got her here when you did.” To me, he said, “You are a lucky young woman to have such a loving and concerned mother.”

Yes, lucky, lucky me.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile.

He executed a curt nod and left the cubicle.

I shrugged into my leather coat and followed him out. “Let me pay for this and we can get some clothes.”

“Already taken care of,” Mom said as she slipped her arm through mine and picked up the glossy shopping bag of new products. She steered me toward the door, smiling and waving at the minion as if they were old friends.

I’d thought the chits she’d passed to the minion were just tips. If she needed money so desperately, what the hell was she doing paying for my makeover? “Mom, you can’t afford this. I’ve got money.”

She patted my arm. “I had a little with me. If it makes you feel any better, you can loan me less.”

That sounded reasonable.

“How much did you spend?”

“Five-fifty.”

My feet and heart stopped at the same time. “What? On a haircut and some goop?”

At the rate she was going, I’d get one outfit and a pair of panties from the three thousand credits Tonio had given me.

“Sweetie, trust me. You said you needed to be a young professional. It’s important to look and feel the part.” Her lips curved into a smile and she touched me gently on the cheek. “And you look beautiful. Now, let’s get you some clothes to match that face. I promise we’ll hit the bargain racks.”

We stayed clear of the more expensive shops and did, indeed, find some decent deals. Though that required me to try on an almost endless stream of clothing, it was worth it. In the more exclusive boutiques, Mom informed me, they had holographic dressing rooms, where you could strip down to your skivvies and have the computer overlay your body with images of the garment you were considering. There were even sensors that let you “feel” the material against your skin.

As much as I disliked shopping for clothes, I had to admit, Mom and I had a good time. We never had the opportunity to spend that kind of money when I was growing up. Not that I would have tolerated hours of dressing and undressing as my mother shook her head or made pursed-lipped faces at my choices. She had better fashion sense than I did, it was true, but I managed to throw in a little bit of my tastes. Hey, I had to wear the stuff.

I handed over the credit chit Tonio had given me and made sure my mother was out of earshot as I relayed the Pandalus address information to the last clerk. Each one we’d visited had assured me my purchases would be promptly and safely delivered.

I had just enough left over to buy us a nice lunch and pay for the taxi ride to the nearest PubTrans station.

By late afternoon, we walked from the station closest to my flat as the winter sun sank below the roofs of the tallest buildings. Garish lighting speckled the walk in a rainbow of colors. Old grease and cooked meat odors hung in the chilly air. Pedestrians scooted past us, collars up and shoulders hunched, while kids chased each other through alleys, shouting and laughing.

My legs wobbled as we passed the pawn shop half a block down from my building, as if I’d run from the last boutique. “How can buying clothes be so exhausting?”

“It’s a mental thing,” Mom said. “Your endorphins get pumping as you shop, and in the aftermath your body is drained of them so you feel tired. It’s like sex in some respects, but with sex you get the physical satisfaction, as well.”

“I’d hope so.” I dodged Canned Vegetable Smelling Guy as he ambled past. “Sounds like you know more about this than the average person should.”

She smiled. “I make it my business to understand what it takes to bring pleasure to people.”

Now there was a road I didn’t want to travel down. “I think I need a drink,” I said as we reached the outer door of my building.

My hand had closed on the latch when I heard a shaky tenor call out, “Sabine! Sabine, wait!”

Mom and I both turned.

An average-looking paunchy man in a long coat bustled toward us, waving as if shooing a particularly bothersome fly. “We need to talk!”

“Who the hell—” I said as Mom blurted out, “Oh shit!”

That was the Sabine Braxton I knew.

The man picked up his pace, determination on his reddening cheeks. “Wait!”

Mom shoved me inside. “Go! Go! Go!”

I stumbled into the foyer and almost crashed into the inner door. “Who is that?”

“Get upstairs,” she said in a voice I hadn’t heard since I was a juvenile delinquent. It was never the delinquency that made her mad; it was getting caught.

Automatically responding to that tone, I went.

We pounded up the stairs. Below us, a door banged against the wall.

“Sabine!” The pitch of his voice was higher, more intense.

I popped the triple locks on my door faster than ever before. “Damn it, Mom, who did you lead here?”

Anger filtered through the adrenaline rush. How dare she bring her problems to my doorstep, to my sanctuary? But then again, I shouldn’t have been terribly surprised.

We burst through the door and slammed it behind us. As we threw the locks, the man beat on the metal panel.

“Sabine!”

“Mom!”

“Go away, Monty! I don’t want to see you!”

Monty. Of course.

Chapter Six

Our backs against the door, both of us breathing hard, I wondered how desperate this Monty character was to see my mother. Had she stolen from him when the pre-nup was nullified? Though he didn’t look like the violent type, anyone with half a brain could obtain and use most concealable weapons on the market. Did he have one? One that could pierce the metal door?

“Please, Sabine, open the door.” Monty’s plaintive cry sounded more like a wounded puppy than someone seeking revenge or restitution. “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Mom yelled back. “Go away!”

“I thought he was with Pig Girl,” I said as Monty pounded.

Mom shot me a withering glare. “Don’t mention her again.”

“Fine, but I refuse to be trapped inside my own flat.” I turned around and threw locks open, potential weapon be damned.

She grabbed at my hands but I slapped hers away.

“I don’t want to see him.”

“I don’t care,” I said, managing the last lock. Mom bolted toward the bedroom as I yanked the door open.

Monty had his fist raised in preparation for another round of pounding. No sign of a weapon. That was a relief; I’d have felt stupid getting shot in my own doorway. He took a half step back and lowered his arm.

“Go away,” I growled. “She doesn’t want to see you.” While that seemed obvious to me, some people just didn’t pick up on subtleties.

A sweaty sheen reflected the dim light of the hall off his balding head. Monty fixed his sad eyes over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse inside the flat. He wasn’t much taller than me. “Please. Tell her we need to talk. Tell her I’m sorry.”

Would we be passing notes next? Do you like me? Check Y for yes and N for no.

“I don’t think she’ll listen. You should go. Now.” I wanted to sound menacing, but it was tough to be mean to a guy on the verge of tears. Geez, if he still wanted Sabine, why did he poke the pig farmer? And why did Mom care so much if he had?

Unless I hadn’t been given the whole story. Which was entirely possible.

Monty sighed, and his shoulders sagged. “Tell her I just want to talk. She knows where I’m staying.”

“She does?” Part of me wanted to know how she knew, but Monty shuffled toward the stairwell, head hanging, not having heard me or not caring to elaborate.

Poor bastard. Mom had really hooked this one if he was chasing her down. Or he was playing the sympathy card so he could retrieve whatever she may have taken from him. The jury was still out on what, exactly, had gone on between them.

I shut and locked the door. “Mom,” I called toward the bedroom.

The door opened, and she peeked out. “Is he gone?”

“Of course he is,” I snapped. Did she think I’d let him in? Let him drag her out of my flat by force? Hmmm. Tempting.

She emerged from the bedroom, smoothing her blouse and not meeting my eyes. “The nerve of him—”

“How did he know you were here?” I stepped in front of her, forcing her to look at me. “It’s bad enough you’re here. I don’t need your marks invading my privacy.”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. “You’re blaming me?”

“Yes I’m blaming you!” I crossed my arms over my chest to keep from smacking her in the head. “Who the hell else should I blame?”

“I took every precaution I could to cover my trail. Monty has resources.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, but there was something in her eyes: The vulnerability I’d seen the night before.

I was in no mood to feel sorry for her.

I ran both hands through my new ‘do and growled, turning to pace the living room. “Is he going to keep coming back here until you talk to him?” I faced her again. “I’m trying to get ready to go, and I don’t need the aggravation.”

Not from Monty, and not from her. So much for the “I won’t be a burden” claim.

Mom sighed and sat on the couch. “I guess I could go talk to him. Tell him he’s being a bother.” She glanced up at me, a little smile playing on her lips. “He hates to impose.”

“Following you across the ‘Verse and pounding on a stranger’s door goes way beyond imposition, Mom.” I threw myself down on the other end of the couch and rubbed at the throb in my right temple. “How do you know where he’s staying?”

She sat back, taking a moment to respond—a moment longer than the truth required. “He always stays in the same hotel when he comes to Nevarro. Says the beds are softer than any others.”

I stopped rubbing my temple and stared at her. She met my gaze, held it for a second, then her eyes darted down to her left.

Fuck me.

“You’ve been here with him.”

She didn’t deny it with the vehemence that any normal mother would. She didn’t deny it at all, just sat there staring at the worn carpet beneath her feet. She’d been on the same planet, in the same damn city, and hadn’t come to see me or called or left a message.

So this whole day of mother-daughter bonding was just a big con to get on my good side. There was nothing more to it than greasing the money wheel. If she played nice, perhaps I’d offer up more than the four thousand.

Damn, I knew it. Knew it, and had allowed myself to think she wanted to be with me when she was hurting. Allowed myself to think she was just my mom, not a damn liar out to get anything she could from everyone around her. My gut churned, threatened to heave. I pushed myself up from the couch and stomped toward the door. “I can’t believe you.”

“Olivia, wait.” She stood as if to follow but I glared at her, stopping her in her tracks. “I can explain.”

Ignoring the earnest tone in her voice, I threw the locks. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear any more lies. You can live here after I leave later this week. I’ll tell the landlord you’re taking over the flat. Until then, go see Monty or don’t see Monty. I don’t care what you do, but I don’t want to see you again.” I held the door open and turned to face her. She looked as if I’d slapped her. It was a tempting thought. “Don’t worry. You’ll still get your money. That should buy me a few years of peace.”

Mom opened her mouth—to spew some other load of garbage, I’m sure—but before she could speak I slammed the door behind me and ran down the stairs.

My stomach settled some as I wandered the streets of Pembroke. It was full dark now, beyond the city lights anyway. Traffic had thinned to a few air and ground cars; there were virtually no other pedestrians.

Shoulders hunched against the chill of the night and my own misery, I glanced up to see the Alpha-Omega building. How had I gotten downtown? I vaguely recalled standing in a PubTrans car, squashed between a woman with a slight mustache and an old man who kept staring at my chest. Geez, lost in a fog of disappointment and anger, and I head into work. Pathetic.

Then I remembered Tonio’s flat wasn’t too far from here. I didn’t want to run to him with this, though he’d probably appreciate me trashing someone other than himself. But I was too drained to walk much farther and had nowhere else to turn.

I found his building and pressed the button under his flat number. There were little rectangles below the buttons with tenants’ names on them. Tonio’s rectangle was blank.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me. Liv.”

Without another word a buzz sounded, and a click came from the heavy glass-steel door. I pulled it open and climbed the stairs up to his flat.

Tonio stood in his doorway. His white turtleneck fit snug against his chest and arms, tucked neatly into the narrow waist of his charcoal trousers. A day’s worth of scruff covered his chin, and his feet were bare.

The wobble in my knees had nothing to do with running up the stairs. I repressed a groan. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“I poured some wine,” he said, stepping aside to let me in. “Figured you might need it.”

He knew me well. Too well.

I slipped past him, catching a whiff of leather and spice. Parts of my body I’d thought had gone comatose stood up and shouted. I was feeling crappy, and he was looking and smelling like heaven. Oh, this had been a bad idea.

But running would be rude, especially since he’d already poured the wine. I spied the glasses and bottle on the dining table. Snatching up one of the goblets, I made for the living room and sank into a soft chair. I’d downed half my drink by the time Tonio sat across from me.

He set the bottle on the low table between us. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” I polished off the wine in my glass then poured more. Taking a sip, I let it soak into my tongue and the back of my throat before swallowing. This was a much nicer vintage than the stuff I bought. I should savor the intricate blend of flavors, not gulp it like water.

Tonio said nothing, just watched me, knowing me.

I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. “My mother.”

“Ah.”

“But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

We sat for a long while, him sipping his first glass as I poured a third. This one I sipped; the flat was getting a little fuzzy around the edges.

Out of nowhere I blurted, “She’s been in Pembroke.”

He absorbed that for a moment. “When?”

I stood and paced. Fury at my mother’s deceit and my stupidity cut through the buzz of the wine. “Within the past three years, since marrying Monty. Can you believe that?”

Tonio didn’t answer, but the look on his face said that he could.

I ran a hand through my hair. Of course he could. I should have gone with my gut instinct the moment she walked through my door. “I’m an idiot. I actually believed she’d found me because she needed me. How could I fall for that?”

He rose and stepped in front of me. When I stopped, he laid his hands on my shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Liv. She is who she is.”

As I looked up at him my breathing became rapid, and pressure built in my chest. I tried to hold it down, but years of parental neglect came out in gasps and hot tears. “But—huh—she’s—huh—my—huh—mother.”

Tonio wrapped his arms around me. Warm and reassuring, he stroked my hair and back as I cried into his shirt.

Damn it. I hated him seeing me like this. Hated feeling like this. Despite our problems, Tonio had never lied to me, never used me. He’d been the most solid relationship I’d ever had. Which says a lot.

After a few minutes the tears stopped. Tonio took my glass and set it down. I wiped my nose and eyes with the back of my hand. Holding my other hand, he led me to the bedroom.

“Tonio…” I wasn’t in the mood for pity sex, but it wouldn’t take much to get me there.

His dark eyes were filled with sincerity, dangerously inviting. “Do you trust me?”

Our years together flashed through my mind. Jobs we’d pulled off, domestic life we’d screwed up. Living high in one of the poshest hotels on Nevarro, scrounging for cash between hits in our crappy little flat. Making love on our creaky double bed, slamming doors and screaming tirades. All in all, not a bad time, and he’d never really hurt me until that last day.

“Yes,” I said. And it was true. We may not have been in love anymore, but we’d be there for each other now.

The bedroom was pleasantly cool and dim. A large bed covered by a rust-red comforter and three puffy pillows dominated the room. Tonio helped me out of my coat and boots. He guided me to the bed, and we lay down fully clothed on top of the thick blanket. Cradled in his arms, I rested my head on his chest. His heart beat against my ear.

He kissed my hair. “Go to sleep.”

Inhaling leather and spice, I tilted my head and kissed his stubbly chin. “Thanks,” I said and did as I was told.

The next morning I woke hugging something soft and squishy. Definitely not Tonio. No, it was one of the downy pillows. Tonio wasn’t in the room.

Staring at the un-Tonio-like piece of abstract art on the wall, I was caught between berating myself for falling apart and appreciating having Tonio there to fall apart in front of. What happened to the tough chickie who knocked over banks?

Her mother, said a little voice in my brain.

I squashed the voice like an annoying bug and rolled out of bed. My head felt like it weighed a few megakilos, and the walls skewed to the right. While last night’s wine had been topnotch, it left me with the same dry-mouthed, gritty-eyed hangover of my regular brand. That was disappointing.

In the lav I splashed water on my face and rinsed my mouth. I considered using Tonio’s toothbrush, but we’d moved past that particular intimacy long ago. Instead, I used my finger to spread a glob of paste over my woolly teeth and re-rinsed. Much better.

A glimpse in the mirror over the sink was a mistake. My hair stood out like I’d been electrocuted; the no-smear makeup had blended into a murky mask around my eyes. Maybe there was a twelve-hour time limit. After slicking my hair down with water, I washed my face with a flowery-smelling soap and wiped whatever didn’t go down the drain onto one of Tonio’s fluffy towels.

I don’t know who’d furnished and outfitted the flat, but it wasn’t my ex. Some girl, perhaps? My stomach churned. Not that I was jealous. Must be hungry.

Feeling marginally human again, I donned my coat and boots and went into the living area. Still no Tonio, but the heavenly scent of coffee wafted from the kitchen. Beside the warming pot on the counter was a scrap of paper. “Cook anything you want.” Ha-ha, funny man. “I’ll call you later.”

What was it that prevented him from writing more than two lines in a note?

I poured out a cup of coffee and added a generous dollop of real cream. It occurred to me as I let the caffeine penetrate the fog of my hangover that Tonio had also been in Pembroke, or at least on Nevarro, for some time without contacting me.

Was I so horrible that neither my mother nor my ex deemed it necessary to invite me to coffee or say hello?

Well, to hell with them! I slammed the cup down on the counter. The handle broke off. I stared at the delicate C of ceramic. Hmmm. Perhaps that explained the lack of social invitations.

But Tonio did eventually come to see me, and even invited me to more than coffee. He trusted me well enough to involve me in the biggest hit of our lives. If this job went as planned, I wouldn’t need an invitation to coffee. With fifty million, I could buy my own damn coffee company.

Which reminded me, I had a few things to take care of before we headed to Pandalus.

I snatched a red-and-gold apple out of Tonio’s fruit bowl and pocketed a ripe banana. Neither was native to Nevarro and both had been genetically modified to withstand the different soil components and light spectrum. If you could get past the slightly metallic aftertaste, they weren’t bad. I preferred native husk berries with their citrus bite, but Tonio didn’t have any.

Munching on the crisp, juicy apple, I headed back home. Despite the near-emptiness of the PubTrans car, I took a corner seat to prevent anyone from looking over my shoulder and pulled out my comm.

With the sound muted, I opened the Exeter file and reexamined R. J. Talbot’s facial expressions and body language. She was a serious woman in a serious position, so it would be important to maintain that atmosphere. At first, anyway. Her reserved demeanor heightened the impact of her occasional smile, causing my heart to thump a little harder and drying my mouth. She was beautiful, and a physical reaction to her wasn’t unexpected, but it ended there. My job was to seduce Talbot into trusting me, not be seduced by her. Achieve that, and I’d be fifty million credits richer in no time.

I was heading toward the security of having more creds than I’d ever dreamed of. I still had enough cash on hand to scrape by for a short time if our plans fell through. As long as I wasn’t arrested. I could start over in another city or small town on Nevarro, call in a favor or two if need be. There was always work available if you weren’t too picky. It would take longer to save enough to get off-planet, but that was a risk worth taking. If it went completely to hell and I was arrested and convicted, the Correctional Department provided free room and board. But no matter what happened, I wouldn’t have to wonder if my mother was going to drop by for a visit.

Chapter Seven

“Welcome to Pandalus,” a garbled recording intoned over the speakers in the ceiling of the train as it whined to a stop. “Please disembark on the south platform. Mind the gap.”

Tonio and I gathered our bags and followed the rest of the bleary-eyed masses off the transcontinental train red-eye.

The Pandalus station was almost an exact replica of the Pembroke terminal, from the shops selling cheap goods to the sweaty air. The Transit Authority probably used the identical design for all their hub stations. So much for individuality. If there hadn’t been signs directing us toward unfamiliar restaurants and clubs, I’d have sworn we’d merely gone in one big circle.

We climbed the cement stairs up to the street level. There were fewer people about in the middle of the night, but air and ground car noises grew louder as we approached the exit. We stepped outside into the chill of Pandalus’s early winter.

The city was bigger and brighter than Pembroke, its buildings taller, its citizens cleaner and better dressed. But maybe that was just my newcomer’s view. In the light of day it would look like any other human-inhabited metropolis. And by the time I’d been here a week I’d have the same complaints about it as I did about Pembroke. Noisy, dirty and too crowded.

“There he is,” Tonio said, tugging my sleeve.

Willem stood beside a sleek black-and-silver ground car. Nothing showy or pretentious, but it certainly cost more than my LAC. I didn’t know where Willem got the start-up money for this little task, considering the car, the three-thousand-credit allowance I’d received and Tonio’s flat in Pembroke, and I wasn’t about to ask. But I was definitely going to enjoy it.

We shook hands with Willem, who gave us a tight smile. “Climb in,” he said, rounding the car to the driver’s side. “We’re not far from our building.”

“Front or back?” Tonio asked me.

“Back,” I said, reaching for the door latch. The thought of sitting right beside Willem gave me the proverbial heebie-jeebies.

Tonio slid into the front as I got settled in the back seat. The faux leather charcoal interior was smooth and unblemished. With plenty of leg room, which didn’t matter much for my stature, even Tonio would have been fairly comfortable. I sat back and gazed at the lights of the city around us. I could get used to chauffeured luxury cars. Well, semi-luxury cars—let’s not get too pretentious—but definitely chauffeured.

Willem maneuvered into traffic, the quiet hum of the engine rising to a low purr as he accelerated. “Has Sterling come around again?”

His question startled me out of my fifty-million-credit spending spree musings. “No, not since that one day at Alpha-Omega.” I’d almost forgotten Tonio had told Willem about my surprise visitor. “Are you worried?”

Willem threw a glance over his shoulder at me. “No.”

The coldness in his eyes, in that one word, made me swallow hard. “Oh. Good.”

His attention back on traffic, Willem turned a corner. In the distance, over the roofs of hundreds of other megascrapers, the golden E of the Exeter headquarters shined like a beacon in the night. A beacon for drawing billions of credits into its coffers, anyway. Exeter’s motto was “We work for you.” Which was a lie. Like all successful companies, they worked for profit. Sure, they had their charitable contributions, but altruism wouldn’t interfere with the bottom line.

We drove for several more minutes then descended into an underground parking area. Our footsteps echoed on the concrete floor of the garage as we headed to the elevator.

“You two are on the fifteenth floor,” Willem told me. “We’re above you.”

“We” being him, Chaz and, I assumed, Natalia. He passed us each a key card.

As the elevator rose I glanced at my card and then at Tonio’s. They looked identical but had no numbers on them. “What flat number?” I asked.

“Fifteen-twenty-seven,” Willem replied.

“We set up the SI units I’d be using for comm surveillance in twenty-seven.” Tonio’s voice held a hint of suspicion. “I thought Liv was in thirty-one?”

Willem watched the numbers on the display. “Change of plans.”

Tonio’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of change?”

“You’re both in twenty-seven.”

I stared at him in stunned silence.

Tonio’s hand tightened around his bag. “We set up two flats on this floor,” he said.

Willem adjusted the sleeves of his coat, his cold blue eyes on Tonio. “I decided it would be better to have you both in one. Easier to keep track of each other.” He tilted his head a notch. “Why? Is there a problem?”

I flicked my gaze over to Willem and back to Tonio, whose mouth was pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes steady on Willem.

“Yes, there’s a problem,” I blurted out right as my ex said, “It’ll be fine.”

For some reason Tonio hadn’t divulged that we’d been lovers, just partners. Maybe Willem didn’t realize there’d been something between us, didn’t think we’d mind sharing a flat. Trouble was, I minded. A lot.

Working together was one thing. I could steel myself against him if given the chance to put some distance between us. But living in the same flat? Tonio looked too inviting fully clothed; if—no, when—I was reintroduced to his just-woke-up tousled sexiness, I’d be in trouble. Huge, regrettable, morning-after trouble.

“We’d already moved in upstairs when I made the decision to lose the other flat. Otherwise we’d all be neighbors.” Willem held my gaze. “If it’s a problem, Tonio can stay with Chaz and Natalia, and I’ll room with you.”

His eyes traveled the length of my body, his lips curled in a grin that was far from pleasant. If he’d acted like he was assessing a used air car when checking me out back in Tonio’s flat, right then I felt like a piece of meat dangling in front of a terrashark. Hot indignation and the chill of unease skittered across my skin, making me a little nauseous.

Tonio’s shoulders tensed and his features stiffened. His hand clenched at his side. Willem was too busy leering to see Tonio’s reaction; he quirked an inquiring eyebrow at me.

Rather than throw up on his shiny shoes in the shiny elevator, I swallowed back bile and faced the brushed steel doors. “Never mind. We’ll be fine.”

Better the devil you know.

The elevator came to a smooth stop at the fifteenth floor, and the doors slid open silently. Tonio and I exited, avoiding each other’s gaze.

“We’ll meet later to go over final plans,” Willem said from inside the elevator.

Damned if I’d let Willem bother me. I met his ice blue eyes. “When do I start at Exeter?”

“Tomorrow. Get some rest.” He winked as the doors closed.

A shudder twitched though me. Was it worth fifty million credits to put up with him? Was it worth it to have to live with my ex? Was it worth putting myself on display, and possibly more than that, to charm Talbot? Considering my flagging account balance and my desire to live the good life without risking my neck again, yes, it was.

I sighed. It was too late to turn back now.

“Come on.” Tonio sounded as weary as I felt.

Shouldering our bags, we walked down the hall. The cream-colored walls and coffee-brown carpeting was nothing fancy, but it didn’t smell like cheese either.

At number fifteen-twenty-seven, Tonio and I stopped and stared at the door. We hadn’t shared a flat in three years, but surely we’d both matured since then. We could do this without getting involved. We had to do this without getting involved. There was no way we’d accomplish the job if Tonio and I got close again or if he couldn’t control his temper every time someone looked at me. Hell, my part of the scheme required it.

He waved his key card in front of the black square screen under the numbers. The little indicator light went from red to green, and a click sounded within the door.

Inside, the flat’s lights came up to a soft glow as Tonio closed the door behind us. The living room was tastefully furnished with a royal blue upholstered couch and chairs. The honey-wood floors and tables looked like real wood, but it was hard to say. Two doors on the right-hand wall stood open, revealing the bedrooms. Two bedrooms. With a lav between them. Thank goodness. An archway opposite the bedrooms led to the kitchen, and a bank of windows gave us a fabulous view of Pandalus just before dawn. Beside a desk laden with electronics, there were several packages addressed to Olivia Baines—my new moniker—from the shops in Pembroke. My wardrobe had arrived as promised.

Everything smelled clean, looked new.

I could get used to living like this.

“I didn’t know, Liv.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah, well, after his little tease about Talbot’s sexual preference, we should have realized Willem would mess with us.”

Tonio nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t like this any more than you do.”

I gave him a wry grin. “Was I that hard to live with?”

He returned the grin. “Yes.” We both laughed and some of the tension eased between us. But then his smile faded. “I could get a hotel room.”

Dumping my bag on the couch, I shook my head. “No, you need to have the computer equipment here. We’re adults, Tonio. We can handle living under the same roof for a few weeks.”

“Absolutely,” he said with what sounded like forced enthusiasm. Had I been that terrible? Tonio tossed his bag toward the nearest bedroom door. “I call that one. Willem was supposed to stock the kitchen before we arrived. Want something for breakfast, or are you gonna get some rest before we meet with the others?”

“If you’re cooking, I’m eating.”

After devouring Tonio’s signature huevos rancheros, taking a nap—in our separate rooms—and each grabbing a shower, we met with Willem and Chaz to finalize plans. Natalia was there too, dressed in a tight red sweater, matching micro skirt, net stockings and ten-centi heels. She reclined on one of the living room chairs, gazing into space. I wondered what her job would be in the scheme of things, so I asked.

Chaz shot a hostile glare from me to Willem, which Willem ignored.

Natalia blinked slowly, as if waking up from a drug-induced stupor. “My part’s over,” she said in her husky, I-just-got-out-of-bed-after-fabulous-sex voice. She paused, as if she was going to say more, but turned her head away from the rest of us to stare out the window.

Whatever her part had been, I hoped it hadn’t required long bouts of concentration.

“We have you set up at Exeter, Liv,” Willem said, acting as if Natalia hadn’t spoken. He took a long sip of coffee. We’d all filled and refilled our cups several times. Yes, we were big-time felons with caffeine addictions. “Check in at their Human Resources department tomorrow and take it from there.”

For what seemed like the millionth time, I tapped the applications icon on my comm and flicked through the information on the data stick he’d given me. “I’m looking for any files on the K-73 filtration system, particularly design, testing facilities, dates confirming how long it’s been in place and anything else to show Exeter isn’t playing nice.”

I’d set aside my earlier reaction to Willem’s suggestion about the two of us. We were talking business now. Being creeped out was one of those personal reactions that had to be ignored unless it impeded the job.

“Right,” the elder Grey said. “As safety equipment, it falls under the Colonial Mining Authority’s doctrine on technology sharing. Exeter has never filed it with the CMA, so we know they aren’t allowing A-O and Blue Mountain access.”

If Willem was right, and Exeter was being selfish, the CMA would hit them with huge fines. Plus the public black-eye of endangering the common man would damage Exeter’s relatively squeaky-clean reputation. At least until the next big company screwed up.

“You’ll also be monitoring any communications she has regarding the filters. Chaz started on their security’s night shift, and Tonio will monitor the rest of Exeter’s comm traffic.”

My eyebrows rose with surprise. “All of it? That’s a lot of chatter.”

Willem shook his head and sipped his coffee. “We’ve isolated the comm bands used by the personnel involved in the financing and placement of equipment. We initiated passive recording earlier this week, so Tonio, you have a little catching up to do.” He glanced at Tonio, who nodded. “With certain key words flagged, it shouldn’t be too difficult, just tedious. If you miss any of Talbot’s comms, Liv, Tonio should be able to catch them.”

“It’s not as exciting as wading through files,” Tonio said with a grin, “but I can work from here in my pajamas if I want to.”

The men laughed. Natalia stared out the window.

I took a swallow of coffee and closed my eyes, as if savoring the flavor instead of imagining Tonio in the blue-striped duro-silk pajama bottoms I’d given him for his birthday one year. It was the only thing he’d worn to bed after that, and his silk-covered manliness sent tingles through my entire body.

Then, not now. No, no, no. Not now. I hoped he’d opted for something a little more prudent since then, like a parka and wool pants.

“But the next step is almost entirely up to you, Liv,” Willem said. “Corporate spies from A-O and Blue Mountain may catch on to this information as well, if they haven’t already, so you’ll have to work fast.”

Banishing thoughts of Tonio’s body from my mind, I opened my eyes and nodded. “I’m ready.”

Chaz grunted. “You sure? Word is, Talbot’s a real hard-ass. If you fuck up, we’re screwed.” His eyes narrowed with malice. “And if we’re screwed…”

As confident as I was in handling Talbot and information retrieval, Chaz’s less-than-subtle threat sent a quiver of doubt and fear through my gut.

“Knock it off,” Tonio growled at him.

Chaz slowly swung his gaze to Tonio, like a snake sensing prey. “She needs to understand the consequences.”

Consequences like their missing ex-partner had probably suffered? I was sure “suffered” was an appropriate word here. Chaz Grey didn’t look like the type to make consequences fast and painless.

Clearing my throat brought their attention to me. “I do understand,” I said, my voice stronger than I’d feared it would be. “I’ll get what we need.”

Chaz shot Tonio one more glare then sat back to drink his coffee. From the corner of my eye, I saw Willem nod, a satisfied expression on his face. He had let the three of us smooth things out for ourselves rather than jump in to defend or protect any of us. Knowing when he needed to rein in the troops made him a good leader, even if he was creepy. But did he keep Chaz on a tight enough leash? I doubted it would take much to send the younger Grey brother on a rampage.

Willem drained the rest of the coffee from his cup and set it on the table. “We’ll talk again tomorrow.” He rose, followed by Chaz and Natalia.

“Good luck,” she said to me as they walked toward the door. “You’re gonna need it.”

There was an intensity in her eyes I couldn’t interpret. What was her problem? Was she mad about something? Before I had the chance to ask, Chaz took her arm and opened the door.

Tonio stayed on the couch, his dark eyes hooded and shoulders tense.

When the others left, I turned toward him. “There’s nothing to worry about. I can do this, Tonio. You wouldn’t have come to me if you didn’t think I could handle it.”

“I know you can,” he said softly. His confidence in me was encouraging, and it made me more than sure I could do my part. “But if Chaz ever…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, unable to voice what he’d do if Chaz found reason to mete out his consequences.

Tonio cared about what happened to me, and not just because of the job. Despite the need to keep things professional, our relationship was too complex. And I admit, knowing he still cared for me put a lump in my throat.

I crossed the room, sat beside him and laid a hand on his arm. Through the sleeve of his white shirt, the muscles and tendons of his forearm were tense. I rubbed my hand along his arm to try to set him at ease. He stared down at the contact, and his jaw tightened.

“You want to protect me.” I cleared my throat when my voice roughened. “I appreciate that. But I know what I’ve gotten myself into.” He brought his eyes up to meet mine, his concern for me clear. I gave him a grim smile. “I’m not dumb enough to cross Chaz or Willem. I like breathing too much to risk their wrath.”

“You were always stronger than I gave you credit for, Liv. But I’m learning you can take care of yourself.”

I raised my eyebrows in mock alarm. “I’ll still need backup, so don’t get too comfortable.”

He laughed. “I won’t.”

Then he leaned forward and kissed me, a spur-of-the-moment peck that brought our lips together. The electric zing that passed between us took my breath, and I gasped as I jerked my head away. But it wasn’t fast enough to keep barely suppressed memories from flooding my brain.

My heart raced as I remembered the taste of Tonio’s kisses. My skin tingled recalling how his body felt against mine. How he felt inside me. And with gut-clenching clarity, I realized how much I missed the trust, the connection two people could have.

Tonio’s brown eyes were wide with surprise, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he’d done. Then surprise softened to something else. “Liv,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

Oh God. Hadn’t we just agreed this morning—albeit, nonverbally—that this wouldn’t happen? Where was my willpower? My determination not to let our libidos get in the way?

His scent infused my senses, obliterating any more questions, as his mouth came down on mine. Unable—or unwilling—to do anything else, I flicked my tongue against his, tasting coffee and heat. He moaned. My fingers flexed, twisting the material of his shirt sleeve, and I drew him closer. His hand slid up my thigh to my hip. The kiss deepened as our tongues twined. Familiar stirrings coursed through me. It was better than I remembered, but was that my heart talking or someplace farther down?

The little voice inside my head screamed this was a bad idea as my own moan of pleasure vibrated in my throat.

Tonio’s hand moved from my hip to cup my cheek. His thumb caressed my skin. “Amante,” he murmured against my mouth.

Lover.

A term of endearment that had, at one time, drawn me to his bed. That had, more recently, reminded me if he’d loved me so much, why had he left?

This had already gone further than it should have. My body ached for him, but my head and my heart couldn’t see us being together beyond the end of the job. Even a consensual, no-strings-attached tumble was a bad idea because that would damage the one thing I knew I did want from Tonio: His friendship.

Exactly! The voice in my head cut through the haze of need with a deafening cry.

Jerking back, I broke the kiss. “We can’t.” I slid away from his touch and stumbled to my feet, wrapping my arms around myself to try to stop the quivers in my stomach.

Tonio’s hands fisted then opened flat on his thighs. His dark brows furrowed together, desire and confusion in his eyes. After a few moments of staring at each other, he leaned back against the couch, frustration replacing desire.

He raked a hand through his hair as he blew out a deep breath. “I know.”

I made a confused frown of my own. “Then why did you kiss me?”

“Because you wanted it.” True. But before I could protest, his mouth curved into a rueful smile. “Because I wanted it.”

“Well, that was obvious.” I moved to put the couch between us. “We can’t do this again, Tonio,” I said firmly, “not if we’re going to do this job right.”

By “right” I meant without any complications of personal feelings. We cared for each other, there was no changing that, but it didn’t go any further. Not on my end at least, and anything more would risk the job.

He crossed the room to the closet. Reaching in for his black leather jacket, he shrugged into it. “I won’t lie to you, Liv,” he said over his shoulder. “I’d love to carry you into that bedroom right now and make you forget any protests you might have. I could do it.”

Arrogant bastard. But he was right. My body buzzed at the idea of what we’d do. I swallowed hard and jabbed my fingertips into my sides, hoping to douse desire with pain. It didn’t help.

Be strong, Liv. Be strong.

“But I won’t,” he continued as he walked to the door. “Because like you said, it would just mess things up.” He gave me the most forlorn, sexually frustrated look I’d ever seen on a man. Good, it wasn’t just me. I hoped my own forlorn, sexually frustrated expression was hidden better than that. “So before we do something we’ll regret, I’m going for a walk. Call in something for dinner, will you?”

He left the flat.

I stood still for a few moments more, willing the shakes of unfulfilled need to subside. They didn’t. Growling at my physical and mental state, I stalked into the lav for a quenching shower. For a fleeting moment I considered taking care of things myself in a warm bath, but just as quickly rejected the idea. Associating Tonio, sexual frustration and subsequent relief, even by my own hand, was not a good precedent to set.

A cold shower it would be.

Chapter Eight

The next morning, my chrono alarm went off at 0600, well before I needed to report to Exeter. Such feminine activities as hair and makeup added more time to my routine than the average girl probably required, even with the practice I’d had before coming to Pandalus. But the extra care was worth it.

The young professional staring back at me from my bedroom mirror was damn hot. Shiny, sassy hair. Smooth coffee-with-cream skin. Sultry, dark eyes. Camouflaging the kink in my nose would have been impossible, so I didn’t bother trying. Besides, it gave my face character.

An ivory lace camisole beneath a dark blue collarless jacket and a matching skirt that just touched the tops of my knees projected sensibility with a hint of sexy. I wasn’t a curvy woman, but the fitted jacket and slender skirt made me feel like one.

“Look out, R. J. Talbot.” I slipped on low-heeled shoes and went to the kitchen for a much-needed cup of coffee.

Tonio had stumbled in late last night, the noise waking me up long enough to determine he was alive. He wasn’t conscious yet, and I resisted the urge to slam cabinet doors while singing at the top of my lungs. There were times I could be a grown-up. I brewed the coffee, drank a cup while reviewing my Exeter and Talbot data and packed my satchel with all the workday necessities.

It crossed my mind to leave Tonio a note, but I decided against it. What was there to say? How about your chicken dish for dinner tonight, but without the side of frustration? Sorry we kissed, see you after work? Coffee’s in the warmer, hope you don’t wake up with too bad a hangover or one of the new deadlier strains of an STD?

Refusing to let thoughts of where he’d been last night get the better of me, I was almost at the door with my satchel and coat when Tonio shuffled out of his bedroom. Tousled dark hair and the scruff of whiskers on his cheeks made him look like a rogue from a historical drama vid. A light robe covered his broad shoulders and chest. I forced my gaze away from those damned blue-striped pajama bottoms. I’d been right about his just-woke-up sexiness, but a waft of stale smoke and alcohol killed any spark of desire that may have lingered from yesterday.

“Morning, sleepy head,” I said with a grin.

He gave me a slow once-over. “Wow.”

My body warmed, but I didn’t react to him otherwise. Good girl.

His dark, red-rimmed eyes met mine. “You look amazing.”

Damn right I do, I thought with an inner smirk. And you? You get none of it. But I said, “Thank you. Tell Willem we’ll comm when I get back. See you later.”

“Have a good day,” he said hoarsely as I breezed past him.

The door shut behind me and I stood in the clean, bright hall for a moment to catch my breath. That had been easier than I’d feared. If the rest of the job went as well, we’d all be fifty-million credits richer in no time.

Crisp, clear early winter air made my cheeks tingle as I stepped out of the building and shrugged into my coat. On the street, ground cars hummed by, and pedestrians passed me going in both directions on the walkway. Megascrapers created vast canyons of steel and plasti-glass. Air cars weren’t permitted in such tight corridors, and the sky beyond the rooftops was an uninterrupted crystalline blue. A beautiful day to walk to the nearest PubTrans station a block away.

A tall, blond man in a long coat walked toward me, speaking on a headset while tapping his handheld, oblivious to everything else around him. We drew closer along the crowded walkway, but there was little room to maneuver to avoid a crash. At the last moment he paused in his tapping to lay a gentle hand on my shoulder and guide our dance of the near miss. Instinctively I grasped the soft wool of his coat sleeve as we pivoted around each other. Our eyes caught. Still talking into his comm, his gaze flicked down my body and back up to my face. He winked, and a surge of pleasure shot through my chest.

I smiled at him before turning toward the station, my step a bit springier and my confidence high. Yes, R. J. Talbot would have a tough time ignoring me.

The whirs and rumbles of traffic muted when the main doors of the building closed behind me. The marble-and-brass lobby of Exeter’s two-hundred-story headquarters was subdued, as if a certain degree of awe were expected. Holo displays of Nevarro’s mining operation history strategically funneled visitors to the reception desk. Cases along the walls held numerous industry awards for excellence in environmental and business practices.

Bully for them.

I wondered how many more awards for excellence Exeter would receive if they didn’t cough up the two hundred million we’d be asking for and the CMA learned of their technology stinginess. Between the other companies being deprived of safety technology and the Mining Authority not getting its cut of taxable assets, Exeter would be considered less than excellent for a while.

Two men wearing black-and-grey guard uniforms, complete with shiny badges, sat at the semicircular security-slash-reception desk. I assumed they were armed even though I couldn’t see weapons. They spoke softly to one another, their faces set in professional wariness as I approached.

“Good morning,” I said with a smile. “My name is Olivia Baines. I’m R. J. Talbot’s new assistant.”

The man on the right worked the board in front of him, peered intently at his screen and peered more intently at me. I didn’t let my smile slip but couldn’t help the little quiver that ran through my gut. Was there a problem already?

Looking back at the screen, the guard tapped another icon and the SI unit beeped. “Place your hand there, please,” he said, gesturing toward the flat, black square imbedded in the top of the desk.

The screen glowed amber for a few moments as it scanned my handprint then went black again. Another beep from the SI. I moved my hand.

“Stand still and look at the E over my shoulder, please.”

Why? Was it going to do tricks, or was this the lamest eye test on the planet? The brass E behind the desk was about a meter tall.

“What’s so spe—”

“Don’t talk, please,” he instructed.

I shut my mouth and there was another beep.

The guard grunted and stared at the area near his hip. No one spoke as clicks and beeps sounded. After a few moments he attached a green lanyard to a six-centimeter by ten-centimeter plastic card. “Use the elevator on your left and wave the badge over the control box. It’ll only allow you to go where you have clearance. HR is expecting you.”

I took the badge from him. It had an alphanumeric code and my face on it. The E housed a camera, and probably an iris scanner. Clever. Somewhere in the thin layers of the plastic badge was a chip that held all the information Exeter knew about me. Or what they thought they knew.

“Thank you,” I said and walked to the elevator. The guards resumed their quiet conversation.

The black square box was flush against the wall beside the brushed steel elevator doors. I waved my badge and after a minute the doors opened.

“Good morning, Miss Baines,” the elevator said in a pleasant, feminine soprano.

I stepped inside the carpeted car and looked for speakers or buttons. A plastic bubble in the rear corner of the ceiling probably held a camera. Light paneling covered the walls except for a digital display that read G for “Ground floor.”

“Um. Good morning.”

“Department or floor, please,” the elevator requested. The doors whispered shut.

“Human Resources. Please.” Being polite to the elevator seemed like a good idea. Any mechanism that could plunge you to your death deserved a certain amount of respect.

I felt a slight shimmer and the digital display changed from G to one, then two, then three. The car stopped and the doors opened.

“Human Resources is down the hall, fifty meters on the right,” the elevator informed me. “Have a nice day.”

“Uh, thanks,” I said as I stepped off.

The doors closed silently.

Cool-green carpet muted my footsteps as I walked the fifty meters to a wooden door with a brass plaque that read, not surprisingly, Human Resources. I turned the latch and went in.

The woman sitting at the first desk tapped on a holo keyboard projected on the desktop while she stared at a paper-thin monitor on the wall at her eye level. “Can I help you?” she asked without looking up.

“Hi. I’m a new hire. Security sent me up.”

She continued tapping with one hand and held the other palm up. “Badge, please.”

I handed her the plastic card. She swiped it over a black box on her desk and returned it. While she tapped some more, I glanced around the small office space. There were several more desks and worker drones beyond hers, each tap-tap-tapping along. Willem had said they’d gained access to the HR department. I wondered if someone else was working for him.

“Here you go, Miss Baines.”

I brought my attention back to the woman. She was now making eye contact, if not smiling. In her hand was a blue data stick.

“Emergency contact, company policy and non-disclosure forms,” she said. “Fill them out, thumb the screen to accept and have Miss Talbot thumb the files before the end of the day. Remind her she can’t terminate until we finish startup procedures. Not like last time.”

I hoped the clerk was joking, but there was no gleam of “Let’s tease the newbie” in her eyes. Chaz had said Talbot was a hard-ass. Swallowing a question about what, exactly, had happened last time, I took the stick. “Thank you.”

She nodded and returned to her tapping as if I’d never arrived.

At the polite elevator, I waved my badge over the screen and asked to be taken to R. J. Talbot’s office when the doors opened.

“One hundred thirty-fifth floor,” it told me.

That seemed a little low down in a two-hundred-story megascraper for a vice president. “Where is the Research and Development Department?” I asked.

“The R and D laboratories occupy floors one hundred twenty-three through one hundred thirty-two. R and D administration can be found on floors one hundred thirty-three through one hundred thirty-five.”

So Talbot stayed close to the action. Hopefully she wasn’t too much of a micromanager. That would make my job difficult.

The ride up to the one hundred thirty-fifth floor took a little longer than the ride to the third, but not by much. The displayed numbers rose steadily then slowed as the elevator reached its destination. I didn’t even feel it move.

“One hundred thirty-fifth floor, Miss Baines. Miss Talbot’s office is on the left. Have a nice day.”

The elevator doors slid open onto a long hall carpeted in deep red and paneled in warm wood tones. Three doors lined the hall on the right, and only one interrupted the wall on the left.

“Thanks,” I said as I exited the car.

My shoes made no sound on the thick carpet as I read the names on the other doors I passed. Michael Craig, Associate VP of Research Integrity. Naomi Thurston, Associate VP of Development Programs. This close to the VP, they’d be important enough to keep tabs on.

The door at the far end had no brass plaque or even a sign tacked to it. Was it the broom closet? A lav? I guess I’d find out eventually.

At Talbot’s door, I slipped out of my coat and readjusted the satchel on my shoulder. I tried to depress the latch. It didn’t move. Hmmm. I waved my badge at the blank screen beside the door, and it clicked. Chances were some kind of time-personnel stamp noted when the doors and elevators were used and by whom.

Talbot’s outer office had more of the rich red carpet, but darker paneling covered the walls. A large desk dominated the space, and there were four cushioned chairs and a low table off to the side. Three doors led from the room. One was ajar, with an even-toned female voice coming from the inner office beyond it. I recognized Talbot’s alto from the files I’d studied. The conversation sounded one-sided; the new boss was on the comm or talking to herself.

The multiple trills of ignored comm alerts came from the direction of the desk and the SI unit there. Why wasn’t the auto-answer program picking up?

You are the answer program now, I reminded myself.

Right. I crossed to the desk. A state-of-the-art SI-6 was lit like a Founders’ Day fireworks display, and the insistent trills corresponded to three blinking red lights on the screen. A fourth light held at a steady green glow. Talbot was talking to someone important enough to snub the other callers.

Dropping my satchel on the floor, I draped my coat over the back of the chair and grabbed the headset. I touched the “Audio Only” icon beside the first call flashing on the screen as I fit the earpiece into my left ear. “Miss Talbot’s office, please hold.”

Not waiting for an answer, I hit the “Hold” icon and moved on to the next caller, repeating the process two more times until the trilling stopped. Sitting down, I checked the names on the screen. The line Talbot was using was marked “Private.” The Chief Engineer waited on line two, the director of contracts on three, and the name of Exeter’s Chief Operating Officer blinked in silent impatience at me from line four.

Oops. I opened his line first. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Clemens. How can I help you?”

“Who is this?” he asked in a gruff voice.

Oh, boy. Mr. Happy.

“Olivia Baines, sir. Miss Talbot’s new assistant.”

“Where’s Talbot?”

A quick glance toward the inner office showed only the corner of Talbot’s black lacquered desk and some white wall. Had she even noticed the annoying trilling had stopped?

“She’s on another call at the moment, sir. Can I take a message, or would you prefer to leave one in her comm folder?”

He grumbled something then said, “Comm folder, but tell her I called.”

That seemed redundant to me, but who was I to second-guess the COO of a multibillion credit-a-year company?

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Transferring you now.”

Following the standard prompts on the screen, I sent Mr. Clemens to Talbot’s message folder and went through the same procedure with the director of contracts and the engineer. No one was willing to trust the new girl to take a message—other than Clemens, such that it was—or to try to solve whatever problems they had. That certainly made my job easier.

After making sure Talbot’s messages were safely recorded and that she’d be alerted to their presence, I ran a quick diagnostic on the comm system. Something was buggy with the auto-answer, but rather than accidentally kill the whole system, I shot a request for repair to the Exeter CompTech department. An auto-respond said I’d be informed of the job’s completion and thanked me for my patience.

Between the elevator and the computer, I thought Exeter had a nice bunch of electrons working for it. It would be a miracle if the humans were as decent.

While I’d been conversing with the computer, Talbot had shut her door. The “Private” line had gone black, and according to the screen she’d transferred her messages from the network to her Inbox.

Was she ever going to come out of there?

Until the comm trilled again, there wasn’t a whole lot for me to do. I plugged the blue data stick from HR into my terminal. Might as well get the busy work out of the way while I had the chance; there’d be time later to peruse files for the filter information.

The forms were standard “In case you die on the job, who should we call?” and “Do you promise to keep your mouth shut about what goes on here upon pain of death and/or legal action?” kinds of things. I filled in all the blanks and pressed my thumb on the screen as a signature, accepting—and lying about—the promise to be loyal.

“And you are?” asked a smooth alto on my left.

My head snapped up from the screen to face R. J. Talbot. One slender, dark eyebrow was cocked in query over her steel-green gaze. Her wide mouth pressed into a hard line, she stood with her arms crossed under her breasts. A perfectly tailored winter-white dress buttoned almost to the throat fit her trim form.

Chestnut tendrils had loosened from her upswept hairstyle, softening the angles of her cheekbones, but that was the only thing soft about her. Talbot was more attractive than the pictures and vids on the data stick had shown. Attractive in an intense, “I’m used to getting what I want and no one will stop me” sort of way. Up close and in person, she made my stomach flip and my palms sweat.

“Olivia Baines.” I rose and wiped my palms on my skirt. The VP was only a few centis taller than me, putting us almost eye-to-eye. “Your new assistant.”

I stuck my right hand out and waited while she looked me over. Despite knowing R. J. Talbot liked women, there was nothing sexual in her scrutiny. It was a purely clinical assessment, and I tried not to squirm while I wondered what she thought of me. Once again, I felt like a used air car.

Finally she brought her eyes back up to mine and grasped my hand. Hers was cool and strong with blunt, beautifully manicured, unpainted fingernails. “You’re the third one in as many weeks,” she said as she released me. “I hope HR got it right this time.”

Good thing I’d worn a jacket, because there was a distinct chill in the air.

Determined to do my best—at both jobs expected of me—I nodded once. “You won’t be disappointed, Miss Talbot.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her tone more than implied her doubt as she gave me another quick appraisal. “Get acquainted with what’s on the SI and in the desk. I’ll be back in an hour.”

She was leaving me alone? On my first day, my first minutes on the job? What kind of boss did that to an untried assistant?

Talbot walked to the door, her hips swaying with authority. She wore heels a bit higher than mine, which actually made us about the same height. But somehow, R. J. Talbot seemed taller. Much taller.

She left the office without a backward glance.

I sank down onto my chair. Willem expected me to charm and seduce her? I’d be lucky if I made it through the day without her tossing me out like week-old take-away.

The trill of the comm cut through my wavering confidence.

Unless I did want to get fired before I’d barely started, I’d better get to work. Taking a deep breath, I tapped the flashing icon on the screen. “Miss Talbot’s office. This is Olivia. How can I help you?”

Talbot strode back through the door an hour later.

By then, I’d fielded seven calls and glanced at a number of files in the SI, as well as the items in the desk drawers. All the callers left messages in Talbot’s folder, but I did manage to answer one question that kept coming up: What happened to James, Talbot’s previous faithful assistant? I told them he was on personal leave, though I wasn’t sure how accurate that was. Willem never told me what had happened to him. I hoped James was on vacation somewhere sunny and bright, but knowing the Greys it was doubtful.

Nothing in the SI related to the K-73 filtration system, which was strange. Maybe it was encoded or misfiled. Attempts to access Talbot’s computer through mine, using some of the infiltrators in my repertoire, were thwarted by a tough firewall. Of course, I never expected such easy access on my first day. I’d have to have more time, and perhaps a stronger set of applications.

In a desk drawer I found a doodle of a stick figure pointing some sort of wicked-looking firearm at another stick figure labeled “Talbot.” Great. Had she known it was there when she told me to check out the desk?

“There are seven messages waiting for you,” I said as Talbot approached. “I prioritized them depending on the source.”

“Really.” Standing at the corner of the desk, she quirked an eyebrow at me, questioning how I could recognize what was priority to her in my first hour of work. Even giving me a skeptical glare, she was stunning.

Determined to appear at ease, I shrugged. “I figured you’d let me know if I was wrong.”

Her green eyes glinted like a predator’s. For a moment I thought she was going to tear my head off for acting with such presumption. Instead, her mouth curved into a little smile. It wasn’t a cruel smile, but it didn’t give me a warm, fuzzy feeling either. Nothing about R. J. Talbot was warm or fuzzy. “I certainly will.”

I unplugged the HR data stick and stood to hand it to her. “HR asked to have this back as soon as you were able. I understand your last assistant was gone before the paperwork was completed.”

Her smile grew a micron, but the intensity of her expression never diminished. I had the feeling she may have buried the last assistant in her garden. I swallowed quietly. How could someone who wasn’t holding a pulser make me feel so uneasy?

Talbot grasped the data stick, her fingers carefully avoiding mine. “Miss Baines, aren’t you curious as to why I left you here alone? Why no one came up here to show you the ropes?”

The last hour had been busy, and I’d considered that very thing as the damn comm trilled and no one trusted me to answer but the most basic questions.

“Trial by fire,” I said. “You probably haven’t given my employment file more than a cursory look. You need a warm body here, not a replacement, or you would have likely hired someone yourself from in-house. HR will either send someone who can competently fill the chair, at the very least, or you’ll dismiss each one until they do.”

Our gazes held as she contemplated what I’d said, how I’d interpreted her methods. Was I wrong? I didn’t believe so. I got the impression R. J. Talbot was a woman who admired strength, confidence and initiative. If that’s what she wanted in an assistant, even in a temporary one, that’s what I’d give her.

Even if she made my insides quiver like jelly.

Her perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around the data stick, Talbot raised it in mock salute. “Welcome aboard, Olivia.”

Chapter Nine

I didn’t get fired that first day. Or the day after that, or the day after that. But honestly, how could you screw up answering the comm, shuffling callers to message folders and pouring coffee? I don’t know what the last temp had done to get fired before finishing the first day, but it must have been a doozy. Erased all of Talbot’s messages? Spilled coffee on the SI? Maybe that’s who’d broken the auto-answer system.

Granted, the lack of activity gave me ample time to scour my SI and Exeter’s internal net for the filter files, but there was nothing about them on my unit. Which was odd, but maybe Talbot kept the K-73 information in a private sub-system only accessible on her unit. That’s what I would do if I were hiding incriminating evidence. Or just use sticks.

If my only option was finding the right data stick, I was screwed. Files accessed exclusively via data sticks left shadows, acknowledgement by the operating system that yes, indeed, files associated with this or that were accessed. Unfortunately, shadows were just as intangible—and useless—as the designation implied.

I hoped Talbot trusted the security of her SI and the company net more than the security of stashing a stick that could be stolen by the janitor. Or her assistant.

Exeter computer security was topnotch, but there were back doors and cracks in every system. It was a matter of finding them. If I couldn’t reach them from my console, I’d need time alone in her office. But I wouldn’t get the time if all I did was sit at the front desk nearly drooling from boredom. I had to become more involved in Talbot’s routine, and fast. Asking Talbot was out of the question, so I went to those in the most knowledgeable positions.

Sitting alone at a table in the Exeter commissary during lunch on my fourth day, I eavesdropped on a nearby group of R and D admins while picking at the day’s special. The other assistants coped with the more vital aspects of Talbot’s schedule and James’s duties, but they had their own people to manage, as well. From the glares I received, they weren’t happy about it.

No one at the popular admins table had introduced themselves or invited me to join them. Not a shock. I was merely a temp, one who was making their lives difficult because I was, in their minds, incompetent.

A tall, pale brunette sighed heavily. “I just wish James would get back.”

“It shouldn’t be much longer,” Richard, the admin for the Associate VP of Programs, consoled. I recognized him from some of the comms I’d fielded for the past few days. Since his boss was highest on the ladder of those present, he was the de facto leader of their little lunch mob. “And if it is, maybe Talbot will hire a real assistant.”

This was one reason I hated the regular working world. All the sniping and back-biting, even among people on the same pathetic level. Give me a good bank job or jewelry heist any day. At least under those circumstances, you were armed against your coworkers if they turned on you.

I didn’t want to get chummy with these people, but it would behoove me to know what my boss was up to. That, and I was almost certain I’d piss them off just by talking to them. A potential win-win situation if I ever saw one.

I stood, smoothed my skirt and blouse and walked toward their table. All five watched me approach but only the tall, pale woman glanced away.

With a friendly smile, I stopped between Richard and a fair-skinned redhead. “Hi, I’m Olivia, and I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

Several of the others flushed and murmured a greeting as they looked to Richard.

He stood, a fake smile on his long, dark face, and held out his hand. “Hello, Olivia. We spoke over the comm, but it’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

Yeah, right. I’d been sitting in the commissary for the last three days while he was here holding court, and not once did he make the effort to “finally meet” me. As someone who’d been working here, it was his responsibility to greet me, wasn’t it? Whatever. I took his hand and resisted the urge to kick him. Cripes, his skin was smoother than mine.

“Nice to meet you too,” I said with the same fakeness. Hell, I could play this game. I let go of his hand and glanced around the table. “I just wanted to thank you all for taking on so much extra work. I realize I’m only a temp, but I’d like to make an impression on Miss Talbot. You know, so I can get a really good reference from her.”

God, was that as pitiful as it sounded?

“So,” I continued, “I was hoping you’d help me. I want to be more involved with Miss Talbot’s scheduling and take on the duties expected of an assistant.”

They all stared at me for a moment then exchanged glances. None of them thought I’d be able to do the job, but maybe they didn’t realize what was on my résumé. Okay, it was a fake résumé, but they didn’t know that.

Richard’s forehead creased as he frowned. “Are you sure you’re ready for something like this? Miss Talbot’s a very busy woman and has many important projects in the works. Perhaps it would be best for us to hold things together until James returns.”

“I can appreciate that.” I gave him my most charming smile, the one I’d learned from my mother. “And I’m sure I’d need to pick your brains, but I’ve been in a similar position.” See fake résumé for details. “I have to show Miss Talbot I can do more for her, at least more than being a human answer system.”

The five of them exchanged looks again, but this time a couple had the glint of malice in their eyes. Maybe they were just mean people, but I had the feeling they were interested in more than seeing me go down in flames. If James didn’t return in a timely manner Talbot would need a capable assistant—and hiring from in-house meant one of them would likely be promoted. Which meant I was in their way and needed to be gone ASAP.

Richard grinned at me, but it didn’t reach his muddy-brown eyes. “Sure, Olivia, we’ll be happy to help you out.”

Richard commed after lunch with Talbot’s schedule for the next few weeks. Deciphering that kept me occupied, and when I commed other admins to clarify their notations they happily answered my questions. For the most part. The redhead pursed her lips when I’d called and was barely civil. She may have been bothered by my interrupting her work or miffed because I’d decided to do my job. Hard to say, but I triple-checked everything she told me just to make sure she wasn’t trying to screw me over. Where was a good pulse pistol when you needed one?

Late that afternoon I was prepping timely reminders for upcoming meetings when Talbot swept into the office followed by Michael Craig, Associate VP of Research Integrity, and Emily Pritchard, Chief Engineer. She headed straight to her office with the other two hot on her heels. Something was up. None of them so much as glanced at me or tossed a “Good day” in my direction. Another reason I hated the working world. The suits generally ignored the peons unless they needed something.

“Olivia, please bring in the Werniki data set the lab sent up this morning. And coffee.”

“Yes, Miss Talbot.” I managed to keep the frustration out of my voice, but just barely.

Slipping the requested data stick into my pocket, I went into the little kitchenette off the reception area. Exeter had decent coffee, but I preferred my own brand and had been bringing it in for the past two days. If I was going to be chained to the desk, I felt entitled to a better brew.

I set cups, saucers, the full pot, sweetener and a small pitcher of cream on a glass tray and brought it into her office. The same ruby carpet covered the floor, but the walls were stark white with abstract art pieces bound by simple black frames. Black lacquered cabinets lined one wall. The window behind the desk was currently tinted a medium charcoal shade to block the bright winter sun. As the day went on and the light waned, the polarized plasti-glass would become more translucent to reveal the lights of Pandalus at night. Or, at the touch of a button, remain opaque.

Talbot sat behind the black lacquered desk, intent on the SI screen while her left hand absently toyed with the gold chain around her neck. Whatever dangled on the end of the chain peeked out from V-neck of her blouse from time to time, but I couldn’t see what it was. I gave myself a mental shake to break the hold of the glinting chain as it slid against her dusky skin.

Craig and Pritchard flanked Talbot instead of sitting in the two black leather chairs in front of the desk. Craig, in his early forties, appeared haggard as he ran a hand through his mussed hair. Pritchard, a tall, cool blonde who favored pastel sweaters, had her arms crossed over her ample chest. They all peered at the SI screen, frowning at whatever they saw.

“These are the particle saturation numbers for the past year,” Pritchard said as I approached. “This shows them going down at a—”

Talbot raised her hand, cutting her off as I set the tray down. My heart rate picked up, and a little buzz ran through me. She wouldn’t have stopped Pritchard unless there was something on the screen I shouldn’t know about. Which meant, of course, now I needed to know what was on the screen. A file name, a sub-system designation, something. Unfortunately, getting a good look at it would require an all-too-obvious craning of my neck.

All three watched me, and I smiled at them like the good little coffee girl I was. Craig held my gaze for about a microsecond then found the cuticle on his right thumb terribly interesting. Pritchard dropped her gaze down to her left and smoothed her hair behind her right ear. Nervous gestures made these two horrible accomplices.

Rule Number Four in the Felon’s Handbook: Make sure any associates weren’t going screw you over, intentionally or otherwise.

But calm, cool and collected R. J. Talbot waited for me to give her the Werniki data stick from my pocket with nothing showing on her face. I couldn’t help but admire a woman who committed blatant code violations while looking so confident.

“Anything else, Miss Talbot?” My cheeks began to ache from the stiff smile I’d maintained. Damn, I wanted a look at that screen.

“Not at the moment,” she said, dismissing me. “Thank you.”

I nodded and headed back toward to my desk as Craig began pouring coffee. When I reached the doorway, Talbot called me. “Olivia.”

I turned around, expecting a last-minute order for a snack or for them to not be disturbed.

Talbot held her coffee cup in both hands, just below her chin. She lifted the cup a little, indicating the contents. “Yours?”

“Yes.”

She smiled. “It’s good. Make sure you get reimbursed out of the expense account.”

Unexpected warmth bloomed in my chest. I smiled back at her and nodded. She liked my coffee. For some reason, the recognition made me feel almost giddy. It wasn’t blinding sexual enrapture, but it was a start.

By the next week, anyone requesting a meeting with Talbot or, in the case of the higher-ups requesting her to come see them, had to go through me. If Talbot noticed the comm was much more active or that her meeting reminders were coming from my SI, she never said anything. Was this part of her little trial? If I’d been content to be the human answering service, would she have booted me?

I’d barely gotten my coat off Monday morning when the comm started trilling. I let the now repaired auto-answer pick up while I dealt with more important callers.

“And may I ask what this in reference to, Miss Pritchard?” I asked after determining the engineer wanted to meet with the boss. I brought up Talbot’s schedule on the SI.

On the other half of the split screen, Pritchard scowled at me. She knew as well as I did Talbot would want to know the reason for the meeting beforehand. I was hoping she’d say it was about the filtering system, but I wasn’t that lucky. “The shareholders presentation in a few weeks. I need to speak to her about the data sets she wants for the report.”

“Miss Talbot’s schedule is tight, but she’s available for a short meeting on Thursday afternoon.” I scanned into the following week; Pritchard would scream if I even suggested she wait that long.

“Can’t you get me in any sooner?”

I wanted to say, “If I could, don’t you think I would, you idiot?” but didn’t because I needed to stay on the job. Instead, tsking with regret, I said, “I’m afraid not, Miss Pritchard. With the CEO and VP of Marketing from VemCo in town, Miss Talbot has back-to-back meetings through Thursday morning.”

I hadn’t learned about the three-day meet and greet going on this week with one of Exeter’s largest buyers until late Friday afternoon. Frantic, I’d spent a good portion of the end of the day arranging and rearranging this week’s schedule. Some of Exeter’s lower-level management were surprised when I’d commed to shuffle their meetings with Talbot, but they accepted the changes with little argument. Hey, I was a VP’s right-hand girl, wasn’t I?

I’d also stocked up on the good coffee and had pastries being delivered to the conference room across the hall—behind the unmarked door—each morning they’d meet this week. Even as a number cruncher for Alpha-Omega, I knew people were much easier to deal with if you kept food within reach.

“Fine,” Pritchard huffed. “But I want at least an hour.”

“Absolutely, Miss Pritchard, and thank you so much for your patience.” I hit the “End Call” icon to disconnect us.

As much as Pritchard and half the other suits annoyed me, it paid to be nice to them. Sure, it made me look like a kiss-ass, but that’s what worked with these people. I had no choice but to play their game. Besides, my suspicions that Pritchard was involved with the K-73 cover-up meant I needed to stay on her good side.

Talbot emerged from her office, her brow wrinkled in concentration as she tapped her handheld. “Conference room ready, Olivia?” she asked, striding to the door without looking at me.

“Coffee’s being made, and the jelly bouncers are on their way.”

She stopped as if she hit a wall, and her head snapped around toward me. Her green eyes burned into mine.

Sweat broke out at my hairline and I felt my face flush. I guess now was not the time to joke about serving cheap kid food. I gave her a sheepish smile, hoping she wouldn’t rip my head off. “Actually, an assortment of pastries from Bridgemont’s,” I said, naming one of the upscale shops in midtown. Their baklava was to die for. However Nevarro bees made honey, it was unlike anything I’d ever had. “It’ll be here soon.”

Talbot’s eyes lost a little of their laser-beam intensity; her shoulders relaxed a micron. “Good.” She started toward the door again. “I’ll be in and out all day. Take messages for anything you can’t answer. I do not want to be interrupted while VemCo is here, understand?”

“Yes, Miss Talbot.”

“And make it eight for dinner at Humberto’s tonight instead of six. A couple of the VemCo people brought their spouses.”

My heart stuttered as my eyes jumped to her schedule. A dinner meeting? At Humberto’s? It wasn’t on today’s schedule. Or tomorrow’s. Or the next day’s. Shit! “Um.”

Talbot half turned toward me, one hand on the doorknob and one slender eyebrow cocked. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” I said, hoping the quiver in my voice was covered by my false confidence. “I have it right here. Dinner at Humberto’s at nineteen-thirty.”

That last bit was a half-wild guess. I’d noticed other dinner meetings at that time and prayed Talbot hadn’t gone off her normal practice.

Sweat trickled down my neck as she stared at me. She gave a quick nod and said, “Bring the coffee in when it’s ready.”

“Yes, Miss Talbot,” I said as the door shut behind her. I punched up contact information for Humberto’s Restaurant before the sound of the latch clicking died away.

Their comm was audio only, which was good because I didn’t want the person on the other end to see how anxious I was. “Double damn the void,” I muttered, waiting for them to pick up. “How the hell did—”

“Humberto’s, may I help you?”

“Yes, I need to confirm a dinner reservation for tonight. Nineteen-thirty for eight people under the name Talbot of Exeter Mining.”

“Just a minute, please,” said the man on the other end. There was a faint tapping sound as he checked, but it was taking too long. I felt my heart drop into my stomach. “I’m sorry, miss, but there is no reservation for tonight under that name or for anyone for Exeter.”

Shit, shit, shit!

I took a deep breath. No reason to lose it yet. “Can I make a reservation for tonight?”

“Hmmm.” More tapping. “I don’t see anything available right now.” He sounded almost apologetic. Almost.

Nothing available? On a Monday night? I wanted to beat this guy with his SI and tell him he was making a mistake. Screwing this up would end my days at Exeter. And then the Greys would end my days, period.

Okay, Liv, take a breath.

Cool control percolated through the haze of panic rising in my brain as I blew out a silent ten-count. If I could point a pulser at a bank teller and demand money, I could do this. The mental directive to stay calm kept my voice pleasant. “Listen, um—I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Diego.”

“Listen, Diego, I realize this is somewhat short notice, but I need that reservation for tonight.” Thankful for not having the comm on visual, I hoped I sounded less desperate than I felt. I wiped sweat off my brow.

More tapping. “I don’t know, miss, it looks like we have another party coming in just about the time you want.”

Bastard. Fine. I’d play along.

“I understand, Diego. Would one hundred creds help shuffle those folks to a later time?” Might as well cut to the chase.

“Two hundred.”

“One-fifty,” I countered.

More tapping. “Done. I’ll send you my account digits. It’s on deposit only, and I get immediate notification when the transaction is complete.”

A man who knew his business. I was starting to like this guy. A request to access a link to a local bank popped up on my screen, and I chuckled into the comm.

“I’ll get it right over to you,” I said. “And Diego, if Miss Talbot and her guests have a particularly pleasant time under your care, I’m sure an extra fifty or so can be added to this…gratuity.”

He laughed quietly. “I’ll see to it, Miss…?”

“Baines. Miss Talbot’s assistant.”

“A pleasure doing business with you, Miss Baines. Be sure to ask for me personally when you wish to dine at Humberto’s in the future.”

“I’ll certainly do that, Diego.”

We disconnected, and I transferred the necessary credits from the expense account to Diego’s. It was petty cash to a company like Exeter, but to folks like Diego and me, a few extra creds was nice to have. Though Diego probably did this kind of thing several times a week. Maybe I should go into restaurant reservations for my next career.

After I got the coffee to the conference room and made sure the suits were happily situated, I returned to my desk to wade through the calendar’s backup system. Talbot had been sure of the reservations at Humberto’s, so someone had dropped the ball and forgot to make them. Or had cancelled them. Being the paranoid felon I was, I opted for the latter.

An earlier version of Talbot’s meeting schedule was encoded on the net. Yep, there it was. Dinner at Humberto’s for tonight. But it hadn’t been on my copy. Unfortunately, I couldn’t decipher who’d cancelled the engagement and erased the note.

Someone wanted me or Talbot to look very bad. If the reservations had fallen through while Talbot and the VemCo folks were standing in the restaurant, she would have been embarrassed beyond words. Even if it wasn’t my fault the initial arrangements hadn’t been made, I would have taken the brunt of her fury. Saving Talbot’s neck saved my own.

I put my money on the redhead; she seemed particularly hungry to me. Until the job was done, I’d be more suspicious of information I received from her. From anyone, for that matter.

God, I hated the working world sometimes.

The following morning, I’d been at the office for over an hour before Talbot came in. Her unusually late start gave me time to make sure all was on track to avoid another screw-up. So far, things were fine.

She looked as impeccable as ever in her chocolate-brown suit, but there were faint smudges of grey under her eyes. Apparently the VemCo people liked to stay up late.

“Coffee, please, Olivia,” she muttered as she unlocked her office door.

I went into the kitchenette to fix the boss her usual cup—light on the cream, no sweetener. I sorted through the first aid box and placed a couple of medtabs on the saucer.

“Thanks,” she said when I set it on her desk. She downed the tabs with a swallow of coffee.

“Mr. Clemens moved the lab tour up to ten,” I said with more than a little sympathy in my voice. Talbot did not look ready to trundle through the lab in less than an hour.

She nodded. “That’s fine.” We both knew it wasn’t, but neither of us would mention it. “Have Pritchard tell the techs to be seen and not heard, or it’s her ass.”

“Already done.”

She held my gaze, and I couldn’t look away when she moistened her lips. My stomach fluttered. Even hung over, she was gorgeous, and the physical reaction I had toward her was undeniable. But I couldn’t get swept up in it myself. Rule Number One was Rule Number One for a reason. Clenching one hand into a fist, I dug my nails into my palm. The small shot of pain cleared my head. It’s a job, Liv.

“Good.” She turned her attention to her SI screen.

Dismissed, I released a slow breath and started toward the door.

“Oh, Olivia.” I turned around. Her head was cocked in query. “What happened with Humberto’s yesterday?”

Shit! Had there been a problem with the reservation after all I went through with Diego? I’d kill him. Send Chaz to beat the one hundred and fifty credits out of him. Chaz would do it, too, just for fun.

Despite my racing heart, I kept my features neutral. “Was there a problem?”

“No,” she replied. “We had a fabulous meal and the staff was extraordinarily accommodating.” She leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers together on the desk. “In fact, the only ‘problem’ wasn’t a problem at all. I’d requested a private dining room, and we were given a better one at no extra cost due to some reservation…mix-up.” A small smile curved her mouth. “Thank you.”

Relief eased tension from my shoulders. I wanted to go down to Humberto’s and kiss Diego. Maybe I’d add a little more than the extra fifty to his account.

“Making things run smoothly is part of my job,” I said.

Her gaze traveled over me, assessing me as she had when I’d first arrived. I stood very still, hoping she liked what she saw, ignoring the renewed fluttering in my stomach.

Our eyes met, and she said, “Once the VemCo people are gone, I could use a hand with a couple of projects I have in the works. Are you up for a challenge, Olivia?”

I smiled. “Whatever you need, I’m your girl.”

Chapter Ten

After the VemCo people left Thursday morning, I helped Talbot play catch-up on the routine tasks she’d set aside. I was amazed at how much she did during a normal work day—approving new research projects, discussing fiscal viability of newly developed technology, general overseeing of the R and D department’s productivity—and at how much her regular admin would have taken on. How much I now had to take on. For the last two days I’d eaten lunch and a late snack at my desk then dragged my sorry, chair-flattened ass home well after 2100.

Thank goodness the weekend was upon us. But Talbot had given me three data sticks of information to familiarize myself with and a promise that the next week was going to be just as hectic because of the shareholders meeting coming up.

Oh boy.

Trudging in from the PubTrans station, most of the people I passed on the way into my building were headed out for a good time, if I read their laughter and overall jocularity correctly. I just wanted to go to bed. Alone. Hopefully Tonio had dinner keeping warm, but if not, I’d go to bed hungry. I was too tired to wait for take-away, or even an Insta-Heat bowl of soup.

A group of six exited the first elevator that answered my button pushing. I waited for them to spill out then entered the empty car. Their chatter echoed through the lobby until the doors shut, leaving me in blissful silence. On the way up to my floor I willed columns of productivity numbers and pages of techno-jargon out of my brain. Eyes closed, I leaned in a back corner, my head resting on the wall, and let the gentle vibration massage my temple.

The elevator slowed then stopped. I heard the doors slide open but couldn’t open my eyes or move my aching feet. If I was like this after two days of late nights, what condition would I be in by the end of next week?

“Gonna stay there all night, Liv?”

Willem.

My eyes flew open, and I straightened. He loomed in front of the elevator doorway, blocking my path.

“Just a little tired tonight.” I wiped my clammy hands on my coat as surreptitiously as I could.

He held the edge of the door to keep it open. “Got anything new for me?”

He’d asked that every night since I started working for Talbot. You’d think he’d trust me to inform him of any changes. I hated micromanagers.

“Not since her meeting with the other two execs.”

Willem’s lips thinned in frustration.

I shrugged. “What can I tell you? Except for this past week, when the VemCo people were here, she’s barely left her office for more than an hour and locks the door when she does.”

“That should have been plenty of time, Liv.” His tone was icy. I didn’t blame him for being unhappy, but this couldn’t be rushed either.

“Between Exeter’s SI security and not knowing when Talbot will be gone long enough,” I said, reining in my own frustration, “it’s hard to get to her desk unit. If she catches me there now, when I can’t justify it, we’re done.”

“What about after she’s gone for the day?”

“She doesn’t want me at the office after hours.” I pushed away from the elevator wall. “I’ll get it, Willem, don’t worry.”

He didn’t move aside until I was just about to run into him. As I passed, he took hold of my upper arm. Not forcefully, not painfully, but I stopped midstep and stared at him. A shimmer of fear ran up my back, followed closely by anger.

“I do worry, Liv.” His voice was as soft as his eyes were cold and hard. “I need those files before the CMA or another company gets wind of them.”

I jerked out of his grasp. “I know what you need.” A good kick in the crotch. “I’m working on it. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

Our eyes held for a few moments. Then Willem grinned like I’d either passed some kind of test or had just signed my own death sentence. Hard to say. He eased past me to enter the elevator.

Shoulders squared and back stiff, I strode down the hall. As the doors of the elevator closed, I could have sworn I heard him chuckle. It was not a pleasant sound.

Shaking off the encounter, I was never happier to see my apartment door. I waved the key card over the lock, turned the lever when it clicked and kicked off my shoes as I entered.

“Tonio, I’m home,” I called out.

How normal that sounded. But how normal was it for a woman to be roommates with her ex-husband so they could pull off a blackmailing job? Probably not so much.

I breathed in the heady aroma of something spicy and delicious, and my mouth started to water. I’d go to bed alone but not hungry.

I shut the door, dropped my satchel beside my shoes and hung up my coat. “Sorry I’m late. What’s for dinner? It smells wonderful.”

As I headed toward the kitchen, Tonio came through the archway holding a food-laden plate in one hand and a full glass of deep red wine in the other. The grin on my face made my cheeks hurt. What a great guy. Why had we divorced? Then I saw the look on his face. His smile was tight with too many teeth showing.

Uh-oh. Tonio had gotten that look two steps into a bank on Rafikki the first and last time we’d used an inside man on a job. He’d grabbed my arm and we calmly, if quickly, turned around and left. Later, he said he felt something had been off and ranted for two days about trusting “civilians.”

My grin faltered. “What’s wrong?”

Tonio blocked my view of the kitchen. “Let’s sit here in the living room, Liv. It’s much more comfortable.”

The back of my neck tingled unpleasantly. Something was up. Tonio never let me eat anywhere but on easy-to-clean surfaces. He herded me toward the couch, but I pivoted around him and went to the kitchen.

“Liv, wait.” The dish clattered on the coffee table.

I stopped in the doorway, my throat and gut tightening. My mother rose from a seat at the kitchen table in our supposedly unknown location. How had she found me? How the hell could Tonio have let her in?

A glass of wine and an empty plate with the remnants of Tonio’s culinary skill were near her place. Not only had he let her in, but he’d fed her too. Now I remembered why we’d divorced: He was a jerk.

“Hello, Olivia,” she said softly. Her blue eyes were filled with either regret or the hope I wouldn’t hit her.

“Get out.” My tone was just as quiet, but the coldness in those two words startled me as much as they did her.

She paled a little then recovered, her lips pursed with indignation. “I just want to—”

“Get.” My back teeth ground together. “Out.”

I didn’t want to hear anything she had to say because I was sure it would all be a lie. One big, fat, soul-sucking lie, and I’d had enough of those from her. My job was lying; I didn’t need it in my personal life, as well.

I turned to leave and almost bumped into Tonio’s chest. The expression on his face was a combination of apology and concern. What kind of crap had Sabine told him to worm her way into the flat? It didn’t matter. All I knew was he’d let her in after I’d told him how she’d failed to make any effort at all to see me when she was in Pembroke. Betrayal and disappointment mixed with the anger churning in my gut. I wanted to vomit and cry, but not in front of them.

“Bastard,” I growled as I pushed past him.

“Liv.” His fingers brushed my upper arm, but he didn’t get hold of me.

“Let her go, Tonio,” my mother sighed. Oh, poor neglected mama. To hell with her. “This is how Olivia tends to deal with unpleasant confrontations.”

That stopped the flight toward my bedroom as if I’d hit a plasti-glass wall. I whipped around, hands clenched at my sides.

Sabine stood just outside the kitchen, her arms crossed under her breasts. Frown lines creased her forehead.

“This is how I deal with confrontations? This, coming from a woman who never bothered to contact her only child? You have no right to be upset with me.”

Tonio’s gaze darted between the two of us. He remained out of the direct line of fire but close enough to jump in, should physical restraint be necessary. Which it might come to if I couldn’t control the urge to strangle my mother.

Her eyes narrowed. “You left home as soon as you turned sixteen with barely a goodbye,” she chided. “I got the distinct impression you didn’t want to see me.”

“I left because you told me it was time I took care of myself.” I took a breath and blew it out slowly to relieve some of the tension in my jaws and chest. As much as I wanted to scream at her, to rant and throw things, I couldn’t respond like the abandoned kid inside me wanted to. “You said I was old enough to be on my own, that I was making it hard for you to target new marks. Do you remember those words, Mom? Because I sure as hell do.”

Her features softened, but she said nothing. Guilt will shut up some people, and I was amazed it had affected Sabine Braxton at all.

I squeezed my fists tight and bit the inside of my lower lip to stop the damn tears. “That’s what I thought.”

Over the years I thought I’d built up enough of a scar to not let her dismissal hurt so much. But it was more of a scab than a scar, a less permanent thing that had been torn open when she’d shown up at my door weeks ago. And just as it was healing over, here she was again, picking at it.

“Olivia—” Her voice broke over my name, and her lip quivered.

“No.” I held up my hand, palm out, to stop her. “No. You only found me because you needed money and a place to stay. Not because you wanted to see me, not because your marriage fell apart and you needed me. You have what you came for. Now get out.”

This time I would be the one to leave the wound.

I walked into my bedroom, closed the door as gently as my shaking hands would allow and managed to bury my face in my pillow just before a wail of pained fury burst from my chest.

If the glowing amber numbers on the chrono beside the bed hadn’t proved I’d slept for a few hours, the grittiness in my eyes and dryness of my throat would have. Soft light from neighboring buildings filled the room. I’d forgotten to opaque the window, but it wasn’t the lights that woke me. My head throbbed, and my stomach rumbled.

I stripped off my wrinkled work clothes, donned my shorts, tank and robe, then padded to the door and listened. No voices from the other side. I cracked open the door. Arrhythmic tap-tapping sounded from the corner of the living room. It couldn’t have been Sabine; Tonio wouldn’t have let her on the SI unit he’d set up to monitor the Exeter comm traffic.

I eased the door open further and stepped out. The windows had been opaqued. Only the glow from the screen lit the small work area. Tonio was still dressed in street clothes, his dark hair mussed as if he’d run his hand through it in frustration—Gee, wonder who’d caused that?—and his eyes were fixed on the screen. He didn’t appear to see or hear me come in.

“Anything interesting?” I asked quietly.

Not a twitch from my interruption, almost as if he’d been expecting me. “Not yet.”

I walked over to stand by his shoulder. “Kind of late for comm traffic, isn’t it?”

Without looking away from the screen, he kept keying the board. “Just catching up on earlier transmissions. But there’s nothing about the K-73s.”

Not a surprise. Talbot was too smart to slip up, and I was sure she’d personally crucify the others involved if they did.

Was Tonio going to say anything about my mother? About why he’d let her into our flat? I drummed my fingers on my thighs and waited. Several minutes passed, and my irritation at his ignoring my feelings grew until my fingers hit with increasing frequency and force.

Finally I stopped tapping and blurted, “Damn it, Tonio, how could you let her in?”

His fingers froze over the keyboard. Half his face was in shadow when he looked up at me. “She’s sorry about what’s gone on between you and wants to make things right. I think you should talk to her, Liv.”

My mouth dropped open. Somehow she’d seduced him, like she had so many other men over the years. “Damn, she’s gotten to you too.” I thought Tonio would have been immune to her after I’d inoculated him with stories of my upbringing, and especially in view of her more recent deeds. I stepped back as if he were contagious.

Tonio shook his head. “She hasn’t ‘gotten’ to me. She came looking for you and started to cry when I told her you’d be late and probably didn’t want to see her anyway.” He held his hands up in concession. “What was I supposed to do, leave her in the hall?”

Crying Woman, one of the oldest cons in the book. The goal was to set up the mark for future procedures or to get him—it was usually a him—to give her money to go away. Reasons for the crying varied, but the basic ploy was the same. Crying Child with Lost Pet had been my first solo job. I was four and received a twenty-five-credit chit to get myself a new dog.

I sighed at his gullibility. “Oh, Tonio, you are such a man. She was playing you.”

My anger at him melted a little. Sabine Braxton was a pro at this game, so I couldn’t fault him for being taken in by her. Well, I could, since he’d been told of her ways and, as someone in the business, should have known better. But there was something almost mystical about how my mother worked. Few men had escaped her charms.

He frowned as he stood. “I think she was sincere.”

I rolled my eyes and headed toward the kitchen as my stomach growled. “Of course you do. Her life’s work is to make people believe her crap.”

Even I’d fallen for her stunts, but hopefully I was building up resistance to her.

“You’re not even going to let her apologize?” he asked as he followed me.

I called up the lights and started rummaging through the cooling unit. “Nope.”

“I think you should.”

A bowl of what looked like pistachio pudding called my name. I found a spoon in a drawer and thumped the unit’s door shut with my foot. “No.”

“Liv—”

I set the bowl down with a bit more force than necessary and sat at the table. “I’m not going to discuss this anymore.”

“Aren’t you curious about how she found us?” he asked, taking the seat across from me.

Our eyes met over the spoonful of pudding I was about to shove in my mouth. That wasn’t a question I’d expected. Though I’d asked myself that very thing when I’d seen Sabine tonight, anger had outstripped curiosity.

His frustration changed to something else, putting a sly twinkle in his eyes. Despite my petulant inner child throwing a tantrum about not caring how Sabine did anything, I asked, “How?”

The creamy, nutty flavor of the pudding momentarily appeased the inner child as I watched Tonio’s face. He grinned. “She tracked you through the purchases you made in Pembroke. She broke into their supposedly secured accounts files and located the delivery address.”

I swallowed. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? That my mother can find me anytime she wants but chooses not to? Thanks.”

“No, but after I let her in—”

My back stiffened, and I frowned. Somehow his admitting he hadn’t been overpowered or shot with a stunner made it all the worse.

Tonio held up a hand to forestall any renewed railing. “Let me finish. After I let her in and we talked about you and her, I turned the subject over to her latest jobs.”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering why he’d felt the need to get so chummy with her. “So?”

He shook his head and sighed. Apparently something wasn’t getting through my thick head. “So, she’s been working with the latest programs and tech appliances, Liv. Your mother broke into a number of system files to find you, both in Pembroke and here. Files with sophisticated protection to guard the personal account information of very wealthy, very security-conscious clients.”

I took another mouthful of pudding as the words cut through the natural resistance toward anything to do with my mother.

“You need direct access to Talbot’s SI unit,” he continued, “and even then, only the best software and gadgets will get us those files.”

I knew where he was going with this. And the worst part was, he had a valid point.

The pudding was suddenly too sweet. It clung to the back of my throat as I forced down the last mouthful and set the spoon on the table. “You want me to make nice with my mother so I can break into Talbot’s computer.”

Tonio leaned toward me, forearms on the table. The grin was gone, replaced by concern and aggravation in his eyes and in the lines around his mouth. “If you don’t settle this thing between the two of you, it’ll be a distraction and you might make mistakes. We can’t afford mistakes here, Liv. But we can also benefit from her, as well.”

I ran my hands through my hair. Anger, hurt and downright stubbornness produced every excuse possible to say no. Fingers laced behind my head, I stared up at the ceiling and sorted through the mess in my brain. Tonio, bless his conniving heart, waited in silence.

I might not be able to forgive my mother, but I could fake it. I’d let her offer explanations, excuses, and I could tell her we were on our way to what passed for a normal relationship. That would soften her up enough that I’d be able to get her help. Hopefully without giving her much in the way of details.

It made sense. If I could con the con, we’d be that much closer to pulling off the job. That would get Willem off my back.

Shit. Willem. I’d met him at the elevator on my way in.

Heart thudding hard, I laid my hands flat on the table and met Tonio’s gaze. “Does Willem know about her?”

He shook his head. “He stopped by just before you got home, but Sabine was in the kitchen. He didn’t come in.”

A sigh of relief eased some of the tension in my body. The thought of the Greys learning I even had a mother, let alone that I was using her to help with the job, sent a chill through me. I couldn’t see us having a normal relationship, but I didn’t want the Greys to get to her either. Another rule in the felon’s handbook: Never give anyone any ammunition against you. As much as Sabine infuriated me, I didn’t want to see her hurt. Well, not physically harmed anyway.

“We’ll be careful about giving her any details of the operation,” Tonio said, as if reading my thoughts. “Willem won’t have to know about her. And if he finds out, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.”

If I learned what I needed from Mom, and it got us the file information faster, then Willem would likely be angry but glad to be moving forward with the job. I hoped. There was always the chance he’d have a bad reaction anyway.

Tonio and I stared at each other as we silently weighed the options and risks. He was taking as much of a chance as I was, should Willem learn we went behind his back. I had to give him credit for that much, even if he wouldn’t admit my mother had conned him just a little.

“You know where she’s staying?” I asked.

He nodded.

“All right,” I said, despite the feeling this was going to come back and bite me in the ass in some way. “Call Sabine.”

The following morning, curled up on the couch with my handheld, I was concentrating on the information contained in the data sticks Talbot had given me when I felt Tonio hovering. I ignored him. He cleared his throat.

“What?”

He dipped his chin toward the door. Without having to look I knew what he was saying. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, shutting down the handheld. I set the small computer on the coffee table and stood.

Sabine waited just inside the door, hands folded in front of her, like some poor waif hoping the master of the house would toss her the stale heel of bread. Her blue eyes were wide and full of hope. If I hadn’t known who she was and what she was capable of, I’d have given her a good meal and a handful of credit chits.

But I did know her.

“Did Tonio tell you why you’re here?” The tone of my greeting earned me winces from both Tonio and my mother, but I wasn’t ready for more than bare civility yet.

“He did, in a rather roundabout way,” she said, giving my ex a little smile. “Since we weren’t on a secure line, he didn’t elaborate but I got the gist of what you might need.”

Tonio walked to her. “Let me take your coat, Sabine. Have a seat.”

She shrugged out of the expensive-looking red wrap, handed it to him and approached me as if I were a viper. She sat on the far end of the couch, placing her equally chic bag by her feet. “Are you going to sit down, Olivia, or spend the entire time looming and making me feel worse than I already do?”

I remained standing for another few seconds, just to let her know that yes, I did want her to feel worse, then lowered myself onto the couch. I was close enough to see the screen of the tablet computer she pulled out of her bag, but not too close.

“Just like your grandmother,” she muttered. Shaking her head, lips pursed, she fired up the unit. “We’ll start with the basics of software then move on to applications and appliances that might be useful.”

“When did you go from playing men to playing with computers?” I was tempted to say something about her getting too old to catch a decent mark, but to be honest, she was looking good.

“A girl has to keep up with technology.” She reached inside her bag and set a black stick on the table. It looked similar to the ones used every day and in every way, but it had no manufacturing label or markings of any kind. Just a matte black shell with a small yellow button on the end.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Her mouth slanted into a sly smile. “My newest toy. But we’ll get to it later. Tonio tells me you’re up against top-of-the-line security,” she said and went back to tapping keys.

I watched her screen flicker to life. “The whole building is locked down. Attempting access from outside leaves footprints the size of a Bidarki mammoth.”

“We’re able to get into their communications, but only passively and for limited durations,” Tonio said, settling into a chair across from us. “We can listen but can’t infiltrate.”

Sabine nodded as she worked. “So you have to be inside to tap into their network.”

“Worse than that,” I told her, still silently marveling at her knowledge. “The files I need aren’t accessible through the internal network. I can talk to the unit they’re on, but when I look for particular files it’s like they don’t exist.”

“Maybe they don’t.”

My spine stiffened at the insinuation I hadn’t been thorough. Despite my failure to find them, I knew Talbot, Craig and Pritchard had been discussing something less than legitimate that day. “They do exist. And I’ve tried all the bloodhounds I know.”

She looked up from the screen. “Did you try the Kravitz app? The Wiggle Worm? Brigid’s Fist?”

“Of course. Working from my own SI has proved futile so far.” I quirked an eyebrow at her. “Do you have something more powerful up your sleeve?”

I’d let my hacking skills slip since leaving home. I could maneuver around most systems, like I told Willem, but the newer security apps were challenging. Since my goal had always been cash, not information, I didn’t need to be a tech expert. More direct methods of acquisition suited me just fine; the electronic manipulation of credits was tricky and required more patience than I usually possessed. Though this job was taking longer than most, I found myself enjoying the challenge of cracking Talbot and her computer.

But to stop Willem’s pestering, I had to speed things up. If I could avoid direct access to Talbot’s computer, I could get the job done and get out of there in the next few days. The way Mom’s brow creased as she shook her head told me I was probably out of luck.

“Those are some of the best indirects I can think of. You’ll have to go right to the source.” She glanced at the black stick on the table then up at me. “Assuming you can do that.”

Tonio and I exchanged looks. He knew how difficult that had been so far. Talbot had given me little opportunity, but with her increased trust in me I was getting close.

“How much time would I need?”

Mom shrugged. “Depends on the size of the files, encryptions, whether you have the names and tags or if the app needs to search. The more information you can provide, the faster it will go.”

“Worst case?” Tonio asked.

She took a breath. Her cheeks puffed out as she exhaled and thought it through. “Big files with the barest of information? Five to seven minutes.”

My eyes widened. “Seven minutes?” I gestured toward the data stick. “Is there a little man chiseling bytes on stone inside that thing?”

“You asked for worst case. Better to give yourself a little extra time you don’t need than to get only half the data—or get caught.”

Okay, she had a point. But seven minutes? That may not seem like much…until you’re the one waiting to download damning files and have to avoid apprehension.

“Here, let me show you.” She set her computer on the table. “It works best if the computer is off initially. When you turn it on, the app bypasses the normal start-up sequence and immediately re-reads any biometric keys and mimics the log-in strokes of the last person who used it. It leaves no imprint and covers its tracks by making the unit think it’s been off all along. You can copy but not change or install anything. That takes a different appliance, and Tonio said you only needed to download.”

“Right. What if it’s already on?” I asked.

“Plug it into a port,” she said as she demonstrated on her unit, “while holding down the yellow button on the end. The button has to be down initially, or the unit may detect the appliance before it’s seated. Release it once the stick is connected.” Her screen image split, one side of the display showing the normal, colorful mode of an SI waiting to do its user’s bidding while the other showed a stark white box on a black background. “The appliance puts the normal operation in a sort of suspended animation. The interruption is there if anyone looks for it, but they have to be looking.” She typed “Monty’s Accounts” into the white box and hit the Enter key. A dozen or so alphanumeric strings popped up on the screen. “Input the file name or key words, and it’ll get to work. Double tap the Enter key and it will copy whatever’s on the screen. Or highlight files, and it will copy the entire file.”

“And to disconnect?” I asked.

“Hold the yellow button down and pull it out. Make sure you keep the button down, or the interruption will be detectable.” She unplugged while holding the button, and the unit went back to its normal mode. “If you started with a unit that was off, it will automatically shut down once you unplug.” She held the black stick out to me. “Want to try?”

Tonio left us alone, and for the next hour or so I downloaded various files from Mom’s computer. The hardest part was making sure all necessary files were copied. Mom supplied vague information for some of the files, similar to the situation I encountered at Exeter. If “K-73” or “filters” weren’t mentioned anywhere in Talbot’s file designations or text, I’d have to come up with other potential key words for the app to search. Which meant I could end up with a whole lot of useless muck to wade through and possibly miss important data. But nothing’s perfect, and Mom’s little toy was as good as I was going to get.

Teach Your Daughter to Hack Day—what a lovely familial activity. We sat side by side without a harsh word passing between us. Maybe it was because we were engrossed in the lesson. Maybe because we both wanted to avoid what we needed to talk about. But our camaraderie didn’t last.

“I think you have it now.” She smiled. “Given the right tools, you’re a chip off the block.”

What a terrifying thought. “Let’s hope not.”

All the ease of the last hour evaporated, and she winced as if I’d hit her.

Well done, Liv. Jerk.

I rubbed my temples with my fingertips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Sure you did,” she said softly. “And I don’t blame you.”

It was my turn to cringe because I had meant it, and she’d called me on it. I opened my mouth, ready to offer another false apology to make her feel better, but couldn’t get the words out. It was time we were honest with each other. With ourselves.

“I’ve missed you,” she said.

“Then why didn’t you come see me in Pembroke?” I hated the almost whiny quality of my voice, but I couldn’t help it. The hurt was as raw as the day I’d left home. “I’ve spent the last fifteen years thinking you didn’t give a damn.”

Tears tracked down her cheeks. “What’s the first rule, Olivia?”

I swallowed the prickly stone that had lodged in my throat. “Don’t let yourself get too close. But you’re my mother. That rule doesn’t apply.”

“You’re right,” she said, dashing her tears away with her fingertips. “But I didn’t realize it until too late. By then, you were on your own and didn’t need me upsetting your life. When we came here, I didn’t have the courage to find you. I knew you’d hate me for it, but I couldn’t do it.”

“Until you had a falling out with Monty and needed money.”

Her cheeks reddened, and her gaze dropped. “Not the best circumstances to make amends. I was desperate and thought I could explain myself before you figured it out on your own.” She drew a deep breath and straightened. Her eyes filled again, but she looked directly at me to prove she wasn’t playing me. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I know you have no reason to forgive me, but I am sorry.”

My jaws clenched, and my hands gripped the couch cushions. I believed her, but I wasn’t ready to forgive. The hurt-little-girl part of me wanted to, but grown-up Liv was still too torqued.

I cleared the lump from my throat and changed the subject. “Are you back with Monty?”

She blinked back tears and composed herself, understanding that an apology didn’t mean automatic forgiveness. “Working on it. I told him I had to take care of few things before I could come home. He still doesn’t know who you are. Maybe I’ll tell him when I get back.”

The wistfulness of her voice struck me. “Mom, do you actually like this guy? What about Rule Number One?”

She frowned and dropped her gaze to the left. “Don’t be silly, Olivia.” She was lying to herself as well as to me. Mom had been miserable about Monty’s cheating when she came to me in Pembroke. If she truly didn’t care for him, she would have been angry about losing his money, not acted like she was heartbroken. That was the problem with Rule Number One. Sometimes you couldn’t help breaking it.

I promised myself I’d never fall into the same trap.

“Besides,” she continued, her blue eyes back up to mine, “we’re not talking about Monty. We’re talking about us.” Her expression softened. “I want us to have a normal relationship.”

I snorted a laugh. “I doubt we could go that far. But we can try being friends for now.”

She grinned and nodded. “I’d like that.”

“No touchy-feely girly stuff,” I warned her. “I don’t do shopping or spa dates.”

She laughed, and I was actually happy to have made her feel better. “Deal. Though you have to admit our last outing was a success. You look wonderful.”

My cheeks warmed. “Thanks.”

A conspiratorial glint lit her blue eyes as she keyed her computer. “Since you won’t go shopping with me, how about I show you a few new tricks you might be able to use? This is a little program I like to call The Hammer.”

Chapter Eleven

Even with Mom’s gizmo in hand, I had to appease Willem with the promise of complete, untraceable results if he’d be a little more patient. When he asked about the hardware I told him my source was impeccable—I lied a little there—and he had to trust me. My insistence didn’t sit well with him, but what choice did he have? Send in Chaz? Security wasn’t permitted to enter executive offices unless they suspected a problem. As the closest member of the crew to Talbot, I was least likely to raise questions if caught in her office.

In the meantime, I tested the gizmo on my company SI unit. I’d found it odd that James, Talbot’s regular assistant, had nothing at all on the filters; executive assistants usually knew everything their bosses were up to.

While Talbot was engrossed in a conference call in her office, I plugged in the black stick, taking care to hold down the yellow button. When the white box appeared, I entered “K-73 filters.” No tags or encoded files with that designation came up. Either James had been completely clueless, or the Powers That Be had wiped the unit of all references to the filters. I was betting on the latter.

Undaunted, I considered other words and phrases that might garner hits without spitting up a deluge of useless information. I typed in “Talbot,” “Pritchard” and “Craig.” There were hundreds of files associated with the VP, the Chief Engineer and the VP of Research Integrity. Not surprising, but it would take more than a minute or two to wade through them. Half listening for Talbot’s approach and grateful the SI screen faced away from her door, I dove in.

Unfortunately, I had to look at every single item. Had I been the one concealing information, I would have made it appear official and something entirely different. But that’s me. Average people aren’t criminally minded and tend to do things like hide their spare key cards under rocks by their front doors. Laziness and lack of imagination are a thief’s best friends. If James was involved or knew about Exeter’s misdeeds, he probably knew enough to camouflage data. Another Felon’s Rule: Unless you know otherwise, assume the target is as smart, if not smarter, than you are.

After endlessly opening and closing files I slumped in the chair, head resting on my hand. The click of Talbot’s door made me jerk upright. I managed to hide the gizmo screen to reveal the report I was supposed to be working on when she emerged from her office. The door shut behind her, and she engaged the lock.

Damn.

“I’ll be back in about an hour,” she said. “Clemens has some environmental advocate in his office he wants me to reassure.” That last bit came out as if she wanted to spit.

“Yes, Miss Talbot.”

She left the office.

Glaring at her locked door, I brought the dual screen back up and returned to the Talbot, Pritchard and Craig files. Another ten minutes of reading about the latest in fuel cell conversion techniques and the like made my vision blur, and I almost skipped the next file in the queue. The tag read “Prit” and it was designated as a “tran” file, whatever that meant. Only a few megabytes, it wasn’t very large. Nothing appeared on the screen when I opened it, but the speakers hummed. I slid a finger along the “Volume” icon to raise the level.

“—loss is edging toward fifty percent, and nothing seems to be working. I’ve given her the new numbers and she’s backed off for now, but I don’t know how long she’ll trust them.”

Pritchard’s voice. That explained the tag. Was she talking about Talbot?

“Just stay on course,” said a vaguely familiar male. Who was that? James must have hacked and recorded a private communication exchange. I was impressed. “Your team at Brighton will get the numbers down, and she won’t be a problem. I’ll make sure of it. But you need more subjects.”

“We’ve tapped as many as we can,” the Chief Engineer said with no small amount of frustration in her voice. “There will be questions.”

“We’ll take care of questions later. Find more.” The man’s tone left no doubt that he’d issued an order.

The snippet ended there. I stared at the blinking letters in the white box. Was it worth keeping? There was nothing concrete, but my gut said James had stashed it for a reason. I was a go-with-the-gut kind of person. I copied the file onto Mom’s gizmo, downloaded a copy into my personal comm behind some heavy-duty walls and sent the original back to its hidey hole in the company SI unit.

A search for “Brighton” came up empty. It matched nothing in the Exeter system or in any external database. Whatever it was, I couldn’t find it and had to move on.

The remaining files yielded a memo regarding keracite fumes and an industry recall warning on something called a Craighead spanner. I unplugged the stick, careful to hold the button down while doing so, and resumed work on Talbot’s assignment.

She returned twenty minutes before the hour she’d allowed. Her stiff gait across the carpet struck a glimmer of fear in my heart. I’d seen her fume on several occasions and knew it was best to just let her vent without interruption.

“Wasting my time with ridiculous questions,” she muttered, unlocking her office door. She started to go in then turned back to me, frowning. Uh-oh. “We have the shareholders meeting coming up, and I need you to head some aspects of it. Are you game?”

I sat up straighter. “Absolutely.”

The lines between her eyebrows softened; she took a breath. “Good. It’ll mean some late nights. Come on in. We’ve got a lot to do.” She headed into her office again but called over her shoulder. “Oh, and coffee, please, Olivia,”

“Yes, Miss Talbot.”

I rose, resisting the urge to rub my hands together in glee like some holo vid villain. I was another step closer to Talbot’s computer and the end of my task. It was only a matter of time before I was trusted to be in her office alone.

That is, if I could have found ten minutes to visit the lav, let alone steal files.

For the next week, Talbot and I were virtually chained together preparing the R and D portion of the shareholders meeting presentation. When I wasn’t doing that, I was holed up with several R and D admins arranging the department-sponsored “Yippee for us, aren’t we fab!” gathering. While the others had seniority, I was the VP’s assistant and therefore in charge. Despite my loathing of the assignment, but because of my disdain for my coworkers, delegating responsibilities and keeping everyone on task with my Talbot-like iron fist was more fun than I’d have thought possible. I will admit to a certain amount of satisfaction at having things under control and running relatively smoothly.

Well after 2200 the night before the shareholders meeting, Talbot and I put the finishing touches on our part of the report. She wanted it pretty as well as informative and readable.

“Olivia,” she called from her office, “I can’t find the ten-year prospectus.”

There was a slight hint of anxiety in her voice. Not surprising, since we’d been at this for hours without a break.

“It’s labeled ‘prospectus,’” I said as I went in to her. Over the past weeks I’d picked up on subtle signs that told me how far I could push it with my laser wit. I’d even raised a smile on Talbot’s face now and again.

She shot me a halfhearted glare over the top of her monitor. “I know that, but there are six versions of it. Which one is the final?”

I circled around behind her desk and leaned over the keyboard. “Let me see,” I said as I tapped with one hand and rubbed a bleary eye with the other.

She scooted her chair back to give me room but remained close enough to see the screen while I searched the files. She leaned forward, her shoulder pressed against my arm. The teasing scent of her perfume wafted up to my nose. Jasmine.

“See?” she said after I’d opened and closed each file. “They’re all the same.”

“Not quite. Here.” I found the correct file and copied it into the main body of our report. “The time stamps are close, but for the final version you had me change ‘in conclusion’ to ‘therefore, in future endeavors.’”

Talbot smiled when she looked up at me. “Didn’t see it. I must be getting tired. Thank you. I’ll send it to production and call it done.”

Thank God. “Sounds good to me.”

She keyed the appropriate commands, and confirmation of her request flashed on the SI screen. When the meeting began in eleven hours, there would be two dozen data sticks on the rich wood tables of the conference room upstairs, each with an overview of every Exeter department. I was glad I wouldn’t have to sit through it.

Stretching my aching back, I started around the desk for the door. Visions of my bed floated behind my tired eyes.

“Olivia, wait.”

Damn. So much for going home. I kept the distaste of having to stay longer off my face as I turned to her. “Yes? Is there something else?”

Talbot opened one of the lower drawers of her black lacquered desk. She set a dark green bottle on top, reached into the drawer again and withdrew two crystal tumblers.

“We deserve a bit of a celebration,” she said with a grin. “Have a seat.”

I smiled back. This was exactly the kind of one-on-one moment I needed to establish a closer bond with her. Working hour upon hour together was one thing, but it had been all business to Talbot. Sharing a drink meant I’d gotten through the first layer of her defenses.

The thrill of taking that next step, plus the exhaustion of a long work week, made me almost giddy as I sat in one of the chairs across from her. Talbot poured two fingers of amber liquid into each glass and held one out. I brushed her hand with mine as I took it, ignoring the little tingle I felt on my skin.

She raised the tumbler to the light. Gold-and-white diamonds danced on the black desk. “Ever have Loch Moorland whisky?”

Peering into my glass, I admired the deep, tawny color. Or at least pretended to. I had no idea what I was supposed to be looking at. “No.”

“Single malt, aged twenty years in real oak barrels on Dunedin.” She held her glass out over the desk. “To a job well done.”

I mimicked her toast, gently touching my tumbler to hers. A delicate ring sounded between us.

Talbot sipped, eyes closed, and sank back into her leather chair. Tension eased from her face, softened the stress lines around her mouth as she sighed. How would whisky taste on her lips? The thought caught me by surprise, and my hands trembled in response.

She opened her eyes and our gazes locked. Gesturing with her glass, she said, “Give it a try.”

I willed my hand to steady and took a small sip. The smoky, nutty aroma infused my sinuses before the amber liquid touched my tongue. Tones of honeyed fruit and spices enveloped my mouth and throat as I swallowed. I blinked, surprised at its mellowness, and my muscles relaxed. A warm glow filled my stomach.

“Very nice. Thank you, Miss Talbot.”

“Enough with the ‘Miss Talbot.’ Call me Zia.” There was no trace of the harried edge of the last few days in her voice.

I cocked my head. “Zia? I thought your first name was Regina.”

“My family uses my middle name. Jadzia. When I was little, my sister called me Zia. It stuck.” A nostalgic smile curved her generous mouth as she visualized something beyond the walls of the office. A small shake of her head brought her back. She shrugged when our eyes met again. “Except for my mother, who still uses Jadzia.”

“My mother calls me Olivia, even though everyone else calls me Liv. She never—” Damn. I didn’t need to tell her my mother never bothered to ask what I preferred. I took another sip to wash old bitterness out of my mouth. Now was not the time, and the relationship with my mother was supposed to be on the mend, wasn’t it?

Curiosity about my self-censoring showed on her face, but she didn’t pursue it. I’d let a little too much through and would have to tread carefully.

After a moment she asked, “Would you like me to call you Liv?”

The timbre of her voice seemed to resonate in my chest, and my heart skipped half a beat. Behind those green eyes I knew she was asking for more than my preferred name. She wanted to make the connection I’d been angling for. A connection I wanted to make on more than a professional level. All the good-little-coffee-girl and do-anything-for-the-boss assistance was paying off. Now I just had to let her know I was all for it.

“I prefer Liv,” I said softly, “Zia.”

She held my gaze for several heartbeats as we tried out this new level of our relationship. The intensity of her stare dried my mouth. I licked my lips and watched Zia swallow hard.

She downed the last of her drink and picked up the bottle, her eyes on the glass. “Liv it is, then.”

I finished my whisky in the same manner—suppressing a small gasp as sudden heat spread through my gut—and held my tumbler out for more. Zia smiled, pouring another round. We eased back into our chairs.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” I said to keep the conversation rolling. Generally speaking, people love to talk about themselves. The key is to find a safe topic. Zia’s mind wandered off-planet when she’d mentioned her sister, some fond memory bringing a smile to her face. Maybe her family wasn’t as maddening as mine.

“And two brothers.” She grinned again, and I knew I was in. “We were all very close until I left for school. Living on a ship will simultaneously bring a family together and make you want to kill one another.”

I eased the conversation along, asking questions that revealed bits about her while carefully controlling what she’d learn about me. Zia did most of the talking; we sipped our drinks and compared growing up with a straight-laced, traditional family on a planet-hopping freighter versus being raised by an impulsive, city-hopping single mother. Whenever I contributed to the conversation, she followed every word and laughed in all the right places. As if what I said were important to her.

With each passing moment my connection to her strengthened. After an hour it felt as if I’d melted into the chair. Not since Tonio and I were together had I been so relaxed, so open with another person. Except for the made-up parts; I kept those simple and to a minimum. Lies may cover your ass, but the truth was easier to remember, especially after a few fingers of whisky.

While we chatted and laughed, I all but forgot why I was there. Beneath the hard R. J. Talbot shell was a woman whose company I enjoyed. Part of me regretted I’d never get the chance to know her outside this two-hundred-story megascraper.

Zia glanced at the chrono on her desk and tossed back the last of her fourth glass of whisky. “I need to get you home.”

I set my empty tumbler on the desk. “Um…home?”

Did she mean hers or mine? I wondered what her home was like. Neat and well-organized like her office, or a place her secret inner slob reigned? Utilitarian, slab-like bed, or a decadent expanse of fluff?

She gave me a wicked grin, as if she knew I was thinking of her bed. A flush rose on my cheeks. She put the bottle and glasses back in the drawer. “Yes, Liv. We have a busy day tomorrow and need to be at our best. So home we go. I’ll give you a lift.”

She meant to our own homes. Our own beds. Good, because it was a little too soon to employ that strategy. I blamed the whisky for loosening my thoughts, but luckily not my tongue.

Zia tapped the comm on her desk. “Connor, we’ll be giving Miss Baines a ride home.”

“Yes, Miss Talbot,” came her driver’s reply. “I’m waiting on Parking Level Three.”

“We’ll be right down.” She shut down her SI unit and tidied the desk.

I stood carefully; my feet seemed to be disconnected from the rest of me. “Your driver waited?”

“Rank and privilege and all that.” Zia crossed the room to her coat closet. Her movements were graceful and fluid, as if she’d been drinking mother’s milk.

I went to my desk to gather my things. Zia waited by the door for me, and we left the office. She told the elevator which parking level we wanted when the doors closed. Encased in the smaller space, we descended in silence. Not that it felt uncomfortable, exactly, but despite spending the better part of ninety minutes exchanging life stories we couldn’t seem to find two words to say to one another now. What was it about elevators that tended to kill conversation? The brightness? The risk of someone walking in on you? The security cameras?

I glanced at the innocent-looking plastic bubble in the corner of the ceiling. Chaz was on duty tonight. Was he monitoring us? I suppressed a shiver and dropped my gaze.

When we reached the parking area, Connor had Zia’s red-and-silver ground car waiting. He stood by the rear door and held it open for us. Bland features, medium brown hair and a dark suit made him unremarkable, but was that the bulge of a holster under his jacket? Unlike the CEO and COO, Exeter VPs weren’t assigned bodyguards. Maybe he was a personal expense. But why would Zia feel the need for armed protection?

My brain was too tired and too pickled to come up with a good reason.

“Do you have Miss Baines’s address in the navigator?” Zia asked him.

“Yes, Miss Talbot.” He smiled at me and nodded. “Miss Baines.”

Zia slid into the roomy back seat, and I followed. The black upholstery was soft and warm. Real leather, no doubt. There was enough room for a third person on the seat, but I scooted close to her. If I were to lean over ten centis our shoulders would have touched. Her jasmine scent tickled my nose.

Connor closed the door then settled in the driver’s seat. The interior light winked out, leaving us in hushed shadows as we exited the parking lot. This late at night there was little traffic, and the city lights were subdued through the tinted windows. Or subdued by the amount of whisky in my system. Hard to say.

“Beautiful evening,” I said gazing out the window.

“Yes,” she replied, her alto a little huskier than usual.

That was the depth of our exchanges on the twenty-minute ride to my building. Despite our less-than-engrossing conversation, our silence was companionable, as if we’d known each other for years. With Connor in the front seat we had less intimacy than in the elevator, but at the same time it was like there was only the two of us. Just me and Zia, alone in our dark, quiet little world.

Every few minutes I stole a glance at her, and caught her looking at me twice. When our eyes met for those split seconds, my mouth dried and my chest tightened. Damn whisky must have been getting to me.

We rounded the corner to my building; Connor slowed the car. Zia and I turned to each other. Her green eyes searched my face, looking for something in the dim light of the back seat. What was she seeing there?

I felt my cheeks flush under her scrutiny. “Here I am,” I said when the car stopped.

Zia leaned forward and placed her warm hand over mine where it rested on my thigh. Her skin was soft and smooth, and a little hum of pleasure danced through my limbs. A deep inhalation infused my senses with her jasmine perfume and an underlying musk that made my mouth water.

“Thanks for all your help, Liv.” She gave my fingers a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The sudden desire to close the gap between us and kiss her, to tell her what she could do with me, zinged through my brain and body like a pulser shot. I imagined what her hands, her fingers would feel like caressing me. Supple, yet strong and sure. She was an attractive woman, and I admired good-looking specimens of either sex, but never before had another female elicited so strong a reaction so often. A reaction I had a hard time controlling.

Damn it. The whisky had affected more than my ability to feel my feet.

I gave myself a mental shake and smiled. “Let’s not find out.”

Zia’s eyes were on my mouth. She moistened her lips. What would they feel like on mine? “Liv, I’d like—”

Connor chose that moment to open the rear door. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or if I should have told him to shut it and take a long walk. But as he stood there waiting, letting in the chilled night air, the moment passed. Whatever Zia had been about to say was gone.

She shifted back against the seat, taking the warmth of her hand from mine. Fists clenched in her lap, she said, “I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

Heat still shined in her eyes, and part of me wanted to ask her what she’d like. Another part remembered this was for the job, not a date. Plus, another employee was standing there.

“Good night.”

I exited the car, thanked Connor and headed toward the building. I glanced over my shoulder and could just make out Zia watching me through the tinted glass.

Smiling, I went inside. I congratulated myself on accomplishing another phase of the job. And ignored the tingle on the back of my hand and the buzz running through my body from the thought of her. It was the whisky, I told myself. It was all part of the scheme of getting to Zia Talbot. Nothing more.

The next morning it was back to business. Zia was already in when I arrived at the office, and the way she barked into the comm at some poor bastard on the other end told me now was not the time to continue where we’d left off last night. I’d have to choose my moments carefully. If I pushed too hard and too fast, I might lose her. Then the Greys would lose me. Permanently.

All went well during the shareholders meeting except for my hope to grab a few minutes on Zia’s computer. The upper-level admins were on standby status in case their suits needed them, which required us to loiter outside the conference room. We ended up chatting nonsense or ignoring each other. I managed to get some of my Exeter work done, but not the job Willem hired me for. Once we were back in the office, Zia came and went with little warning or acknowledgement of how long she’d be gone.

Along with my regular duties, the big party scheduled for the following evening was high on my to-do list and kept me hopping. Last-minute changes and problems arose out of nowhere, making me long for the simpler days of planning a heist. I commed and re-commed assistants to confirm ever-changing attendance numbers, made last-minute special requests of the caterers and discovered I had a knack for juggling ninety-seven tasks at once.

Yay, me.

I commed Diego at Humberto’s to finalize the menu. His gratuity neared the high hundreds, and he was earning every demi-credit. Checking the lists on my screen for the zillionth time, I said, “I have one hundred twenty-seven bay shrimp entrées, one hundred fifteen roasted veggie protein and a sodium-free animal-product-free cellulose-free. Sound right to you?”

Diego tapped keys. We were still on audio only; I think we both enjoyed the mystery of only hearing the other’s voice. “One-twenty-seven shrimp, one-fifteen veggie and a why bother.”

I chuckled at his remark.

“Anything else, Liv?”

“Might as well go over the beverage list,” I said, “and desserts.”

As he started down the list of wines and liqueurs, Zia came in from the hall with Craig, the research integrity VP, and Pritchard, the Chief Engineer, behind her. I hadn’t realized she’d left the office. Damn, I was slipping. But if Craig and Pritchard were scurrying after her, they might discuss the file I wanted to see so badly.

I looked up at Zia as Diego said something about pastries. She mouthed, “Coffee, please,” then disappeared into her office with the others. She started firing questions at them even before the door swung shut. As quietly as I could I sprang from my chair and placed my palm against the panel, easing the door to an almost closed position. Hopefully no one would notice.

“That’s all I have,” Diego said into my earpiece.

Realizing I’d missed the last few items he’d mentioned but not really caring, I dashed back to my desk. “Great. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

I stabbed the disconnect and returned to the inner office door to listen.

“This was supposed to be fixed months ago, Emily,” Zia said. Her voice was deceptively soft, but her anger and concern were unmistakable.

Pritchard didn’t respond right away, and I could feel the tension in the room thicken like a blood clot. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t making any of them happy. “I know,” she finally said. She sounded apologetic, but not in an obsequious way. “We’ve refit a dozen filters already, but they keep getting gummed up. We’re working as fast as we can, R.J.”

Pritchard called Zia by her official first name, whereas I was given permission to call her by her family nickname. In private, at least. Something warm and satisfying flickered in my chest.

“Are emissions from deeper keracite that different from the deposits closer to the surface?” Craig asked.

“Of course they are,” Pritchard said sharply, as if he should know. “But we’ve compensated for that. You can see here that the numbers are going down.”

“Too slowly, and only with total replacement,” Zia said with sad resignation.

What was so terrible about replacement? Were the K-73s so costly that Exeter was losing money? No wonder they weren’t sharing with the other companies—their filters still had bugs to work out. But if that were the case, why were we trying to blackmail them? There was no harm in withholding technology that didn’t work.

“More new units?” Craig spoke with an incredulity in his voice you’d expect from a Neanderthal seeing an air car for the first time. “R.J., we’re already risking so much—”

“I realize that, Mike.” Frustration colored her words. After a few moments she spoke again, softer this time. “I don’t like it either, but we have no choice. Do it.”

“But—” Craig cut himself off, likely due to one of Zia’s famous glares.

“I know. Clemens refuses to kill the project, and I agreed to explore every avenue to fix the filters. But I won’t allow this to continue much longer. I want a final report in four weeks. And I mean final. Then we’ll see if he wants to fight me on it.” There was another stretch of tense silence then harder-than-necessary tapping on Zia’s SI. “What’s happening with the transport beacons?”

Her tone had changed to more matter-of-fact, business as usual, but after weeks at her side I heard the underlying stress. Zia and Clemens didn’t agree with how the K-73 project was being handled, even if she was going along with him for now. What would happen if she didn’t like what she saw in that final report? If they scrapped the program, the blackmail job would become moot. Which meant I had to move faster to get the files I needed.

The engineer started droning about transponder frequencies; it was safe for me to resume my duties. I hurried to the kitchen to prepare a tray then returned to Zia’s office. I knocked a couple of times and went in, giving my oblivious-office-girl smile.

Pritchard was still rambling about beacons as I set the tray down on the desk. I poured out three cups and glanced at Zia. She wasn’t looking at Pritchard, but nodded at what the engineer was saying as she read something on the computer screen. Strain showed in faint lines around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. It could have been from the hectic week we’d had, but even when we were running amok before the shareholders presentation Zia hadn’t looked so stressed. In a way, she thrived on the frenetic pace of her position. Whatever she was conspiring with Clemens, Pritchard and Craig was taking its toll.

Her attention still on the screen, Zia reached for her coffee cup as I moved it toward her. I hesitated, leaving my hand on the smooth china, and she covered my hand with hers. An electric pulse spasmed up my arm, and I suppressed a shiver of delight. Her head snapped around, her gaze jumping from our hands to my face. As our eyes held my heartbeat quickened. God, she was a beautiful woman.

“Thank you, Liv.” To someone who didn’t know her, Zia’s voice might sound normal, but I heard the slight tremor in her usually controlled alto.

“My pleasure,” I said, and meant it.

Zia’s hand twitched over mine, tightening for a split second before she took it away. Slowly I moved my hand from the cup. She watched as I covered it with my other hand and gently traced where she’d touched me with my fingertips. I could still feel her skin on mine.

Her green eyes glinted like they had last night in the back of her car. I knew then I could have her whenever I wanted her.

If the others hadn’t been there, what would she have done? What would I have done? But we weren’t alone, and Pritchard and Craig probably wondered what was going on. Overt flirting wasn’t prudent, but no one could make allegations of inappropriate behavior when two people merely looked at one another. Okay, not “merely looked,” but as a way to connect with her in an absolute, un-businesslike fashion, it worked. That’s all that mattered.

The engineer paused in her recitation, and the sudden silence nudged us out of our stare. Zia’s left eyelid twitched as she turned to Pritchard.

“Anyway,” Pritchard continued as I left the office, “we can increase the bandwidth strength by twenty percent if we tweak the circuits…”

I tried to shake off the lingering effect of Zia’s touch and shut the door on my way out. I couldn’t deny the physical attraction between us. I just couldn’t let it go beyond that.

Almost an hour later, the three of them came into the outer office. Pritchard seemed energized; Craig looked downright whipped. Maybe the engineer had drunk all the coffee. The two of them continued to the outer door while Zia stopped beside me. Her hand on my shoulder pulled my attention from the report I was working on. The heat of her palm burned through my blouse and sank into my skin.

“Liv, I want to schedule another meeting with Miss Pritchard and Mr. Craig.” She leaned down to have a better view of my screen as I called up her schedule. While she continued talking about setting aside at least two hours, her hand slid down my back. I held my breath instead of making the surprised gasp that formed in my chest. My body went rigid when she skimmed her palm along my spine.

I slowly exhaled to regain control. This close, I was sure she could hear the ragged edge of each breath. Zia’s hand stopped at the small of my back. With a maddening half-tickle half-scratching touch, she traced circles just above the waistband of my skirt.

Not letting anything untoward show—I hoped—I glanced at Pritchard and Craig. Though they were facing us, from their position by the door they wouldn’t be able to see what she was doing. Oh, God, what was she doing?

“It looks like Tuesday after the Hudson engineer meetings will work.” Zia kept her eyes on the screen and her hand on me.

Trembling with the need to either jerk away or lean into her, I noted the meeting and sent the information to Craig’s and Pritchard’s assistants. It took me two attempts to spell Pritchard’s name correctly.

Zia straightened, taking her hand from my back as she did. I almost whimpered. “I’ll see you two tomorrow,” she said.

The others left.

Zia crossed her arms over her breasts and walked to her door. All I could do was watch her, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Before going in, she stopped and turned to me. The look on her face was similar to the one Tonio wore the night we’d kissed: Frustration with a dash of confusion. “Go home, Liv. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She continued into her office, and her door shut with a soft click of dismissal.

I scrubbed my hands over my face and through my hair. What had that display meant? That she was interested but annoyed I’d given her “a look” in front of Pritchard and Craig?

I couldn’t blame her for wanting to keep things to ourselves at the office. There were eight sexual harassment regulations at Exeter, though I was sure those rules were broken on a regular basis despite the threat of job loss and/or legal action. People in positions of power used it for all kinds of advantages.

But our interaction was mutual. Neither of us could claim the other was making unwanted advances. Did she think I’d try to turn things around and get her into trouble?

No, I realized with sudden clarity. She was telling me she was the one calling the shots.

I propped my elbows on the desk and cradled my head, rubbing my temples with my fingertips. What made me think I’d had her earlier? I’d let Zia play this out in her way, but I’d hoped to have at least a modicum of control somewhere. What I hadn’t expected was such a strong reaction to her. Something she now knew she could use.

Residual tingles down my back spurred a flurry of ideas on how she’d use it.

Get a grip, Liv. This was a job. A job that required I get physically close to Zia, but no more. I had to stay focused.

Ignoring mental images of fingers caressing naked backs, I finished the report I was working on, shut down my SI and packed my satchel to leave. Zia hadn’t come back out, and I didn’t bother her. We’d do this her way. For now.

Chapter Twelve

Tonight was the night.

I’d had to deflect Willem’s harping again after returning to the flat yesterday, but promised him that while the building was essentially empty during the company party I’d access Zia’s computer. I felt a small sense of relief, not at his reluctant approval, but to finally get to the meat of the job.

Though that didn’t make me any more relaxed when it came to Zia Talbot.

I started fielding comm calls almost from the moment I walked in the door. Zia arrived an hour later with a nervous-looking project manager at her heels. She nodded to me as she passed. Anyone seeing it would have noted the curtness of the movement, but when our eyes met, hers held the same heat as the day before.

Something must have shown on my face as well, despite the effort to keep my expression calm, because she smiled. It was almost predatory, entirely exhilarating, sending a tingly wave rolling through me.

I jerked my gaze from her back to my screen and swallowed hard into my comm mic. “Miss Talbot is with someone now, Miss Carrington. I’ll put you through to her message folder.”

Zia and the project manager disappeared into her office as I tapped icons. When the door clicked closed I let out a ragged sigh. It still startled me a little every time I reacted to Zia as I did. But I couldn’t let my body undermine my brain and screw up this job. If all went well tonight, I wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.

By unconscious effort or deliberate design we spent little time alone the rest of the day, but both of us knew what the other wanted. Well, on the surface she knew what I wanted. If Zia ever learned what I was really after, her desire would have been more along the lines of seeing me in orange detention garb than in her bed.

With the shindig scheduled for 1900, most of Exeter’s upper echelon quit early to get ready. Being a mere assistant, and the one responsible for setting up the party, I’d brought my clothes and makeup with me that morning, knowing I wouldn’t have the chance to go back to my flat. I changed and applied my makeup in the office lav. By 1810 I was on my way up to the ballroom to direct caterers and arrange table settings.

Chaz Grey and another guard stood at the main doors when I got off the elevator. Chaz looked and acted very official and didn’t make any sign to indicate he knew me, but his cold eyes followed me as I went in. Despite the fact we were working together, I had a feeling he was merely waiting for me to screw up so he could snap my neck.

Shuffling Chaz to the back of my brain, I tottered around on eight-centi silver heels, dodging hired help and trying not to sweat as time for the party drew near. The bare-back-and-slit-to-the-thigh, five-hundred-credit, silver-on-silver silk embroidered halter dress I wore kept me cool under pressure. This night reflected on Zia more than on me, and everything had to be just right. Besides, I couldn’t afford to have anything crop up and interfere with my plans.

At exactly 1900, the lights in the ballroom dimmed to a gentler glow and the live four-piece band began playing an up-tempo tune to welcome the guests. The double doors opened, admitting dozens of shareholders and their companions, the Exeter CEO, COO, CFO, senior and junior VPs and their assistants. Two hundred forty-two chattering folks made a beeline for the servers bearing trays of hors d’oeuvres and drinks.

Satisfaction blossomed in my chest watching them mingle and munch.

“All’s a go,” said a fluid tenor at my right shoulder.

I turned and looked slightly downward at a swarthy, hawk-faced man in a dapper black suit. His close-cropped hair was as black as his eyes, and his perfectly straight, ultra-white teeth could only have been achieved by dental enhancement.

I didn’t know the face, but the voice made me smile. “Diego. How did you know who I was?”

“A gentleman never gives away his secrets.” He took my hand and kissed my knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Liv. You’re as beautiful as your voice.”

I couldn’t say the same for him, but he was charming. “I’m glad to finally meet you too.”

He glanced around the ballroom as he released me. “Go enjoy your party,” he said beckoning a passing server. She offered a tray of small glasses of a golden-hued aperitif. Diego removed one glass and handed it to me as she moved on.

“I should keep an eye on things,” I told him, holding the glass but not drinking. There would be many rounds of alcohol offered tonight; I had to keep my head clear.

He stepped closer. I caught a whiff of his citrusy cologne. “Liv, you’ve worked hard to arrange this, and it will all go well. I guarantee it.”

I laughed. For a thousand-credit gratuity, he’d better guarantee it.

“Besides, I think someone else wants you to have some fun.” He inclined his head to our left.

Following his line of sight, my eyes locked on Zia’s. A pair of older men stood with her, all three conversing about who knew what, but she glanced at Diego and me as she spoke with them. She’d changed into a crimson knee-length dress, cut low to show a hint of cleavage and reveal the gold chain around her neck. Her hair was still in its office upsweep, with soft tendrils framing her face.

My heart triple-timed, and my cheeks warmed. Zia raised her glass. I responded in kind.

“My boss,” I said, tearing my eyes from her to watch the other guests.

“She’s quite beautiful.”

“I know.” I clamped my jaws shut when I realized I’d said it out loud with more feeling than was appropriate.

Diego propelled me forward with a gentle hand on the small of my back. “Go. I’ll take it from here.” He moved off, melting into the crowd, to earn his pay.

I didn’t go directly to Zia, though we caught each other’s eyes across the room now and again. I mingled with the others throughout cocktails and dinner, learning something very important: Most suits and the folks they associate with are boring as hell.

Be that as it may, I did my best to appear interested. I also did my best to keep tabs on Zia, making sure she was engaged before I could leave. Luckily she was often surrounded by a bevy of ass-kissers or shareholders, one of whom asked, as I passed early in the evening, about what Exeter would be doing in five years. Did he not read the report we’d worked so hard on for the past few weeks? Bastard. Chances were he was just trying to get under Zia’s crimson, fitted dress. Couldn’t blame him there.

People were enjoying themselves and a little inebriated. It was time for me to make my move. I set my half-empty goblet on a passing tray and headed to the nearest side door. As I weaved my way through the crowd, Henry Clemens, COO, stepped in front of me, a glass of ruby wine in his hand.

“Miss Baines,” he slurred.

Great. Just what I needed, a drunk exec. But he seemed steady on his feet, his inebriation only evident in his speech.

I forced a smile. “Mr. Clemens. How are you enjoying the party, sir?”

“‘S excellent.” He dropped a meaty, sweaty hand on my bare shoulder and leaned toward me. “You’re doing a bang-up job here, Olivia. When James gets back, you should be primed for taking the place of any assistant in the company.”

Even with the slight slur, his voice pinged recognition in my brain. Was he the man on the recording talking to Pritchard? As Chief Operations Officer, it made sense that he’d speak to the Chief Engineer, and Zia had included him in whatever was going on with the filters.

I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Is someone leaving?”

“No,” he said, and winked. “But it can be arranged.”

I almost preferred the Greys’ method of personnel management. It was messier, but direct.

Clemens’s palm skimmed over my shoulder and started down my arm. So that was the kind of assistant he was talking about. Discomfort, disgust and a general feeling of “ick” prickled across my skin.

“Mr. Clemens—”

Someone bumped into the corpulent COO and jostled his other arm, sending his glass of Nevarro pinot noir into the bodice of my dress. We jerked away from each other and stared down at the dark, damp stain on the silvery silk. Damn. I loved this dress, and now it looked like I’d been shot.

“Sorry…” Clemens moved his hand from my arm, his thick fingers coming forward as if to brush the wine away. Fortunately I noted his aim was a few too many centis above the stain—in line for direct contact with my breasts—and grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“That’s okay, Mr. Clemens. I’ll take care of it.” I patted his clammy hand as I lowered it and turned away from him.

Jerk.

But at least I had a good excuse for leaving the party. A quick glance over my shoulder showed no one but those in the immediate vicinity had noticed my encounter with the COO. Better yet, no one was paying much attention as I slipped through the side door and into the corridor.

After being in the noisy ballroom, the quiet of the hall throbbed in my ears. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. In spite of my usual disregard for fashion, I looked down at the palm-sized stain on my dress and hoped I’d be able to get it cleaned.

But laundry troubles had to wait. Wearing an expression of consternation, I followed the corridor to the elevator. Chaz and the other guard on duty at the doors of the ballroom said nothing as I pouted over the ruins of my dress and searched inside the little silver purse slung over my shoulder. I found my ID and waved it at the access panel. The elevator doors opened immediately.

“Floor, please, Miss Baines,” the pleasant voice requested.

“One thirty-five,” I replied when I stepped inside.

Chaz gave me an almost imperceptible smile as the doors shut.

With the party in full swing, I met no one in the corridor on my way to Zia’s office. I waved my card over the outer door’s latch. If anyone cared to check the time stamp on the door, my excuse of having to change clothes then being struck by a blinding headache and needing to go home would hold up. I could forgive Clemens his jerky behavior if it provided my alibi. But explaining why I was in Zia’s office would require a little more imagination.

The lights in the outer office were lowered, but I didn’t bring them up. I headed right for her door. My ID opened it, and the click of the latch sounded unnaturally loud in the silence.

Zia’s office lights were dimmed. The window hadn’t been opaqued, but even from one hundred thirty-five stories up the city lights offered adequate illumination of her desk. The brilliant glow of the Hub Station dominated the southeast quarter of the city to the right. Beyond the city, the dark shadow of the keracite-rich Pandalus Range, dotted with the blue of mining site floodlights.

I crossed to Zia’s chair, put the ID card inside my purse and removed the black matte data stick. Holding the little yellow button down, I plugged it into an available port. I released the stick when it was in place and turned the computer on.

Nothing happened.

Damn it.

Just as I was about to wiggle the data stick, the screen glowed to life and an odd ticking sounded from the console. The normal “ready” icons filled half the screen, and the black screen with the white box filled the other half.

I typed “K-73” in the white box. The unit whirred; an agonizing minute later a second box appeared with a list of ten or so files with K-73 in the file names. There were another half dozen files without K-73 in their tags, but I assumed the app had found my keyword in the file itself, whether outright or encrypted. I highlighted all the files and double-tapped the Enter key to copy.

As the app worked, and sweat trickled between my breasts, I kept an ear cocked toward the door. I’d left it open, praying I’d hear the click of the outer door should someone come in.

When the appliance’s cursor blinked ready for the next directive, I repeated the search using “filter” and again with the names Talbot, Pritchard and Craig. Those last two would likely add a lot of useless files, but surely there would be something on Zia’s computer connecting them to the filter system. I added Brighton and Clemens to the list, as well. Better too much information than not enough.

The little black stick worked its magic, and I leaned forward to urge it on. Over ten minutes had passed since I left the ballroom. Would anyone miss me? What if Diego had a question?

My toes tapped impatiently under Zia’s desk, but at the same time I was relieved to finally be doing what I’d been brought in to do. After tonight I could let Willem, Chaz and Tonio do the bulk of what came next, which I assumed was contacting some Exeter suit and threatening to go to the CMA with proof they were withholding safety equipment.

I’d be finished with the daily grind. I’d never have to make nice with some overbearing executive like Clemens or admin like Richard. I’d be on my way to collecting fifty million credits and never have to see Nevarro again.

Or Zia, a little part of my brain said. And if it ever comes out that the files were stolen from her office, her career will be over.

I shook off the flicker of guilt. Someone always got the short end of these jobs, whether it was the bankers who were responsible for the money in their safes or executives with incriminating files. Besides, I assured myself, Zia was a smart woman; any company in the ‘Verse would be glad to have her, even with a black mark on her record.

The appliance finished copying my latest request as I heard the soft click of the outer office door.

“Liv? Are you in here?”

Zia.

I was out of the chair and reaching for the data stick before I realized I was standing. I pressed the yellow button in and yanked the stick out of the port. The console beeped—I swear it was louder than an aircar blowing a lifter at 200 kph—as the computer shut down. My heart pounded so hard my hands shook.

I scrambled for my purse and shoved the stick in just as Zia appeared. She was a shadow in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the nearly lightless room behind her.

“There you are,” she said with a hint of relief. “Are you all right? Someone said you ran from the ballroom after an encounter with Clemens. Did he do or say something?” The edge of protectiveness in her voice made me smile.

“Nothing inappropriate.” I lied a little, but what else was new? “He accidentally spilled his drink on me.”

I gestured at the stain on my dress. With my back to the city lights coming in from the window, I was sure she couldn’t see it.

Zia walked toward me, her shadowed body becoming more defined as she stepped into the soft light. Her hips swayed hypnotically; I couldn’t look away from the flowing crimson. She stopped less than an arm’s length away and brushed her fingertips down the discolored silk that covered my stomach. My muscles quivered beneath her touch, and I breathed in sharply. Jasmine perfume filled my senses, making me think of sultry nights in a lush garden.

“You might be able to save it if you take it off and treat it soon.” She glanced up at me through thick lashes, licking her lips as she lowered her hand. “It’s a beautiful dress.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, my throat dry. The idea of removing my dress in front of Zia was at the same time appealing and disconcerting. Lord knew I was attracted to her, but I shouldn’t want her—all of her—as much as I did. “Th-that’s what I came here to d-do.” Shit. Swallowing hard, I regained control of my voice. “Change clothes, I mean. When I got down here my head started to hurt, and I just wanted to take a few minutes to relax.” I eased back a step and turned to the window, watching her reflection in the dark glass. “I’ve always loved the view from your office. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” She moved forward, closing the space between us again. Her gaze flicked to the desk and the SI.

I tensed as panic gripped me then gave myself a mental shake. The unit was off. Nothing on her desk had been moved.

I was safe. From that, at least.

Zia looked up and our eyes caught in the reflection. “I wanted to thank you again for all your help these past weeks,” she said.

“Just doing my job.” My voice sounded rough in my ears.

“You do it very well. Better than James ever did.”

I smiled at her in the plasti-glass. “You don’t make it easy on a girl.”

She touched my bare shoulder with her fingertips. The blunt nails weren’t plain this evening but tinted blood-red to match her dress. I could have sworn lightning crackled out of them, but that may just have been me.

Her finger trailed down my arm, and a shiver ran through me. “I think you’re a girl who appreciates a challenge.”

“I do,” I said, “within reason.”

She stepped closer, pressing her breasts against my bare back. Her body heat sank into me through the soft fabric of her dress. Slowly she stroked up my arms. Sparks seemed to dance along my skin where she touched me. “I promise I won’t have you do anything illegal.”

Well, that would be different from my past relationships.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked as the sparks moved to my belly.

Zia brushed her warm lips against my shoulder. Her tongue flicked out, and my skin felt on fire as she blew across the damp spot she’d made. The sparks shot down my belly, between my legs.

“I like you, Liv.” She kissed me behind my right ear. My knees wobbled. “I like you a lot,” she murmured into my hair.

Her caresses were different from the men I’d known. Not the caresses themselves; I’d had gentle lovers and not-so-gentle lovers. But there was something about her touch—about her—that made those men seem like inexperienced fumblers. If it felt like this with just a few strokes of her fingers on my shoulders and a couple of kisses on my neck, what would it be like to have her touch the rest of me? My body tingled at the thought, anticipating the newness of sensations to come.

She kissed along my shoulder again as her hands found my hips. Her palms skimmed over the silk, across the front of my thighs, and I leaned into her. Our gazes met in the reflection. I fought the urge to close my eyes in pleasure, wanting to see her touching me as well as feel her body against mine.

“I like you too.”

“Good.” Her smile became a wicked grin, and she dipped her head to nuzzle my neck again.

I covered her hands, enjoying the feel of her skin next to mine. “I’ve never been with a woman before.”

Her head came up, and her hands stopped. In the reflection of the window, uncertainty flickered behind her green eyes. “You haven’t?”

I shook my head.

She closed her eyes. Her words were almost too soft to hear. “I thought—”

“Thought what?”

She opened her eyes. The uncertainty was gone, or carefully masked. “The way you’ve been acting recently, I thought you had experience with women.”

She started to pull her hands away, but I held them tight against my hips. Her palms were hot through the thin layer of silk. “Why does it matter if I do or don’t? We’ve been dancing around each other for days, Zia. I’m tired of dancing.”

“It’s not that simple.”

With a small moan of frustration I turned, cupped her face in my hands and covered her mouth with mine. She made a startled sound but despite her earlier hesitation, parted her lips and let our tongues twine. She tasted of wine and cinnamon. Her hands glided over my ass, drawing me closer. The friction of our breasts, separated by mere millimeters of cloth, tightened my nipples and sent miniature shockwaves through my body. I eased her back against the edge of the desk and slid my leg between hers.

A very un-R. J. Talbot-like whimper squeaked from her throat, and she pushed me away, holding my upper arms. Both of us breathed hard.

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes glittered in the near-darkness. “We can’t.”

Funny, I thought I’d be the nervous, reluctant one. I smiled reassuringly. “Sure we can.” I tried to come toward her, but she held me back.

Our eyes locked, Zia took a shaky breath. “Your first time with another woman, with anyone, shouldn’t be a quick fuck on the desk, Liv.”

I’d never heard her use that particular word—it wasn’t common vernacular for any executives I’d spoken to—but what surprised me more was her sincerity. There were plenty of men and women who’d take great joy in introducing a novice to their preferred sexual activities whatever way they could.

But not Zia. She cared. More than I thought. More than I could ignore.

Slowly she loosened her grip on my arms, as if she expected me to attack her. When she saw I wouldn’t, she lowered her hands and fisted them at her sides. “Liv…” My name was a plea, a request to understand.

The problem was, I did understand.

“I have to go.” I grabbed for my silver purse.

Zia laid her hand over mine, pressing the hidden data stick into my palm and unintentionally reminding me of my real job, my real life. I curled my fingers around the purse and slid my hand out from under hers. I moved toward the door on shaky legs, my body quivering with need. And the unfamiliar sense of guilt.

“Liv,” she said, her tone as commanding as it was pained.

Damn the void, why couldn’t she just let me leave?

Crossing my arms over my chest irritated my sensitive nipples, sending another rush through me as I turned around.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure,” I said with a weak smile. But I had the files; I’d never see her again.

Picking up my satchel and coat, I walked out of the office. Somehow I even managed to leave the building and call for a taxi without sobbing in frustration.

The ride home was anything but relaxing, mentally or physically. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t she just sleep with me? Why? Because Zia Talbot didn’t “just” sleep with someone.

The bumping and jostling of the taxi kept my body on a heightened state of awareness for the entire twenty-minute ride. Each shimmer of the car rippled through me, and I thought I’d have to take care of things there in the back seat. But that would have been more of a tip than the driver deserved. When he pulled up to my building, I tossed a larger than necessary chit to him and bolted for the door.

Not recalling whether the elevator was under security surveillance, I gripped the satchel’s strap with both hands as I rode up, willing it to move faster while images of Zia filled my head. I could still feel her mouth on mine, her hands on my skin, her body against me. And it wasn’t just her physical beauty that made me ache. I’d found someone who treated me well, who cared how I felt, who I respected.

And I couldn’t have her. Not in this lifetime.

What she wanted—what I wanted—didn’t matter.

Stop it! I squeezed my hands tight and gave myself a mental shake. I couldn’t let her get to me, even now that the job was done. I had to lock away any feelings for Zia Talbot. If you’d kept it purely physical, you’d be fine. But no, you had to go and—

The elevator stopped with a slight jolt, and the doors slid open. I dashed to the flat, carded the door and dropped my coat and satchel on the floor, making for my bedroom.

“Liv? What’s wrong?”

Tonio came out of his room and I almost cried. Barefoot and shirtless, he wore those damned blue-striped pajamas. The perfect amount of dark hair covered his perfect chest, and his just-tumbled-out-of-bed sexiness brought me to a dead stop.

“I got the files.” I licked my lips and watched his mouth. Fond memories of that mouth, how it tasted, what it could do, sent fire through my veins.

“Where are they?”

Either he was completely blind or he was deliberately ignoring the fact I was ready to pounce on him like a Bidarki puma. I stepped forward and raised my hand to caress his chest. He grabbed my shoulders, and for one insane moment I thought he was going to kiss me. I strained against his hold with my lips parted, ready to take him.

But he didn’t kiss me. He held me at arm’s length and tilted his head away from me. Didn’t I just go through this with Zia? Damn my luck tonight.

“Liv, what the hell’s going on?” he said and gave me a little shake.

I blinked up at him as reason returned to my besotted brain. “I—I’m…”

Heat flooded my cheeks.

His face turned crimson beneath dark stubble. He let me go and stepped back. He’d finally figured out what I was after, but only I realized it wasn’t him.

Wiping my hand across my mouth, I waved the other toward my satchel. “The stick’s in there. I’ll be out in a bit.”

Determined not to run, I strode to my bedroom and shut the door. As it closed I stripped out of the halter dress, hose and shoes on my way to the lav I shared with Tonio. I locked both doors and stepped into the shower. Warm water sluicing over my skin, I slipped my hand between my legs.

It wasn’t the memory of Tonio, of his touch and taste, that brought me to a body-shaking climax. The eyes I envisioned looking up from where phantom fingers and tongue worked were green, the smile on a generous yet more delicate mouth. I could almost smell jasmine-scented steam clouding around me.

Chapter Thirteen

Mission accomplished on both personal and professional levels, I wandered back into the living room in shorts, tank top and robe. A thick towel draped around my neck kept my damp hair from dripping water down my back.

Tonio, wearing a shirt and trousers now, sat at his computer. Willem stood at his shoulder, as well-groomed as ever; the man had to sleep in a suit. Had Tonio called him while I was in the lav, or did he have us under surveillance? He seemed to pop up when least expected.

“Gentlemen,” I practically purred as I drew closer. Self-satisfaction—again, on several levels—made me relaxed and cocky. I’d gotten to Zia’s computer without having to prostitute myself or risk attachment. And since my job was over, neither prospect was going to be an issue.

My chest tightened with the thought of not seeing Zia again. If only…I shook it off and focused on Tonio and Willem. Dwelling on the impossible made no sense. It was done. I could keep the fantasy of her in my head, and nothing more.

Both men looked up. Tonio’s cheeks flushed as they had earlier, and he returned his attention to the screen. I felt heat on my face as well, but we wouldn’t talk about my attempt to kiss him. My actions would be shelved next to our kiss from a few weeks ago, just another consequence of physical attraction and sexual frustration. It required no discussion, which was fine by me. We both knew we’d never make it as a couple. We’d known it for a while. It just took longer to figure it out than it should have.

Willem straightened. His blue eyes glittered dangerously as they took in my attire and settled on my face again. Feeling naked, I pulled my robe tighter.

“Nice job, Liv.” His sarcastic tone wasn’t lost on me.

My earlier satisfaction evaporated like a raindrop in a supernova. “But?”

“But it isn’t what we need.”

Ignoring the fact he seemed about to strangle someone, I joined him beside Tonio. “What the hell do you mean? I got everything off Zia’s computer that had anything to do with K-73, filters, her or the Exeter employees she’s working with.”

I read the screen as Tonio opened and closed files. Columns of numbers, graphs showing odd letter combinations like FVC and PEFR—whatever they were—decreasing over time, and a few lines of text flashed by, but that was all. Disappointment tinged with dread fluttered in my gut. Now what would we do?

“There’s nothing in any of these files that tells us the filters are in place, where or for how long,” Willem said. As he spoke, his voice became louder and more strained. “Numbers alone are useless. Are they dates? Location codes? Results of some test or another? These files mean shit if we don’t know what they represent.”

I took a step back and met his glare. How could the man’s gaze be icy cold and laser hot at the same time? “I copied everything that was there, Willem.”

“And there’s nothing encrypted within these,” Tonio said while continuing to peruse the files. “At least not in any way I can determine. They’re just data sets and theories.”

Shit. I scrubbed my hands over my face and through my damp hair. “If Zia had additional files coded to conceal them there’s no way I could have found them.”

“There’s more somewhere. They’re supposed to be in the SI, but there could also be data sticks or hard copies.” Willem’s voice had returned to its normal pitch, but that didn’t make him any less menacing. His blue eyes found mine. “You’re not done yet.”

He wanted me to go back to Exeter. Back to Zia. I swallowed the groan of dread that started to build in my throat. “What do you expect me to do? Ransack her desk? Copy every file she has on her computer?” I shook my head. “It’s not gonna happen.”

He jabbed his stiffened fingers into my shoulder, pushing me back a little. I winced, more out of surprise than pain. “You’d better find a way to make it happen,” he said.

Tonio’s chair crashed to the floor as he shot up. He shoved Willem’s shoulder and put himself between the elder Grey brother and me. “Hands off.”

My hero. But the way Willem’s face darkened and his fists clenched, I was afraid he’d take a swing at Tonio. Or shoot him. I was pretty sure Willem wore a pulser under his jacket.

“She’s been fucking around that office for weeks,” Willem growled. “You said she could do the job.”

Tonio’s hands flexed at his sides. “Would you rather she tried for the files and got caught? Be glad she’s been so careful. Natalia sure as hell wasn’t. She didn’t last a day.”

Ha! So that’s who Zia fired before HR could finish paperwork. I was surprised Willem had even considered using Natalia. Getting close to Zia required more than a pretty face, and I couldn’t imagine languid Natalia keeping up with her.

“So lay off,” Tonio continued in a softer, more dangerous tone. “We’re as anxious as you are, but we’re gonna do it right so no one gets caught.”

The two men stared at each other, Tonio’s back muscles bunched and Willem taking controlled breaths through his nose. Tonio wasn’t a fighter, or hadn’t been when I was with him. Willem, on the other hand, had the coldness in his eyes associated with a lack of conscience. Tonio had said the Greys would kill if it meant getting the job done. I’d seen it in Chaz, but this was the first time Willem made it so obvious.

I suppressed a shiver and tightened my robe.

Willem gave himself a small shake. He cleared his throat and adjusted his perfectly straight tie. “You get one more week, Liv.” He spoke to me but kept his eyes on Tonio. “Talbot may have stashed the files. If they aren’t at Exeter, they could be at her flat, maybe kept as hard copies. But they’re somewhere.” He walked to the front door, sparing me a glance over his shoulder. “Stay close to her. As close as you need to be, got it?”

Arms crossed over my chest, I nodded once, showing him confidence in my ability and guaranteeing I was on the job. When the door clicked shut I closed my eyes, knees locked to keep from falling over.

I had to go back.

“You okay?” Tonio asked from behind me.

I took a deep breath, let it out evenly, and turned to look at him with a crooked smile on my face. “Sure. Disappointed, but I’ll keep at it. Zia’s not bad to work for.”

It wasn’t working for her that I was worried about.

His eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

Giving him my most innocent face, I said, “Nothing. I’m just not sure what to do next.”

That was a lie. I was afraid of what I had to do next.

He stared at me for a moment then ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “The files were supposed to be in Talbot’s computer. If they aren’t at Exeter, her flat is the most logical place to try next.” He dropped down onto the couch and closed his eyes.

“Who else would know for sure?” Not Natalia. She hadn’t spent enough time at Exeter to have a lunch break, let alone become knowledgeable about Zia’s computer.

“Just James,” Tonio replied, sounding very tired.

That was likely a dead end. No pun intended.

I sat on the other end of the couch, drawing my legs under me. “How can I find files if I don’t know what else to look for?”

And how could I face Zia again? She’d said we’d talk, and more than hinted that she was interested in me, but not for a quick fling. If I rebuffed her to save myself, would I lose the chance at the files? Probably. The stakes just went a little higher, and I was starting to lose control of the game.

I let my head fall back against the couch. “This stinks.”

Tonio snorted a mirthless laugh. “That’s an understatement.” He opened his eyes and turned toward me. “What was with you before?”

Shit. Now he decides to be Mr. Communication?

I slanted a look at him without turning my head. “Before?”

He gestured toward the door. “When you came in. You were panting like you ran the fifteen flights of stairs, and acted like you wanted…you know.”

We both knew what I’d wanted, if not exactly who I’d wanted.

He shifted and rested his arm on the back of the couch. “You caught me by surprise.”

It was my turn to snort a laugh. “I bet. But don’t think I haven’t forgotten our agreement.”

“Then what made you so anxious?” He reached out, as if to stroke my hair. “You looked beautiful, by the way.”

I jerked upright and scooted back against the corner of the couch before he touched me. “Too much wine, Tonio, but I’m sober now. Knock it off.”

“No, Liv,” he said shaking his head. “I’ve seen you when you’ve had too much to drink, and I’ve seen you when you’re turned on. That had nothing to do with alcohol.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to bed.” I rose, wrapped my arms around myself and took the long way to my bedroom, behind the couch rather than passing in front of him.

“Liv.”

Despite wanting to nip this conversation, I stopped and turned.

He stood, hands on his hips and suspicion in his eyes. “Was it Talbot?”

I felt my cheeks heat like a keracite furnace. Guilt, embarrassment and trepidation twisted in my gut. It was a combination I didn’t recall ever feeling before and hoped I’d never feel again.

Frown lines deepened on his forehead as suspicion turned to worry. Or was it jealousy? “Liv, you can’t—”

“I know what I can and can’t do,” I snapped. Allowing Zia to affect me was a mistake I shouldn’t have made. It was unprofessional to risk the job like that. “I can handle it.”

“Can you?” He sounded as angry as I was, but was he concerned about me or the job? “Can you handle getting as close to her as it might take?”

He knew me better than anyone in the ‘Verse. He’d know if I lied to him. But I did anyway. “Yes.”

The look on his face said he believed me about as much as I believed myself.

Frustrated and confused, I turned my back on him and continued to my room. “I have to work tomorrow. Good night.”

The next morning, hands shoved deep into my coat pockets, I emerged from the PubTrans station several long city blocks from the Exeter building. Fat flakes of snow drifted down in lazy spirals from low, slate-colored clouds. They melted as soon as they landed on the well-trodden walkway, leaving everything wet and chilled. The dismal day reflected my mood perfectly.

I could have taken a taxi, but I wanted a little time to clear my head before facing Zia. There would be no avoiding “the talk” she wanted to have, so I needed to prepare myself. Maybe she’d come to her senses in the light of day and decide a quickie on the desk was a good way to go. It would certainly make my life easier. But life wasn’t going to get easier any time soon.

Head down against the gusting wind, I rounded the corner, intent on making it to the main entrance of the Exeter building two blocks away as quickly as possible. A broad swath of a blue wool coat appeared in front of me; another worker bee on his way to some other megascraper, no doubt. I shifted to the right to avoid crashing into him, but he sidestepped in the same direction.

“Excuse me,” I said, and moved the other way. He did the same. What was wrong with people? Why couldn’t they walk on the right side and keep foot traffic flowing, especially on a day like today? In no mood for a dance while snow melted and ran down my neck, I brought my head up. “Listen, mister, I—”

My mouth dropped open and my limbs froze, fusing me to the middle of the walk. This was no ordinary commuter but one Nathan Sterling, Milchner’s stalwart sheriff.

He grinned, but the projected amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “Miss Braxton. Fancy meeting you here.”

A trace of snow had collected on his shoulders and wide-brimmed hat. He’d been standing outside for a time. Waiting.

A tight smile formed on my cold face, purely a felon’s reaction to an unexpected meeting with a lawman, not to convey any true feeling. “Sheriff. What a surprise.” No lie, that. “On vacation in the big city?”

“Not exactly.”

Damn the void. Suddenly, talking to Zia was very inviting.

“I’d love to stay and chat,” I said trying to edge around him, “but I have to get to work.”

Sterling stretched his arm out to stop me. The grin had disappeared. His blue eyes hardened, and not once did the false one drift or flicker. “We need to talk.”

The easygoing, friendly lawman from Milchner was gone, if he’d ever really been there to begin with.

“About the robbery? I told you everything I could.” I had to play the innocent for as long as possible. Maybe I’d even escape unscathed, though I doubted it. “Besides, you’re a little out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you, Sheriff?”

“Not really.” What the hell did that mean? He nodded toward a spot across the street. “Let’s get some coffee.”

People streamed past, eager to get out of the weather, ignoring us as our eyes held. The tension between us edged upward. Had he gotten the drift fixed, or had it been part of his camouflage? A lawman with a lazy eye might not be taken seriously, might be underestimated and assumed to be an easy dupe. It was a mistake I’d obviously made in Milchner and Pembroke, but I wouldn’t make it again.

Sterling slipped his other hand—the one not attached to the arm across my chest—into his coat pocket. Was he cold, or was there a weapon? His face revealed nothing.

Hopefully, neither did mine.

“I’m late.” I started to push his arm out of the way but it stiffened, and his hand clamped down on my shoulder.

“I’m sure you can come up with some…story your boss will believe.” There was a twinkle in his eye, unmistakable acknowledgement of how I’d lied during our previous two meetings.

Damn, damn and double damn.

“You better not get me fired,” I grumbled, turning toward the direction he’d indicated.

He stayed close as we dodged ground cars and crossed the street. The café he pointed out was busy, but we found a table in a back corner. The aroma of fresh-baked goods and coffee would have been enticing on any other morning.

With manners his mother would approve, he pulled out a chair for me then planted himself in a seat between mine and the door.

I couldn’t help giving him a wry smile as I sat. “Afraid I’ll run, Sheriff?”

“Yep.” He ordered two coffees and some pastries when the server came over then waited until she was gone before speaking again. “Will you tell me what I wanna know, or are you gonna make me ask? This would go a lot faster if you just told me, and you wouldn’t be late for work.”

I laughed, and he grinned, a natural expression from what I could determine. I rested my forearms on the table and leaned toward him. “I’ll take my chances with the boss.”

He shrugged. “Have it your way.”

I wish. My way wouldn’t resemble this particular situation in the least.

The server brought our order. We ate and drank in silence for several minutes, but I didn’t taste what I put in my mouth. What could he want? What could he know? I’d give him five minutes before making another effort to leave. It’s not like he could arrest me for anything. I hoped.

Sterling wiped crumbs from his mouth. “You’re not an easy woman to keep tabs on.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why are you keeping tabs on me?”

He smiled one of his not-really-amused smiles. “I’m asking the questions, Miss Braxton. Or should I call you Miss Baines?”

My hands grew clammy around my coffee cup, and my heart trip-hammered. Of course he’d learned my false name, though I couldn’t imagine how. He was a lawman, and a good one it seemed. I’d best remember that. “Liv or Olivia will do.”

I desperately wanted to take a sip of coffee, but I was afraid the smooth cup would slip out of my sweaty hands. Besides, an extra shot of caffeine would probably make my heart explode just now.

“Enjoying your new life here in Pandalus, Olivia?” Sterling leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out. If I were going to run, I’d have to leap over them.

“Just trying to make a living,” I said evenly.

He stared at me for a moment then laughed. “At least you didn’t say ‘an honest living.’ I’d hate to think you were trying to put one over on me.”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean.” What else did he know?

He grew sober once again. “Oh, I think you do.”

He reached into his coat pocket and I stiffened. Was he going to shoot me in broad daylight in public? No. From his pocket, he withdrew a handheld, not a pulser.

I contained a sigh of relief that I wasn’t in imminent danger. “Gonna show me more pictures?”

“Just one.” He turned the unit on and placed it between us on the table, facing me. A few taps of the keys brought up the picture of Tonio he’d shown me in the break room at Alpha-Omega. The one with another dark head at his shoulder.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Instinct kicked in, immediately initiating a lie despite knowing it was futile. “I told you, Sterling, I don’t—”

He tapped another key, and my voice faltered. The picture expanded to show whose dark head was beside Tonio. Yep. Mine.

I had no idea where or when the picture had been taken. It was a candid shot of us walking down a street. We looked happy, so it must have been early in our relationship.

“Don’t what, Olivia? Recognize your own ex-partner?” The quiet tone only emphasized his animosity. “You’d be amazed how many towns utilize public surveillance systems. And facial recog apps. Very helpful programs.”

My insides knotted like a sack of snakes. “So I lied about knowing him. Can’t blame a girl for wanting to protect an old friend.”

“Tonio Calderon is reputed to be working with the Greys these days. You and Calderon are here. I’m betting the Greys are here.” He drew his legs back under his chair and leaned toward me. “Putting two and two together, I come up with a number I doubt you’ll like. Something in the thirty to fifty years range.”

He knew Tonio and the Greys had robbed the bank in Milchner, that I was involved somehow. He knew, but couldn’t prove much of anything or he’d have arrested us by now. But that didn’t mean I was safe.

The coffee and pastry roiled in my stomach and threatened to reverse course.

“I got to Milchner a hair too late to catch up with the Greys.” A predatory smile curved his mouth. “But I have you.”

Realization hit me like a kick to the gut. “You knew they were going to steal something from those safe deposit boxes beforehand.” I wished I’d known, then I could have avoided this whole mess. “You’re no sheriff. Who the hell are you?”

“CMA,” he answered simply.

Colonial Mining Authority. Sterling wasn’t a lawman—he was a government man. This just got better and better.

“I interviewed you and the others in Milchner as a routine part of my investigation. I didn’t know who you were at that point.” Eyes on mine, he tapped the handheld. “Then a few interesting things turned up.”

I swallowed the acidic lump that had wedged itself in my throat. “That’s why you came to see me in Pembroke, showed me the pictures.”

“Yep.” The smile stayed on his face, a parody of the friendliness he was capable of turning on and off. “But it’s not who I am that you need to be concerned with, Olivia. It’s who I will be. Will I be your friend? Only you can answer that one.”

I opened my coat to cool off and took a slow, steady breath. “I make it a point not to befriend fake sheriffs, or anyone in authority for that matter.”

He chuckled. “Unless it benefits you.”

Self-control mostly regained, I cocked my head. “You could have arrested me if you had anything solid from Milchner. Since you haven’t, it tells me you don’t.”

“You’re right.” Well, that was comforting. “But I do have information about you I could pass on to the sheriff’s departments and constabularies of Kalisburg, Potter’s Lake and Turnagain. Those towns ring a bell?”

All three were medium-sized towns on Nevarro that Tonio and I had hit. They were mining towns, like most, but the CMA didn’t necessarily have the authority or desire to investigate local crimes. It did, it seemed, have access to damaging information.

I closed my eyes and did a quick calculation in my head. Three robberies at ten to fifteen years each, throw in a few years for accessory after the fact for the Milchner job. Thirty to fifty, just like he’d said.

Leaning back in my chair, I looked at him again. His expression was neutral, waiting for an answer. Either way, he’d win. “So what do I have to do for you to ‘lose’ that information?”

Sterling nodded approvingly. “I like you, Olivia. You’re a smart girl.”

“Not smart enough,” I muttered. “What do you want?”

“Not you.” Ouch. I was both insulted and relieved. “You have files. I want them so I can nail the Greys.” His features contorted into a fierce half snarl. “And Exeter.”

I swallowed back the surge of bile burning the back of my throat. Sterling knew about the K-73 filters. He knew they—Zia—were up to something, and I had a feeling it was more than a little corporate secret-keeping.

What the hell was going on at Exeter? And how much wasn’t Willem telling me?

Chapter Fourteen

“I can’t,” I managed to whisper through the dryness of my throat. “The Greys will kill me, and Tonio for bringing me in.”

Sterling’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You don’t want to get convicted on those charges, Olivia. Prison gangs are hell on a pretty little thing like you, and the keracite mines are worse.”

I squeezed my eyes closed and rubbed my temples with my fingertips. My worst nightmares would come true if Sterling turned me over to the constabularies of those towns we’d hit. I couldn’t let that happen.

“Give me the files,” he continued, “and I can help you.”

I opened my eyes. He’d put on his friendly lawman face, the one I’d seen in Milchner, but I knew it was an act now.

“I don’t have what you want,” I said. Friendly Lawman disappeared in a blink, replaced by Angry CMA Agent. I lowered my fisted hands to the table. “I don’t. I swear.” Did I sound truthful? I felt desperate; maybe that helped. “That’s why I’m going back to Exeter. I have to look for more. And how did you know I had them anyway?”

His brow creased as he considered my excuse, ignoring my question. “When can you get the rest?”

He sounded like Willem there, and I couldn’t help the shudder that ran through me.

“Soon,” I answered, “but I want something in return.” Pushy, but it never hurts to ask.

He snorted a laugh. “Isn’t avoiding detention good enough?”

Leaning forward, I said, “If Willem or Chaz Grey learn about our little chat, let alone that I’m even considering screwing them, I’m as good as dead.”

My heart pounded. I wiped my clammy palms on the sides of my coat. He had to agree, or I was finished.

“Go on.”

At least he was willing to hear me out.

“If I give you the files, I want you to arrange for me to get off Nevarro. Name change, data wipe, whatever it takes so the Greys can’t ever find me.”

Sterling stared at me for several seconds. Finally, he nodded. “I can do that.”

I quietly released the breath I’d been holding. “For me and Tonio.”

Surprise flashed across his ruddy face, then a slow smile grew. “So, back with the ex, are you? How sweet.”

“No, but he’s my friend.”

He frowned. “Your friend? He left you high and dry three years ago and sucked you into a job with two of the most dangerous men in the system.” How did he get his information? “You need better friends, Olivia.”

“Like you?” I asked. He ignored the taunt. “Listen, are you going to help both of us or not?”

Sterling rolled his eyes, perhaps skeptical Tonio and I were merely friends, or wondering how I could be so gullible. But my friendship with Tonio wasn’t so difficult to understand. We’d loved each other, had made each other happy once upon a time. Despite the death of our marriage and the fact he was a thief, he was a good person. Not like Willem and Chaz. I still loved Tonio, but in a different way.

“Fine,” Sterling said with a sigh, “but there’s one more thing I need too.”

Shit. There was always one more thing.

“I’m already risking my neck. What else do you want?”

“Don’t play the victim here, Olivia.” He pointed a thick finger at me. “You’re one of the bad guys, remember? And bad guys don’t get the better end of the deal.”

Isn’t that the truth. Nor did they get fifty million credits when they double-crossed their partners. But not being in a correctional mine or dead had its merits too.

I let a hint of petulance tinge my voice. “What?”

He grunted softly, in acceptance of my agreement or in my acknowledgement of his moral superiority. “Depositions from you and Calderon. They can be recorded rather than in person, but I want them.”

My mouth dropped open. Did Sterling want our statements recorded in case Tonio and I didn’t make it to an actual trial? Maybe a name change, data wipe and new location wouldn’t be enough to protect us from the Greys if we testified. “Why not just put pulsers in their hands and point them at our heads? As it is, it won’t take a genius to figure out who screwed them.”

He jabbed the table with one finger as he spoke. “All the i’s have to be dotted to put them away, and that means depositions are better than an anonymous informant’s lead. I promise you and Calderon will be safe, even from the Greys’ outside associates. You have my word.”

He seemed so damn sure of himself, so sure of his justice system. So sure everyone would play by the rules. But what choice did I have? Simple answer: None.

My stomach cramped. “Your word. That’s not particularly comforting, considering the Greys.”

“It’s the best I can offer.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Negotiations were closed. “Do we have a deal?”

I stared down at the picture on the handheld. Tonio was smiling and I was laughing at something. If this blew up in my face, neither of us would have reason to smile or laugh for the next thirty to fifty years. If we lived that long.

I rubbed my temple again, wishing Tonio was here to help me sort through this mess. But Sterling had pegged me as the weak link. So had Willem. I was living up to both their predictions. I’d lost objectivity and, like Cal, should have quit after the botched Milchner job.

My head swam as coffee and pastry curdled in my stomach.

Sterling turned off the handheld and returned it to his pocket. When he withdrew his hand, a thin, rectangular piece of blue plastic, smaller than my Exeter ID card, was between his thumb and forefinger. He slid it in front of me. “My digits. Call me when you have the information. I’ll come for you and Calderon.”

Once I accepted, there’d be no going back. Hell, who was I kidding? There’d been no going back for weeks. I put the card in my coat pocket.

Sterling rose and buttoned his coat. “I’ll take care of the bill. You’d better get to work.”

I glanced up from the table, expecting to see a smug grin on his face. He wasn’t grinning, but there was a hard glint of triumph in his eyes. “And Olivia? If you screw me over, the Greys might accidentally learn we talked. I don’t think you want that.”

Bile raced up my throat almost too fast for me to swallow it back. My sinuses burned. “You bastard.”

I should have known even the “good guys” weren’t always good.

“Just something for you to think about. I’ll get the Greys eventually, whether you’re loyal to them or not.” He shrugged. “Makes no difference to me in the end.”

His only concern was getting the job done. I had to give him credit for accomplishing something I couldn’t this time around.

Unable to move from my seat, I watched Sterling leave the café and hail a taxi. He zoomed off to who knew where, but I was sure he wouldn’t be far.

People passed the window as snow drifted down. Flakes adhered to the warm plasti-glass, melting and dripping to the walkway. The world became a shimmering scene of muted light and bits of color.

What had just happened here? How had I lost control so easily? I felt like one of those old-fashioned marionettes, with others jerking my strings, making me dance to a tune I didn’t like. It was a tune Tonio wasn’t going to like either.

Tonio. Imagining how he’d react when I told him what I’d done made me wince. He didn’t always agree with Willem, but would he understand if I explained about Sterling’s picture and his incriminating information? About Sterling’s threat to tell the Greys I’d double-crossed them? Not just “I” but “we.” Because if Sterling got word to the Greys that I was disloyal, Willem would probably consider Tonio guilty by association.

I had to take the chance that Tonio would believe this was the only option. For me. For him. And if we lived through this, would he be so angry he’d never want to see me again? Could our tentative friendship survive my betrayal?

What had I gotten us into?

A vibrating buzz against my outer thigh shook me from my thoughts. I fished inside my coat pocket for my handheld and glanced at the ID. Zia. The chrono at the bottom of the screen read 0943. Damn. I’d been sitting there for over an hour.

I tapped the “Audio-only” icon and held the device closer to my mouth. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?” There was more concern than irritation in her voice.

My chest twinged. No, I wasn’t all right, and neither would she be once this was over. Zia’d been on the losing side of this game since day one, only she didn’t even know she was playing.

I considered telling her I was ill and wouldn’t be in. Not much of a lie there.

“Just running late,” I said, making my tone as chipper as I could. “I’ll be right up.”

“Good. I’ve got a new project for you.” She disconnected.

My entire body felt leaden as I stood to leave. A new project, Zia? Get in line.

On my way to the Exeter building I started to comm Tonio but put the thing back into my pocket. Being overheard, or the possibility that either of our comms was bugged, made for a good excuse to delay the inevitable conversation. I’d wait until later and tell him face-to-face. He deserved that much from me.

In the lobby I glanced at the security desk before heading to the elevator. Chaz wasn’t on duty there, though he was scheduled to work today. The coffee shop where I spoke to Sterling was two blocks away, but he could have seen us on his way in. God help me if he had. What would I tell the Greys if they asked about my coffee date? Good question. I worked on answers as I rode the elevator.

Zia was sitting at my desk when I arrived at the office. I’m not sure what expression I wore, but whatever she saw made her cock her head. “Liv, what’s the matter?”

I gave myself a mental shake and adjusted my demeanor to be a bit more animated. “Nothing,” I said as I walked to the closet. “Just surprised to see you there.”

She rose, smoothed her ivory blouse and chocolate-brown skirt and detached a data stick from the computer console. “I was downloading some files I’d worked on at home.” She smiled and held up a hand, palm out, as if taking a vow. “I swear I didn’t disturb any of your well-organized folders, just added a new one. I know how particular you are.”

I shrugged. “You can do whatever you want. But why didn’t you use your computer?”

She made a disgusted face. “Something’s wrong with it. It was fine yesterday, but today it’s being balky.” Uh-oh. Did my little gizmo have anything to do with that? “The techs are doing a remote check.”

I nodded as I hung my coat and satchel. Hopefully they wouldn’t find any evidence of my copying. That’s all I’d need today. I shut the closet door and found Zia standing an arm’s length away. She looked at me with such intensity my body came to an immediate simmer. How did she do that?

“I was worried,” she said softly. “After last night, I was afraid you wouldn’t come in.”

What if I’d obtained everything Willem wanted and hadn’t come in? What if she learned I’d only been there to steal from her? What would she have felt then? Certainly not concerned. More like hurt and angry. Very angry. But that particular scenario had been postponed for now.

“About that, Zia. I wanted to apologize.”

Her eyebrows knit together in a slight frown. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I started things I shouldn’t have, in a place I shouldn’t have.” Then something gleamed in her green eyes, and she gave me a smile I could have stared at all day. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Wanna bet?

Playing the part of nervous ingénue, my voice wavered when I spoke. “It’s just that…” It’s just that what? That I hadn’t meant to actually want her when I set out to seduce her?

She shook her head. “I’m not going to apologize for my feelings, and you shouldn’t apologize for yours.”

My throat closed at the sincerity in her voice. I considered recanting my words and actions from last night, telling Zia I’d been drunk, or tired, or had been taken over by aliens. But she’d know I was lying. Well, about that anyway, because we’d spent too many days touching and stealing glances for any denial to ring true. Besides, I had to use this—use her—to finish the job.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this; I was supposed to follow Rule Number One. I hated myself for what I was doing to her, but now there was no choice.

It was, in no uncertain terms, a lose-lose situation.

“You caught me off-guard when you told me you’d never been with a woman,” Zia said with a wry smile. “There’s a lot of…pressure when you’re asked to be someone’s first. That’s one reason I pulled away.”

I moistened my lips and the look in her eyes heated as she watched my mouth. “And the other?” I asked.

“I told you last night. I like you, Liv. I like working with you. I like talking to you.” She took a half step closer. Her jasmine scent wafted toward me, and I had to breathe through my mouth. Or get totally lost. “Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself by saying this, but I think there can be more to us than an office affair.”

There could be, I thought as my chest ached, if I wasn’t here to screw over you and Exeter.

She tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. Her fingertips brushed my temple; I trembled. “Am I wrong?”

I’d learned early on that Zia rarely asked questions she didn’t know, or at least suspect, the answer to. She was sure I felt the same way, which meant I’d played my part better than I’d thought. But how much of me was still playing?

“No,” I told her, my voice thick.

Her smile grew as she slid her hand to the back of my neck, drawing me closer. I closed my eyes and tilted my head. The kiss was chaste, a light touch of our lips that sent electricity through me.

Willem and Sterling were right when they’d pegged me as the weak link. My weakness was standing in front of me, kissing me, telling me everything I needed to hear, offering something I couldn’t have. And we were both going to pay for it.

Zia broke the kiss and moved her hand to the side of my neck. I opened my eyes. Her smile was infectious, and I couldn’t help but smile back despite how horrid I felt.

“Let’s do this right then,” she said stroking my jaw with her thumb.

My heart spasmed, but I hid the wince of pain. “Which means?”

She winked as she lowered her hand. “You’ll see.” She strutted toward her office, hips swaying and heels silent on the thick carpet. “In the meantime, we have work to do. There are new data files on your unit I need organized for the meeting in Hudson tomorrow. Can you get them to me before lunch?”

“In Hudson?” A mental recall of her schedule noted the meeting with Hudson’s engineers was supposed to be here.

Zia stopped in the doorway and turned around. “I decided to go there rather than have a conference call. See some of the site for myself. I arranged it this morning on my way in and sent you a note to reschedule the rest of the week’s meetings.”

Zia preferred face-to-face meets over comm calls, and I think she enjoyed returning to her roots, if just for a few days. Her career began as an assistant site engineer at a smaller Exeter operation. From what she’d told me, it was hard but satisfying work. More hands-on than the exec she’d become.

Too bad she hadn’t decided to rearrange things sooner. I could have slipped into her office while she was away and copied the files without my libido gumming things up. Then again, those files were useless. It wasn’t her office I needed to access.

“So can I get that data before twelve-hundred?” she asked.

“Not likely,” I said faking a grin. The pain of what I was doing to her still hung in my chest, but I had to act like everything was going to be all right. “It’s nearly ten. I can probably get it to you by fourteen-hundred.”

“That’s fine.”

She rested a hand against the doorframe. I waited for her to continue, but she just studied me for several moments, an odd expression on her face. It wasn’t lust or desire; I’d seen those from her. This was more like…wonder. No one had ever looked at me like that before.

My cheeks warmed under her gaze. “Was there something else?”

Zia gave herself a little shake and smiled. “No, just thinking.”

Before I could ask about what, the comm trilled. As I crossed to my desk to answer it, she turned and went into her office.

The rest of the day was as normal as it could be, considering every time I let myself think about the Greys or Sterling or Tonio I felt a little nauseous. Zia and I kept it professional after the kiss by the closet, even when we were alone. No extracurricular touching during business hours was the unspoken rule. However, she wasn’t opposed to giving me a small, secretive smile now and again. And I had to admit, it made me flush and smile back.

Until I remembered what I was there for, what I would be doing to her in the very near future. When that happened, I threw myself into work and tried to appear as if the strain tightening my jaw was in concentration rather than dismay.

On the plus side, the technicians fixed Zia’s SI and didn’t come screaming about security breaches or unauthorized access. Thank goodness for small miracles, though goodness, in the astute words of some twentieth-century sage, had nothing to do with it.

Late that afternoon I spent over an hour and a half checking on last-minute equipment requests and data sets going to Hudson with Zia. Most of that time, a technician and I searched for something called an ore spectrum analyzer. Apparently the instrument was standard at all mining sites, but Zia wanted the latest model. All I knew was, it was on the list and it had to go with her. The lab tech eventually found it after I made a few overt threats to his position and more subtle threats to his well-being.

With both hard and electronic copies of the inventory list in hand, and a headache taking root behind my right eye, I navigated the warren of corridors to the elevator. Luckily the building design included “here-o-glyphs” to help those of us who had forgotten to drop breadcrumbs when we came down to the lab levels. The little electronic signs on the walls showed me where I was and how to get to my destination.

As I turned a corner, the corpulent form of Henry Clemens, COO, ambled ahead of me. This wasn’t the usual haunt of upper-level executives; there were only lowly engineers and their labs along these corridors. What was he doing down here?

Only one way to find out. I followed him.

Clemens led me on a silent game of follow-the-leader, but according to the here-o-glyph, we were headed to the elevator.

Before turning the final corner, I heard a familiar “ding” as the elevator announced its arrival.

“There you are,” Clemens snapped.

I stopped short, just out of sight. He couldn’t be talking to me. Who had he met? Zia? My heart raced, and I was sure both Clemens and whoever he was speaking to could hear it.

“What’s going on with Brighton?”

Brighton. He’d mentioned it on the bit of comm recording too, though I’d never found anything more. So it must be important. But why? I edged away from the corner, listening.

“Negligible results,” I heard Emily Pritchard say. “The filters are being overwhelmed and not self-cleaning fast enough. Saturation levels are simply too high.”

The COO grumbled something then said, “Can you increase the nanos?”

“We tried a fifteen-percent increase,” the engineer replied. “We’re still losing subjects faster than desired. Talbot wants that report in a few weeks, but I don’t think she’ll be satisfied. She’s threatening to go to the CMA.”

What did Zia have over them?

“She wouldn’t dare,” Clemens said in a menacing tone. “I’ll take care of her. Up the nanos another five percent. Do whatever you have to on securing subjects.”

Neither spoke for a few moments. Were they were coming my way? Shit. Rather than get caught standing there, obviously eavesdropping, I started forward while intently gazing at the list in my hand. As I rounded the corner, I looked up and appeared startled to see Pritchard and Clemens. She stood by the open doors of one of the two elevators while he’d entered the car, arms crossed.

I smiled, all admin innocent. “Mr. Clemens. Miss Pritchard. Nice to see you.”

Clemens smiled back, none the worse for wear after last night’s multiple rounds of alcohol and dress-ruining.

Before meeting my eyes, Pritchard’s gaze dropped down to her left as she brushed her blond hair behind her right ear. The same tell of nervousness exhibited in Zia’s office when she, Zia and Craig had been discussing whatever was on Zia’s SI. Pritchard and Clemens were as culpable as Zia regarding the cover-up. They’d take as much of the blame and subsequent punishment. I hoped.

“Olivia,” the COO said. “Going up?”

Pritchard watched me, poised now. She hugged a handheld to her chest, the screen pressed against her soft pink sweater.

“I’m not, sir, but thank you for asking.” I kept a genial smile plastered to my face as I pressed the “down” request on the other elevator.

Clemens nodded to me and turned to the engineer. “Get back to me on that matter right away, Emily.”

“Yes, sir.” She strode down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

“And you,” the COO said as my elevator arrived.

My heart triple-timed. Had he realized I’d been following him? “Yes, Mr. Clemens?”

He swiped his Exeter ID over the black box inside the car then winked and said, “You let me know if you’re interested in that job once James returns, hear?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” I said as the doors closed.

Shaking off a sudden chill, I stepped into the empty car. What a jerk. I passed my ID over the panel. “Change of plans. One-thirty-five, please.”

“Yes, Miss Baines,” it replied. At least the electrons at Exeter were sincere.

Despite the additional validation that something dodgy was going on at Exeter, the reminder that I still had to use Zia weighed heavily as the elevator rose. My job wasn’t over yet, though if I had time and opportunity I’d attempt to look harder at Pritchard and Clemens. The dull pain in my head returned as the elevator reached my floor.

Downing a few medtabs before getting back to work was foremost on my mind when I entered Zia’s outer office. When I opened the door I noted two things: Her door was ajar though she didn’t seem to be inside, and there was a package on my desk.

I set the lists down by my console. Nothing on the cream-colored box indicated who it was meant for or where it had come from. The shape and satiny finish suggested high-end clothing. Zia must have ordered something, though she’d never received personal packages here before. I ran a finger along the smooth top, wondering what was inside.

“Open it,” Zia said from behind me.

I peered over my shoulder at her. She stood just outside the kitchenette, stirring a cup of coffee. A mischievous smile played on her lips.

I slipped the lid off with a faint rustle of the filmy golden paper layered inside and folded back each thin sheet. As I lifted the last one, silver glimmered; my heart thumped hard. I brushed my fingertips across the silky dress. Though folded, it appeared similar to the halter style I’d worn the night before. It had a different embroidered design, and the fabric was richer, more luxuriant than anything I’d ever felt.

“You looked so beautiful,” Zia said. She was closer now, just behind my right shoulder. “I was afraid Clemens had ruined yours.”

Flushed with disbelief and pleasure, I faced her. “It’s wonderful.” I tried to give her a mock frown, but it was hard to do around my smile. “You’re not trying to buy my affections, are you?”

For a moment, pain touched her green eyes, like I’d insulted her or brought up something terrible. But she realized I was teasing and grinned back. “No, Liv. I don’t think you’re the kind of girl who can be bought.”

It was my turn to feel a twinge, but I kept it off my face. “I can be if you keep plying me with expensive clothes.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard her laugh, but it sounded bright and new. My heart skipped. “I didn’t get it to win points,” she said. Something warm and more serious filled her eyes. “I got it because I like seeing you smile.”

The teasing air left the room as we stared at each other. This was how she did things “right,” how she showed she cared and laid the groundwork for a relationship. Zia wasn’t perfect, especially if she was involved in a cover-up concerning the K-73 filters, but at that moment she was damn close. I had to dig my fingernails into my palm, or she would have seen me cry.

Ignoring our unspoken agreement, I stepped forward and touched my lips to hers. “Thank you,” I whispered against her mouth.

Zia gripped her coffee cup with both hands and the color on her cheeks deepened. “You’re welcome.”

She brushed past me to go into her office, casting an almost shy glance over her shoulder before disappearing inside.

I sighed quietly as my smile waned. Like a heroine in a sappy historic vid, Zia Talbot was smitten. And, God help me, she wasn’t the only one.

Chapter Fifteen

I’d tried to make this just another job, tried to tell myself that it was only physical attraction. Tried, and failed miserably. Admitting my feelings for Zia would only lead to heartache. I had to shut them away, finish the job and get the hell out. I had to—wanted to—pretend they didn’t exist.

But I couldn’t.

With the dress box tucked under my arm I rode the PubTrans train back to the flat late that evening, wondering what it was that made her so different, so difficult to just lead on and use without getting emotionally involved. Granted, casual sex for the sake of a job wasn’t my modus operandi, but I’d had casual affairs before. What had she done—what hadn’t I done?—to quell the warning bells and voices of logic that told me to back off? I needed to know so I wouldn’t repeat the same mistake in the future.

Sure, she was beautiful, but it went beyond that. I’d met plenty of attractive people, talked to them, flirted with them. Had been tempted by a couple of the women and slept with more than a few of the men. But none of them, male or female, captivated me like Zia did. Her presence in the same room made me stand taller. Seeing her smile made me giddy, and if that smile was directed at me in particular it took my breath away. Working for her was exhausting, but I eagerly anticipated every assignment. Having her praise a job well done made me flush with pride, delighted to have pleased her.

And that’s when it hit me.

Swaying with the rhythm of the PubTrans car, packed in with several dozen other tired, cranky commuters, I realized what it was about Zia Talbot that I couldn’t ignore. She challenged me, made me want to be a topnotch assistant for her. She’d tossed me to the wolves that first day, forced me to meet her standards. My motive for living up to those standards wasn’t what she assumed it to be, but the end result was the same.

Despite my grumblings about being a peon in the corporate world, I enjoyed being her assistant because I enjoyed being near her. The job wasn’t as exhilarating as a successful bank hit, but her effect on me was intoxicating. Talking to her, hearing her laugh, seeing her green eyes light up when they met mine gave me more of a sense of wellbeing than any amount in my bank account ever had. Or ever would. I liked who I was when we were together, and I wanted to be that person. For both of us.

But it was all a lie, Liv, a petulant little voice piped into my head.

No. Not all of it. The reason I was there was a lie. There was no denying that. But all things being equal, I was one of the best damn assistants Exeter had ever seen. Clemens had said as much just before he spilled wine all over me. You didn’t become good at your job unless you took some degree of pleasure in it, though most of my pleasure derived from being with Zia.

Great, the voice scoffed, so when this is over you can go work for some other corporate VIP on some other distant planet under some other name. Have a good time.

“Piss off,” I muttered as the train came to a stop. I wasn’t speaking to anyone in the car, but they made a little extra room for me to exit anyway.

All that great ability as an admin wouldn’t change the fact I was about to betray and hurt someone I cared for. Possibly two someones, if Tonio and I didn’t get Sterling’s protection. My head started to throb as I joined the crowd ascending the stairs to street level, wondering what I could do to fix this.

The question was, which was stronger—my instinct for self-preservation? The need to diminish my newfound sense of guilt? Or my feelings for Zia?

Should I tell her what I’d been doing? That would alleviate some guilt, but she’d hate me, and it would get me arrested by Sterling or killed by the Greys. Possibly both. Go on with stealing from her then tell her? She’d still hate me, and I still might get arrested or killed. Could I go ahead with Sterling’s plan and find Zia after I “disappeared” from the ‘Verse? No, there’d still be the matter of her hating me, and I couldn’t bear the idea of seeing it in her eyes. That would kill me in a different way.

None of these choices ended with a happily ever after. In my world, what did I expect, roses and rainbows?

No matter what I did she was going to hate me, but I couldn’t just vanish without a word. So I’d take the coward’s way out. I’d go through with Sterling’s plan, hope he really could keep Tonio and me safe from the Greys, and record a slobbery, heartfelt apology to send to Zia. She’d be furious, but she’d get over it. Get over me. Maybe someday I’d be able to face her, give her a real apology. But I had to stay alive to do that.

I pulled open the door of my building and frowned. Somehow I’d made it from the PubTrans station without remembering how I got here. Going about on autopilot wasn’t normal for me, but neither was letting myself become emotionally involved on a job, so perhaps my sense of normal was skewed these days.

I shook off the mental cobwebs my guilt created. It would do no one any good if I couldn’t think straight.

Speaking of not thinking straight…Natalia waited in front of the elevator, arms laden with packages and her vacant eyes staring at the closed doors. Her short coat did nothing to protect her mini-skirted long legs against the blowing snow outside, and her blond hair was somewhat mussed. Why did she always look like she’d just rolled out of bed?

I stood off to the side and behind her. Maybe she wouldn’t notice me from whatever planet she was on; I was in no mood for vapid conversation.

The elevator doors slid open. I considered waiting for the next car, but Natalia glanced over her shoulder as she entered. “Coming?”

Damn. I shifted the satchel strap on my shoulder. “Sure.”

We relayed our desired floors as the doors whispered closed. The car shuddered as it began its ascent.

“How was work?” she asked in her husky, just-woke-up-despite-the-fact-it’s-evening voice.

“Fine.” Keeping my answer simple seemed like a good idea. Natalia never impressed me as having a vast attention span.

She adjusted the package under her arm and sighed. “Chaz was disappointed when I didn’t stick it out at Exeter.”

Just as Tonio had said last night. Taunting Natalia about her failure lacked fulfillment now, and damning her for screwing up so I’d had to come in was petty and pointless.

Curiosity did get the better of me. “What happened?”

She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Talbot didn’t like me.”

I had to give Zia credit for her instincts on that one. Natalia was pretty, and not a terrible person despite the company she kept, but she wasn’t the brightest star in the sky either.

“That’s too bad,” I said trying to sound empathetic. “She’s really great to work with.”

I just had to get that zinger in there.

Natalia didn’t seem to catch it. “My mother always wanted me to be something respectable, like a secretary or a med tech,” she said as the elevator stopped at my floor.

The doors opened, and I stepped out. The thought of Natalia wielding a laser scalpel scared the hell out of me, but I turned and smiled at her like you’d smile at a slow child. “Very nice. I’ll see you later.”

Her blue eyes focused on me like a needler. “You look a lot like your mother.”

Air whooshed from my lungs like I’d been sucker punched by a Bidarki gorilla. Staring at her, I braced a hand against the wall next to the elevator to keep from falling over. When I could breathe again, I managed to squeak out, “What?”

The doors started to close; Natalia blocked them with one slender, manicured hand. She held my gaze, knowledge of more than the latest fashion craze or makeup tips burning in her eyes. “Spray for bugs, Liv. Your flat is crawling with them.”

Bugs? Willem. It had to be.

I’d heard the phrase “having your blood run cold” but never really understood it until that moment. Icicles shot down my limbs as liquid nitrogen swirled in my gut.

“Why is he…?” But my frozen brain sussed out the answer as the question left my numb lips.

Natalia flicked her gaze up a floor. Or maybe she was rolling her eyes at my stupidity. Ironic, that.

Willem was keeping tabs on us, which wasn’t a big shock. I just thought he’d been doing it by talking to Tonio and hovering around our flat more often than necessary. Not with audio or video. Besides, Tonio would have checked for bugs. Wouldn’t he? I couldn’t remember if he had, and I wanted to kick myself for not considering the possibility sooner.

Maybe Tonio knew they were there all along, said the voice of paranoia in my head.

No. He’d been too relaxed, too normal when we were alone in the flat. Too willing to kiss me and potentially do more.

So? It just means he’s playing a game. Like you are.

I couldn’t wrap my brain around that. Not yet.

“Why are you telling me this?” My fingers flexed, forcing skin, muscle and bone against paint and plaster as a more critical concern came to mind. “If Willem knows who she is…”

I couldn’t finish the thought, but Natalia nodded.

“Be careful,” she said as she let the doors shut.

It didn’t occur to me to doubt Natalia as I turned and sprinted to the flat, though I wondered why she’d told me in the first place. Maybe she didn’t like Willem any more than I did. She might have been more perceptive than I’d given her credit for.

If she was lying—and if she was I’d kill her—I’d look like a fool when I spoke to Tonio, but I could handle that. If she was telling the truth, if Willem had planted audio and video surveillance, I needed to warn Sabine and Tonio. And finish the job with Zia so we could get away from the Greys as soon as possible.

Complete abandonment was out of the question. That would piss off Willem, but it would also piss off Sterling. I needed Sterling for protection against the Greys.

I fumbled in my satchel, dropping the dress box onto the carpeted floor and spilling the silver silk into a shimmery heap. Finally coming up with my key card, I swiped it over the black lock box with shaking hands. The admit light turned green, and the innards clicked as I scooped up the dress and box.

“Tonio!” I called, bursting into the flat.

Easy, Liv. If Willem learns you know about the bugs, he’ll be down here in a heartbeat.

I forced myself to take a slow breath and not search every corner for bugs or vid feeds as I gently shut the door. “Tonio,” I repeated in a calmer tone, “you home?”

Even as my words finished echoing in my throbbing head, I knew the flat was empty. Damn! Where was he? I could call him on his comm, but what if Willem had tapped it?

And what if Tonio is tighter with him than you realize?

“Shut the hell up,” I muttered so Willem’s “ears” wouldn’t hear. Tonio and Willem couldn’t be that close. I’d seen the look on his face when Willem threatened me; Tonio wasn’t that good an actor. After repeating that to myself on the way to my bedroom, I believed it. Mostly.

Trying not to think about any surveillance Willem may have planted in my room or the lav, I stripped out of my work clothes, took a fast shower, exfoliated and depilated as necessary, then slicked my hair back with some salon goo from Miss Alana’s. A little dab went a long way in my shorter tresses. Wearing a touch of makeup, the new dress over nothing but lacy panties and a pair of black knee-high boots, I fished my pulser out from beneath the mattress. It felt heavier than I remembered. Shoving the weapon into my satchel, I was back out the door in under thirty minutes.

At the elevator I hit the down button, my toes tapping an impatient tattoo. Time seemed to be moving too quickly while everything else traveled at the speed of a glacier. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do everything I had to do in the next several hours. I knew I didn’t want to do the things I was going to do in the next several hours. Not this way.

The light above the elevator door blinked on, indicating its arrival. With my hand inside my satchel clutching the pulser’s grip, I held my breath and thumbed the power switch. The gun warmed as the doors slid open on an empty car.

I nearly wobbled in relief on my eight-centi heels. I’d more than half expected Willem to be standing there, his ice-blue eyes boring into me as he reached for his pulser. He might not kill me—I still hadn’t finished the job—but he’d find a way to make me wish I were dead. Of that, I was sure.

Powering down the pulser, I entered the car and rode it to the lobby, forcing myself to stay calm, to breathe normally.

Someone once said, it’s not how you handle Plan A, but how you handle Plan B. As I left the elevator and strode outside into Pandalus’s winter night, I was working on Plan E.

My first stop was a small, cramped store several blocks away. I asked the clerk at the front for electronics, and he waved toward the right. Scooting past racks of stims, seds and candies, I grabbed a pay-as-you-go comm and tossed one of my untraceable emergency chits to the clerk.

Leaving the store, I tore open the package and activated access to the Central Network. The screen glowed to life. I skimmed the user information, displayed as required by law, as I scrolled down.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I stabbed the “Accept” icon at the bottom of the legalese. Code violations were the least of my problems.

Keeping the comm on audio only, I entered the digits Mom had given me on her last visit as I hurried to the nearest PubTrans station another three blocks away. I could have taken a taxi, but I wasn’t sure I had enough in chits to get me where I was going undetected. PubTrans was cheap and anonymous.

“Hello?” Her voice was rightfully wary, considering there was no ID to let her know who was calling.

“It’s me,” I said, hoping the low-quality electronics in the comm, and my rapid breathing, didn’t distort my voice too much. For some reason, not identifying myself seemed prudent. Maybe it was sheer paranoia on my part, but as of thirty minutes ago there was no such thing as being too careful.

“Oh.” The soft, almost inaudible buzz of the comm’s connection hung between us for several moments then she said, “I’m surprised to hear from you like this. What can I do for you?”

My mother, bless her devious heart, picked up on my caution and responded in smooth tones. But I could hear a thousand questions behind each word.

“Get out of town,” I said as I dodged slushy spray from a passing ground car. “Now.”

“But—”

“No buts. Get on the next train or air trans. I’ll contact you when I can.” If I lived long enough.

There was another pause. Finally she said, “Let me help.”

“No! You don’t even know what’s going on.” Why couldn’t she just do what she was told?

Why can’t you?

“I know you’re in some kind of trouble, and that’s all I need to know,” she said. “I promised myself I wouldn’t let you down again, and I won’t. I’m not leaving you.”

My heart lurched up into my throat, and I stumbled to a stop at the top of the stairs leading to the PubTrans station. We’d started down the road to a semblance of a mother-daughter relationship, but I would have expected her to take the chance to get as far away from trouble as she could. I guess I was wrong.

“You have to,” I rasped over the lump in my throat. “They know who you are. They’ll hurt you.”

If Willem was actively listening to Mom’s comm, those words alone tipped him off that I was onto his bugging. But I had no choice. I just had to hope he’d be on passive, tracking my name or some other more personal exchange.

“Maybe,” she said, “but I’m staying anyway, so you might as well use me.”

What was I supposed to do? I didn’t have time to go over to her hotel and haul her to the Hub Station myself.

“Damn it, your stubbornness could get both of us killed,” I said as I mobilized my feet again and went down the stairs.

“It won’t if you let me help.”

“There’s nothing you can do.” And even if there was, there was no way to revise Plan E at this point. I let out a heavy sigh of resignation. “Fine. Just make yourself scarce and wait for my call. If you don’t hear from me by twelve-hundred, you leave. Understand?”

“I won’t—”

“If I don’t call, I’m dead,” I told her harshly.

Silence throbbed over the comm as we both absorbed the word. Until I said it out loud, death was a relatively abstract idea. It was an occupational hazard that loomed in the background for people like us, but wasn’t discussed or dwelled upon. Once I said it to the one person in the world who’d known me all my life, who loved me regardless of the heartache we shared, it became real. For both of us.

I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment to stop sudden tears from smearing my makeup, grabbing the rail that ran along the stairway for support as I continued downward. “Please.”

Sabine cleared her throat and said in her mom voice, “No later than twelve-hundred.”

I had to smile despite fear for her and for myself, despite suspecting the odds of my calling tomorrow were not quite even. “You have my word.”

“Be careful,” she said and disconnected.

“Love you, Mom,” I whispered as I stepped onto the PubTrans ticket level and made my way to a kiosk.

While I waited for the train with a dozen or so others, I commed Tonio. When he didn’t pick up, my heart fluttered down into my stomach like a wounded butterfly. Did Willem have him? Was he more loyal to the Greys or to me?

Tonio’s comm told me to leave a message.

“Hi, I’m calling for Rafikki,” I said, referring to the bank site where we’d been betrayed—our old code for “things have gone to hell.” “I’ll try again by twelve-hundred tomorrow.”

I tapped the disconnect as the train pulled up to the platform with a blustery whoosh. Pocketing the comm, I followed the crowd and found a seat as far away from the others as I could. I closed my eyes and did something I’d never done before: Prayed I could get this done without hurting too many people too badly, even if it meant not collecting a demi-credit.

The train shimmied and rattled as it headed toward Zia’s upscale neighborhood. I’d take a taxi from the nearest station and arrive at her flat calm and refreshed, ready to face her.

Right.

The taxi dropped me off a block from Zia’s building. A private security firm’s air car patrolled a couple dozen meters overhead, its anti-grav lifters working in near silence. It moved off as the taxi pulled away from the curb.

Five-meter-high pole lamps created pools of bluish light along the street. The buildings were lower than those of downtown Pandalus, only twenty-five or so floors at the most. An older neighborhood, where the address was artfully etched on stone or metal plaques beside the doors and money bought peace and quiet and security.

I hefted my satchel onto my shoulder. The weight of the pulser made me feel awkward and off-balance after not carrying it for so long. It wasn’t that big of a gun, so maybe it was just me. Walking in the chill air helped clear my head, kept me focused and on task, but deep in the pockets of my coat my fisted hands shook.

With her departure for Hudson early the next morning, I was sure Zia was home. She was scheduled to be gone for a week, but I couldn’t postpone trying her SI unit or search her home office for hard copies or data sticks. Not with Willem knowing about my mother.

How I was going to keep Zia occupied and unaware of my felonious deeds was still an issue to work out. It shouldn’t take me long to figure out whether the files were in her personal unit. If the K-73 data wasn’t there, if it wasn’t in hard copy or on a stick I could find quickly and easily, my part would be over no matter how Willem and Sterling fumed or threatened. If it was there, I’d copy the data, slip away and never see Zia again.

My jaw tightened, and my stomach clenched. Despite the inevitable less than happy outcome, it was the best I could do.

I checked the address of the closest building. Zia’s was just up ahead. A soft rectangle of light coming through the half plasti-glass door lit the walkway. Someone waited beside the door. He opened it, and a couple stepped outside. One said something too low to hear, and they walked arm in arm down the street, away from me.

How sweet. How quaint. How not like anything I’d ever imagined for myself.

“Can I help you, miss?”

My head whipped around to the uniformed doorman. I’d stopped in front of the building as I watched the couple, musing about what would never be.

Forcing the bubble of self-pity back into the mental hidey hole where it belonged, I smiled at him and went to work. “Yes. Sorry. I’m here to see Miss Talbot.”

“Is she expecting you, Miss—?”

“Baines. Olivia Baines. No, she isn’t.”

He offered his hand, palm up, and I was about to shake it when I realized he wasn’t interested in making my acquaintance. He wanted my ID.

“Oh.” I dug into my satchel, careful to move the pulser and data stick aside without exposing either, and found my Exeter ID. I handed him the plastic card. “I’m Miss Talbot’s assistant.”

He smiled indulgently—as if he cared who I was—and swiped the ID over a wall-mounted unit beside the door. The matte black box beeped three times then lit up with my picture and information. He read it, returned the card and tapped a finger behind his left ear. After a few seconds he spoke into some pickup mic I couldn’t see.

“Miss Talbot, this is Peter. There’s a Miss Olivia Baines here to see you.” He keyed the box and paused. Did he just send my image up to her for confirmation? Probably. It was a decent security system if you trusted the doorman. After listening for a moment he said, “Yes, Miss Talbot.”

Tapping behind his ear again, he grasped the door handle and deliberately pressed his thumb to the top. A subtle security measure, I wagered. “Go to the third elevator on the right,” he instructed as he opened the door. “Touch your hand to the panel there, and it will give you access to the twentieth floor.”

“Which flat?” I asked as I slipped past him.

He gave me a pleasant smile. “The twentieth floor. Have a good evening, Miss Baines.”

As I crossed the black-and-white marble floor, the click of my boot heels echoing against the honey-wood paneled walls of the lobby, I realized what Peter the Doorman meant. Zia didn’t have a flat on the twentieth floor. Her flat was the twentieth floor. I found the third elevator and laid my hand on the black panel. The car door opened silently, revealing a lush box of gild and burgundy. I stepped inside.

The door closed, and I felt no sensation as it rose; only the change of the digital display proved I was ascending. A doorman screening visitors, no electronic voice telling me to have a nice day or ask which floor. For a woman in a highly technological position, Zia Talbot liked old-fashioned, traditional things.

Like her idea of doing a relationship “right.”

Get that out of your head once and for all.

When the numbers stopped at twenty, the elevator door opened onto a five-meter-square green-carpeted white room with a single door opposite the elevator. Leafy potted plants with bright red flowers sat on two shelves flanking the door and several small, gold-framed landscapes hung on the walls. I exited the elevator, my feet sinking into the thick carpet. It was like standing in a field on some undiscovered, pristine planet.

As the elevator door closed, the door in front of me opened. Zia held a goblet of wine in one hand. The V-neck of her white lounging pajamas revealed the glint of a gold chain and less cleavage than most of her office attire. Her feet were bare, her toenails tinted blood-red. But what captured my attention was her hair. Released from its usual upsweep, it fell around her shoulders in loose chestnut waves. Relaxed. Sexy.

I swallowed hard and dug my fingernails into my palms.

“Hello, Liv.” An enigmatic smile curved her full mouth, and her eyes glinted with curiosity. “I’d ask how you knew where I lived, but you’re very good at figuring out things like that, aren’t you?”

I took a hesitant step forward. She hadn’t asked me in. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d tell me it was too soon for us to be alone in her flat, that this wasn’t how she did things.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked.

My knees wobbled with relief and with the apprehension of what I was doing. “Yes. Thank you.”

Zia stepped back, giving me just enough space to ease past her. In my boots, I was several centis taller than she was, and this close I could smell her hair. Flowers and honey.

The white of the entry continued inside the flat, but it was by no means stark. Soft lighting accented the greens, black and gold in the furnishings, artwork and décor. The faint scent of jasmine made the room hers.

Zia closed the door, and I felt rather than heard her come up behind me. “Let me take your coat.”

I set the satchel down, out of the way, and unbelted my coat. Slowly I slid it off my shoulders, past my bare back.

As she lifted it from my hands she took in a sharp breath. “Oh, Liv.” Her voice was rich with desire. “What are you doing to me?”

Chapter Sixteen

What was I doing to her? A very good question.

Part of my brain screamed to tell her everything. Luckily, the part that preferred to remain alive and let me dodge emotional confrontation smothered the screams. Job now, confessions later. Much later. Via recording.

“I wanted to talk to you.” I peered over my shoulder at her. She held my coat against herself as her gaze roved over my body. “In private.”

Her eyes flicked up to my face, and she walked to the closet. “That’s not a dress for talking.”

Oh, I knew exactly what to do in this dress. Or out of it, as the case may have been. I faced her and almost asked if she preferred I take it off, but that sounded too much like a prostitute in my head.

She shut the closet door and turned to me. There was no mistaking the heat in her eyes or the quickening of her breath. “I shouldn’t have let you come up,” she whispered.

I took a step toward her. “Yet here I am.”

Her brow furrowed. Did my height advantage bother her? Probably not. I doubted such a lame psychological edge mattered to Zia Talbot. “I thought we agreed this was going to be taken slowly?”

Her words belied the intensity of her gaze as it traveled to my mouth, down my throat, my breasts and belly to my hips. Every part of me she took in tingled and warmed, from my mouth to the juncture between my legs. I moistened my lips. She swallowed hard when she caught the movement.

Raising one hand, I traced the embroidery near my throat. “We need to renegotiate that agreement.”

I closed the gap between us to no more than half a meter, breathing through parted lips. Her scent was too intoxicating otherwise, and I couldn’t lose myself in it.

Not one to back down, Zia held her ground and raised her eyes to mine. “You think you’re ready.”

“I know I am,” I lied.

“Maybe I’m not,” she said softly.

Now who was lying?

I brushed her hair back off her shoulders. As my fingers grazed the silk covering her skin, Zia closed her eyes. When I skimmed my palms down her arms and pressed my lips to the spot under her left ear, she moaned. The sound sent a spark from my belly to my groin. I kissed along her jaw, her chin, took in the wine-scented breath she exhaled, and continued across to her other ear as I grasped her hands in mine. She squeezed tight.

“Do you know,” I whispered then nipped her ear, “what I find most attractive about you?”

“What?” Her voice was barely audible.

“Your brain.”

She gave a low chuckle and canted her head to give me better access to her slender neck. “That’s a line if I ever heard one.”

“No, it’s true.” I flicked my tongue along her soft skin, gently blowing across the damp spots. Zia moaned again. She pressed her breasts against mine, and I gave a groan of my own. God, she felt good. “The way you think things through, how you make decisions. Very methodical, but with instincts to guide you.”

I lifted my head so I could see her face. She opened her eyes. A thin ring of green circled her expanded pupils. Her breath came fast through full, parted lips.

“I’m more of a go-with-my-gut person,” I said. “And my gut says, no more waiting.”

My gut said a lot of things—like, tell her the truth—but it was my head I needed to listen to for now.

“Liv—”

I kissed her, cutting off any protest she may have wanted to voice. I tasted the tang of wine, and as I slipped my tongue past her lips the heat of her mouth made me want to melt into her. I guided her hands to my back, flattening them against my bare skin as we kissed. She caressed my spine with her fingertips. Maddening half tickles danced through my body.

My own hands weren’t idle. I slid them over her silk-clad hips, massaging her with my fingers while drawing her against my thigh. Her heat sank into my leg, and I shivered.

She was nothing like the men I’d been with, and not due to the lack of a bulge. She was slender and strong, but not hard-muscled. Her long, fragrant hair tickled my nose as I kissed her neck. She definitely smelled better too, with a hint of her personal scent mingling with the light floral perfume she wore.

Nothing to this point was more intimate than what we’d done in her office the night before. Until her hand rounded my ribcage. Her palm skimmed over my breast and her thumb grazed my nipple, sending need crackling through me.

I froze, my entire body tense as it realized it was being pleasured by another woman. Pleasure being the operative word. This felt so good, so right.

My mind whirled with thoughts of things to come. With Zia, I had the feeling reality would surpass the expectations of my imagination. It was like losing my virginity for a second time, with all the same nervous anticipation I’d had then.

Zia stilled her hand then took it from my breast. I almost whimpered at the loss. “Liv.”

I covered her mouth with mine, sharing another tongue-tangling kiss. She didn’t think I was ready for this, but I was. I had to be. Eyes closed, I broke off and rested my forehead against hers, both of us breathing fast.

“We can stop.” She swallowed hard. “If you want.”

I opened my eyes and tilted my head to look at her. She’d let me end it here, no pressure to do anything more. I needed this to happen. Wanted it to happen.

“No,” I said dropping a light kiss on her mouth. I covered her hand with mine and guided it back to my breast. “Touch me,” I whispered against her lips.

She caressed me again with my hand over hers. In a deft move, she cupped my breast and ducked her head to take my nipple in her mouth. Heat and moisture penetrated the thin silk.

My breath caught as her tongue and teeth sent hot tremors through my body. I arched my back, twisting my fingers in her clothing and pulling her hips closer to mine.

“Like this?” she asked, but didn’t give me a chance to respond as she closed her mouth around the other nipple, igniting another surge of fire. “Or like that?”

She kissed her way up my chest, both hands high on my ribs while her thumbs stroked the swells of my breasts.

“Either will work,” I said hoarsely. I rubbed my thigh against her and smiled at the moan she vibrated against my throat.

Her mouth found mine, and we kissed deep and long. My head swam. It felt like I was floating a few centis above the floor with Zia’s hands holding me up. She broke the kiss and stepped away.

A little dizzy, I blinked in confusion. “What?”

Her wicked smile said I had nothing to worry about. She took my hands in hers and raised them between us. Green eyes still holding mine, she pressed her lips against the backs of my fingers. She let go of one hand and held the other tight as she led me through the flat.

I followed obediently, past luxurious furnishings and delicate artwork. Past an open door that led to a small, sparsely furnished bedroom. Past a closed door that may have been a lav. Beyond another door, her home office with a desk of honey-wood and a thin SI screen. I filed that away for the time being.

We stopped at the last door. Zia placed her hand on the gold-toned knob and faced me, but her eyes were cast down at our entwined hands. She rubbed her thumb across my knuckles and I waited, feeling her need to say something. Finally she looked up and smiled, her cheeks flushed to a delicate pink against dusky skin. “I’m glad you’re here.”

With those words, everything—Exeter, Willem, Tonio, Sterling—everything but Zia and me disappeared. This had nothing to do with the job anymore. This was about us. It didn’t matter how or why we’d been brought together. For now, nothing else mattered.

It was selfish—there was no denying that—but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted her to be with me, Liv Braxton, not Olivia Baines. And in my head, she would be.

I compounded the lie of who and what I was by speaking two little words of from-the-bottom-of-my-heart truth. “Me too.”

She squeezed my hand and opened the door to her bedroom. Two large windows admitted the soft, distant artificial lights of the city.

“Light level two,” she said.

The room lights came up to reveal the furnishings and muted colors. A large bed with white coverings and several decorative pillows sat against the opposite wall. What looked like a hand-carved wood armoire and a table topped with a variety of bottles and small boxes flanked the door. Closed doors on either end of the room led to, I assumed, a master lav and a closet.

Zia brought me to her bed, and I sat on the edge of the mattress. My knees demurely together, we stared at each other for several moments. My height advantage—if there’d been one—was gone. She smiled then kneeled in front of me as graceful as a dancer.

“Let’s get rid of these.” She slid her hands along my booted right leg. Grasping the heel with one hand, she gave the boot a tug as I pointed my toes. The faux leather slipped off. She kept one hand on my calf while she set the boot aside. She repeated the oddly sensuous ritual with my left leg. Still kneeling before me, she looked up through her thick eyelashes. “Better?”

I wiggled my toes against the carpet and smiled. “Much. Thank you.”

Zia sat on the bed, her body half-turned toward me. Then she whispered the same words I’d said to her minutes ago. “Touch me.”

I raised my trembling hand and quickly closed it to stop the shaking. I felt like a fifteen-year-old boy about to get his first chance at touching a woman.

“Relax.” Taking my hand, she massaged the tension out of my fingers. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

Physically? No. But otherwise? I closed my eyes and forced such thoughts out of my head. When I opened them again, Zia was watching me, patient, but with a question in her eyes. Did I want to stop?

In response to her silent query, I eased my hand from hers and placed it on her waist. Her muscles twitched beneath the silk. I slid the material up and skimmed my hand over the smooth skin of her side, her ribs. Zia’s breath came faster as I reached the bottom of her breast and spread my hand around its full softness. With the silk shirt brushing the back of my hand, my fingers and palm grazing her skin, tendrils of delight coursed through my arm to my own breasts.

“More,” she said.

Gently, I kneaded her flesh as I sought her nipple. Finding it already taut, I circled it with the pad of my thumb.

Eyes closed, Zia sucked in a breath and raised her hand to the V of her neckline. She stayed like that for a few moments then unbuttoned the top and let it slip off her shoulders to the floor. The gold necklace glinted in the low light, and a gold ring threaded on the chain dangled between two perfect breasts.

I stared at the hand on her breast, the fingers at the dark brown peak. My hand. My fingers. I flicked a glance to her face. Like a child caught taking a cookie before dinner, I almost expected her to smack me away.

But she didn’t. The smile on her parted lips told me my touch was welcome.

She cupped my cheeks in her hands and drew me closer for a kiss. While our lips and tongues teased and tasted I attended to her other nipple and caressed her hip with my other hand.

Zia reached around to the back of my neck, tracing my hairline with her fingertips, and worked the closure of the halter top. Before she could lower it herself, I covered her hands with mine.

“Let me,” I said against her mouth.

Holding the dress in place, I rose. My hands skimmed my breasts as the silk flowed down my body. She moistened her lips, her eyes filled with desire. The thrill of having that effect on someone was addictive. I let the dress puddle at my feet.

Zia’s gaze sent shivers of anticipation through me as she drank in every semi-naked centi, lingered on the lace panties then meandered back to my face.

“Beautiful,” she whispered as she took my hand. She drew me to the bed and kissed me. We laid down together, me on my back and she on her side. She twirled the hair above my ear with one finger while the other hand caressed my breasts and stomach. Each stroke sent delight skittering across my skin like water on a hot pan as she came closer and closer to the lace.

With an arm beneath her waist, I could only reach her hip and the pajama bottoms, but my other hand was free to wander up and down her body as we kissed. I traced her breasts and sides, down the plane of her stomach. My fingertip caught and tugged on something. Zia gave a moan that sounded of half pleasure and half pain.

Startled, I broke the kiss and glanced down. A gold ring, similar to the one on the chain around her neck, pierced the skin at the edge of her navel. They were the only two pieces of jewelry she wore. I’d never seen any others on her.

Zia covered my hand with hers and eased my arm up over my head. She touched her lips to mine and said, “Don’t worry.”

Or something similar. I didn’t ask what I wasn’t supposed to worry about—my accidental tug on the ring, perhaps?—because she released my hand, skimmed hers down my arm to my breast and across my stomach. I lost focus. The heat of her palm sank through the front of my panties. Her fingers curled against me and I gasped a breath.

“So beautiful,” she said, kissing her way down my throat. She shifted beside me, her hair curtaining her face. Her dark tresses and the gold ring tickled across my skin. She kissed her way across my chest, capturing each nipple in turn and laving it with her tongue. A delicious ache bloomed in my breasts, intensified as it reached the juncture between my legs. I grasped the bed covering and dug my heels into the mattress. The fingers poised over my mons began moving back and forth as Zia kissed my stomach. She pressed the damp lace against me, and my hips twitched.

She slipped her other hand under the waistband. Her tongue flicked against my navel as she eased the garment off. Loving the slow torture but at the same time anxious to have her hurry, I raised my hips to aid the process. Zia didn’t move her hand, and I sucked in another sharp breath as her fingers delved almost but not quite inside me.

“Oh, God,” I rasped as my muscles clenched, wanting to draw her in deeper. “Please.”

With the palm of her hand she eased me back down. “Soon,” she whispered, her breath warm on the skin between my bellybutton and mons. “Very—” she kissed lower, “—very—” lower, “—soon.”

Her tongue flicked against me, and I raised my hips to meet her mouth. Her lips and tongue sent erratic pulses of electricity deep into my core. She slid her fingers inside, zeroing in on that spot some found difficult to locate. I lost sense of everything except the sensation of her hands and mouth caressing and licking, tickling and sucking, creating the fiercest buildup I could ever remember having.

My fists twisted in the covers; a whimper escaped my throat as my hips rocked against her.

“Let go, Liv,” she said, her voice partly muffled by my flesh, hot between my legs. She trailed her fingernails along the underside of my thigh. “It’s all right.”

It was better than all right. She was amazing, and I wanted to be amazing with her.

She swirled her tongue, and I let go. My back arched. Air whooshed into my lungs then exploded back out while euphoria cascaded through me. Muscles pulsing around her fingers, she kept perfect time with the needs of my body as I rode the wave.

Breathing hard, I started to lower my hips, only to involuntarily thrust them up again and give a startled gasp when Zia gave me a final deep stroke and suckle. I sighed and closed my eyes as the orgasm subsided to twitchy aftershocks. She withdrew her hand and placed slow kisses along my body as she made her way up to lie beside me. The heat of her skin against mine was better than a blanket.

Contentment settled into my muscles and bones like rain on parched soil. I’d had great sex before, but it was rare to be so completely comfortable and satisfied. I wanted to curl up beside her and stay that way forever, but at the same time I wondered what Zia tasted like. Wondered if I could please her the way she had pleased me.

Zia brushed hair back behind my ear. Her warm lips touched the corner of my eye. “Oh, Liv.” She almost sounded sad. “Don’t cry.”

Don’t what?

“I’m not crying.” My eyes flew open and I blinked up at her. Cooling tears ran toward my ears.

She kissed the corner of my eye again while her hand skimmed the same place on the other side of my face. She held up damp fingertips as evidence against my denial.

Okay, I was crying. But not because I was upset with what had just happened. I didn’t regret any of it.

But you will and should regret it, said the cruel voice in my head. And so will she.

I slammed the mental airlock on the voice and gave Zia a shaky smile. “It’s just a physical thing,” I assured her.

Wasn’t it?

She cocked one lovely eyebrow at me.

To prove it to her—and to myself—I drew her down for a kiss. Her lips parted, and I tasted the light musky, salty flavor of “me” and my tears on her mouth and tongue. I eased her onto her back then straddled her hips and brushed my breasts against hers. My nipples tingled.

“Tell me if I do something wrong,” I said as I slid my body along hers, slick skin against slick skin, and kissed my way down her throat.

“I’m sure you’ll be just—ah…” She drew in a sharp breath when I closed my mouth over her nipple. Holding it between my lips I flicked it with my tongue, learning how her skin felt and tasted—like an apple that had been dipped in the ocean. Her nipple tightened, and I mouthed the other while my thumb toyed with the first.

My other hand strayed to the waist of her pajamas. I pushed the silk pants down her hips and reached beneath her to get them past her buttocks, taking advantage of my position to caress her there. With my hand resting on her thigh, she kicked the pants to the floor.

I lifted my upper body so I could look at her. Her lithe form stretched out before me. Golden-brown skin against white coverings, hair in a loose cloud and arms wantonly extended over her head, Zia Talbot looked every bit the goddess from old Earth mythologies.

Her jasmine perfume mingled with the scent that was hers alone. A deep, ragged breath filled my lungs with it. I closed my eyes, letting my senses become infused.

She shifted beside me. “Liv? If you don’t want to, it’s okay. I understand.”

I opened my eyes. She was up on her elbows. Concern in her eyes warred with the desire there. I kissed her, lightly at first then with more intensity. Zia responded in kind, moaning as I eased her back on the bed.

“I want to, more than you know.” Kneeling between her legs, I caressed her sides as we kissed. I ran my fingers then my mouth over her breasts, over the gold necklace and ring that were warm from her body. Down her sternum to her stomach and navel. I flicked the gold bellybutton ring with my tongue and gently tugged on it with my teeth.

Her hands threaded through my hair, and she writhed beneath me. “Liv…”

Her voice trailed off as my kisses dropped lower, the scent of her strong and erotic, raising my excitement, as well. With my hands on her hips I brought my mouth closer to her mons, brushing my lips and nose across the soft skin below her navel.

What if I didn’t like it? I certainly didn’t want to insult her by balking. Besides, the rest of her smelled, felt and tasted too good to resist.

I parted her with one hand and tentatively flicked my tongue against her. The same salty apple flavor, but more intense and underscored by the scent-taste of what was Zia. Her essence filled my mouth and nose, and I wanted more.

Her grip tightened in my hair. I tongued her again and she twitched her hips. “Yes, there,” she said.

I was no stranger to female anatomy, but my perspective was usually a little different.

“Um, like this?” I mimicked the circular tongue movement she’d used on me. She moaned and nodded.

Her response was encouraging. Feeling surer of myself, I varied motion and pressure, lightly stroked and nipped then slid my finger inside her. She was warm and wet, her muscles tight but accommodating. Carefully I slipped another finger in.

Zia combed her fingers through my hair. “You sure you’ve never done this?”

I smiled then licked and stroked her before answering. “Never, but I’m a fast learner.”

“I’ll say.”

I adjusted my hand or mouth to her liking, taking the time to learn every contour, every fold of delicate skin. I marveled as each touch or breath made her moan or gasp. I was surprised how her response heightened the awareness of my own body, my own enjoyment, like I’d never felt before. It pleased me to please her, and I wondered if she’d felt the same.

“Oh, Liv. Liv.”

I smiled at the way she said my name, quiet and breathless, as she quivered beneath me.

Suddenly her back arched, and she pressed herself into my mouth. Her vaginal walls pulsed around my fingers. My own inner muscles convulsed in a miniature response that made me shiver.

As she had with me, I kept pace as she rode out her orgasm, slowing as her thrusts lessened. When she settled back on the bed I withdrew my hand and raised my head. She smiled at me across her body, contentment in her eyes. Her hands still in my hair, she guided me up until I was beside her.

We lay face to face, each of us pillowing our heads with bent arms, inhaling our mingled scents. I trailed my hand along her hip and side as we kissed, the taste of “us” on our lips.

“Thank you.”

I leaned back to look at her. “For what?” No one had ever thanked me after sex before. I figured mutual satisfaction was thanks enough.

She caressed my cheek with the backs of her fingers, the same expression of wonder on her face that she’d had in the office earlier today. “For letting me be your first,” she said softly. “I’m glad you trusted me, that we can trust each other.”

A sudden ache lanced through my chest, and I had to clench my jaws to keep from reacting to the pain. She trusted me. I’d given her something she thought of as special, and she trusted I’d do the same.

But I wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

My fantasy shattered like crystal under a steel boot, the jagged shards reminding me why I was really here. It felt like my heart cracked in two. Tears burning behind my eyes, I quickly pulled Zia into a hug, burying my face in her fragrant hair.

“Of course,” I lied, hoping she wouldn’t detect the hitch in my voice. “Always.”

Chapter Seventeen

Zia rolled onto her back, taking me with her to stretch out along her body. She wrapped one leg around mine and pressed her other thigh between my legs. Her foot traced the curve of my calf. She kissed my eyes, my cheeks, my lips while her hands took a slow tour of my back and buttocks.

Despite the heat and friction between us, guilt killed my ability to do more than return her kisses, and even that was proving difficult to continue. I felt like I’d lost something. If I believed in such things I’d say my soul had drained out of my body, damning me for what I’d done, what I was going to do. But I was as religious as I was law-abiding. So if it wasn’t my soul, what had I lost?

I couldn’t bring myself to feign arousal with her. Not after experiencing the real thing with her moments ago. I could lie about why I’d come to her flat, but not deceive her in that way. Not now. It was a warped sense of honesty, and the more she touched me the worse the pain in my chest grew.

I swallowed the ache and rolled off her.

Zia rose to lean on one elbow. “What’s wrong?”

Concern lined her beautiful face, and I wanted to tell her everything. I would have told her everything if I didn’t think she’d hate me for it.

Selfish coward that I was, I gave her a sheepish grin. “I need to use the lav.”

Doubt flickered in her eyes; she gestured toward the door behind me. “Over there.”

I padded to the lav, acutely aware of her watching my naked body as I crossed the room. Without looking back, I went in and shut the door. The lights automatically rose to a soft glow, enough to see without burning the retinas of a sleepy user. I slumped onto the covered commode, elbows on knees, and cradled my head in my hands.

Double damn the void.

I had to get this over with. I had to get the files if they were here, and get the hell out. The more time I spent with Zia—in or out of bed—the harder it was going to be to leave her. I’d wait until she fell asleep and then do the deed. That was risky if she woke up and found me, but what choice did I have?

I stood, pressed the evac button on the commode and ran some water in the sink to splash over my face. The distinct whiff of sex rose from my skin. As I reached for a thick towel I caught my reflection in the mirror. Mussed hair and flushed cheeks, I was a woman who appeared to be quite satisfied as long as you didn’t look at the eyes. They were tired, too old for the face and body they lived in. Too guilt-ridden for this job.

I dried off and rehung the towel as neatly as I’d found it, returning to the bedroom.

Zia had slipped under the covers while I was hiding in the lav. She folded back the corner of the blankets. “Come here.”

Cursing my luck, my life and my weak resolve, I climbed back into bed. She flipped the blanket over me and leaned in for a kiss. Her breast rubbed against mine, and I drew in a shaky breath. “Zia—”

“You’re trembling.”

Damn it.

Before I could offer an explanation, not that I had one, she settled beside me.

“Lights off,” she ordered. The system complied, leaving only the glow from the city to bleed into the room.

Zia laid her arm across my stomach, and her leg curled over mine. Despite the possessive position the warm weight of her limbs was comforting, protective. Her face was barely discernible in the nearly lightless room, but I felt her eyes on me. I stared up at the ceiling, unable to meet her gaze even in the dark.

Her lips brushed my shoulder. “Do you want to talk?”

“No,” I replied, fearing what I’d say to her if pressed.

“Liv, if what we’ve done is bothering you…” Uncertainty tinged her voice, something I rarely heard from her.

“It was wonderful.” I twined my fingers with hers and brought her hand up to kiss her palm. “I’m just tired.”

Not much of a lie there. I was both mentally weary and physically sated. I lowered our hands, resting them between my breasts.

“Okay,” she whispered. I don’t think she believed that last part, but she seemed willing to let it go for now. “Go to sleep.”

I sighed in relief I hoped she’d take as contentment.

Hardly realizing what I was doing, I turned onto my side, my back to her, and tucked myself against her body. Her breasts pillowed my back, her legs cradling mine. As our body heat mingled my shivering stopped. Her arm and leg tightened around me.

Stupid move. I tried to ignore how good she felt. If I pulled away she’d start questioning me again, and I had no answers to give.

In a few minutes Zia’s breathing evened, becoming regular puffs against my shoulder and neck. I’d give her time to slip into a deeper sleep then ease away from her. If she woke up, I could claim a freakishly small bladder. If she woke up and caught me at her computer…Well, I’d think of something.

I yawned and blinked hard. Nestled against Zia’s warm body in her comfy bed, I fought gritty, leaden eyes as I waited her out. I dug my fingernails into my palm. I played mental word games and tried to recall the lyrics to old songs.

Zia shifted behind me. “I’m glad you’re staying,” she muttered, and kissed my shoulder.

Her breathing returned to its even pattern. I glanced at the bedside chrono. How long would it take? The amber numbers blurred as our breathing became synchronous. My body grew heavy, and my eyes fluttered closed.

Just for a minute, I promised myself.

I should have known better than to trust my promises.

“Liv.”

Zia’s voice cut through the haze in my brain. My eyes snapped open. She smiled down from where she perched on the edge of the bed. I sat up, holding the white covers to my bare chest, and blinked at the pre-dawn, watery sunlight coming through the large windows. Morning.

Damn, damn, damn.

“I’m sorry I had to wake you.”

“‘S okay,” I managed around the dryness of my throat. I cleared it and asked, “What time is it?”

“Too early to be out of bed,” she said with a grin. “But I have to go soon.”

Go? Where was she going? Obviously I wasn’t a morning person.

Zia wore a simple, dark plum-colored dress made for comfort but still stylish, and her hair was in its upsweep. What little makeup she wore was perfectly applied. My brain finally clicked on. She was off to Hudson for a week.

I’d slept through her morning routine, and now it was time to kick me out.

Shit. So much for getting to her computer.

She cupped my cheek and brushed the pad of her thumb over my bottom lip. “I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

Unlike me, who would be doing just that. A surge of guilt and pain woke me as if I’d injected a full pot of coffee into my veins. Would Sterling and Willem wait another week for me to get back in here? Not likely. Chances were I’d be gone—or dead—before she returned from Hudson.

I covered the whimper that escaped my throat by pulling her toward me and kissing her like I’d never see her again. Which I wouldn’t, and she wouldn’t know why. When she did find out she’d be furious and hurt. And it would be my fault.

Zia moaned into my mouth. I savored the sound, savored her taste and touch and scent as my fingers caressed her neck. Gently she eased me back and broke the kiss. We both breathed hard, our foreheads touching.

“It’s just for a week, Liv,” she said. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I’m sorry.” That was true. I swallowed and then faked a little laugh. “I’m not usually this…emotional.” I hadn’t been, until recently.

She straightened and smiled. “I wish we had time to talk. Will you be all right until I get back?”

No.

“Sure,” I said. “I just need some coffee.”

“There’s a container of your brand in the cupboard. You got me hooked on it.”

And every time she brewed a pot after today, how bitter would it taste?

I started to get out of bed and remembered I was quite naked beneath the covers. Unexpected shyness sent a flush through my body.

Zia laid a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t get up now—it’s too early. Connor’s waiting for me downstairs.” She kissed me again. “I’ll call from Hudson.”

Rising from the bed, she sashayed to the door, hips swaying beneath deep purple material. She stopped and turned to me, her green eyes glinting. “Don’t worry if you’re late to the office today. I don’t think the boss will mind.”

I forced a smile onto my face.

Zia left the room, partially shutting the door behind her. A minute later the front door closed.

I brought my knees to my chest and pressed my mouth against them, smothering a half-hysterical laugh that threatened to turn into a sob. She had just given me free rein of her flat, had essentially invited me to do whatever I wanted here. The only way she could have made it easier for me to look for the K-73 files would have been to turn on her computer and point them out herself.

She trusted me in her most private ways, and I was about to obliterate that trust with a few keystrokes.

Better get your ass in gear then, Liv, said that nasty voice in my head. It sounded a lot like Willem.

I shoved the voice and the pain away and flipped the covers off. Finding my panties and dress on the floor, I put them on without bothering to shower. Extra time spent in Zia’s flat was not a good idea, because the longer I stayed the harder it would be to leave. Besides, I wanted to smell her on my skin for as long as possible.

I tugged on my boots and went into the living room for my satchel. Amidst the detritus of my life and my personal comm I wasn’t sure I could trust, I found the data stick and pulser. I grabbed the stick. Taking the new comm out of my coat in the closet, I headed to Zia’s home office. I flicked the comm on and tapped in Tonio’s digits. As I waited for him to pick up I considered what I was going to say about Willem and his bugs, and about Sterling.

Tonio answered as I plugged the stick into Zia’s SI and powered up the unit. My comm didn’t transmit an ID, so it was no surprise he sounded as cautious as Mom had last night. “Yes?”

“It’s me.”

Mom’s gizmo beeped its readiness.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Good morning to you too.” I typed “K-73” into the waiting white box. The unit whirred and searched for files. Part of me hoped it would come up empty, but I knew better. While it worked, I rifled through the desk drawers for data sticks and hard copies.

“Don’t be so damned flip,” Tonio said as I perused pages.

No sticks, and nothing on paper pertaining to the filters. No surprise. Zia was smart enough to not leave evidence lying about for some petty thief to snatch. I’d go through the rest of the office after checking the computer, but I doubted I’d find anything.

“What’s going on? Why Rafikki?”

I swallowed to relieve the sudden tightening of my throat. What if Tonio was with Willem? What if he knew all about the bugs? Only one way to find out. “Is your comm secure?”

He scoffed. “You should know better than to ask, but yes. No one has touched it, and I keep the walls high and wide. Why?”

“Willem has the flat under surveillance.”

There was nothing but the soft hum of the connection for several moments. Was he formulating a cover response or was he as stunned as I’d been?

“That son of a bitch,” he said in a harsh whisper. It was a good indication he was surprised, but was he?

I heard him moving around. A door shut. The sound of the shower at full blast. He had gone into the lav to hinder any audio bugs, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t playing me.

The next words felt like broken glass in my mouth. “Tell me you didn’t know, Tonio.”

“What? Of course I didn’t know.” Another pause. “Did you think I’d let Willem do something like that? Christ, Liv, how long have we known each other?” He sounded genuinely hurt by the accusation.

Relieved, I ran my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry. I had to be sure.”

I told Tonio about my conversation with Natalia. He muttered curses as Zia’s unit beeped and the list of file designations popped up on the screen. There were more here than at the office, and my heart sank as I realized how entrenched she was in the cover-up, though I shouldn’t have been surprised.

Oh, Zia.

I copied them over then opened a file to see if I was getting more than a list of meaningless numbers. I didn’t want to have to confront Sterling or Willem if what I found was as useless as the previous batch. Text, thank goodness. Pages and pages of it. But what I read in the lines of engineering jargon and tables of failure rates sent a chill through me.

“Oh shit.”

“What’s the matter?” Tonio asked.

“Hang on. Let me read it again.”

This couldn’t be right. Exeter—Zia—couldn’t be doing what it appeared they were doing. What these very technical, very precise, very alarming reports said they were doing.

“Read what? Liv, what the hell’s going on?”

That’s what I wanted to know.

“Tonio, what do you know about the K-73 filters?”

“I know what you know.” There was uncertainty in his voice. “Why? What did you find?”

What we knew and what I read didn’t completely mesh. K-73s were supposed to be atmospheric scrubbers that made the air cleaner, healthier for workers. Exeter planned to revolutionize deep keracite mining efficiency and safety, but not before it got first crack at a huge piece of the pie. If they used their filters to extract more profitable ore before the competition could, they’d be millions of credits ahead. That’s what Willem and Chaz told us. That’s all we knew, all we needed to know. Until now.

I opened and closed files, reading bits that made my hands shake. Zia couldn’t possibly be involved with something like this. Not her. She wasn’t like that. But there it was, in sharp black and white. “No wonder the CMA is after Exeter.”

“Damn it, tell me what you’re looking at. And what about the CMA?”

I’d have to tell him about my coffee date with Sterling eventually. What I found would support my decision to turn on the Greys and Exeter. Hopefully Tonio wouldn’t think too hard about the fact I’d agreed to work with Sterling before reading the files.

“Listen to this. ‘Prior to initiation of the K-73AL program, miners frequently experienced a range of pulmonary symptoms from coughing and wheezing to restrictive flow disorders. Vital oxygen uptake (VO2), forced vital capacity (FVC) and peak expiratory flow rate (PEFR) were significantly reduced in affected personnel. Prolonged exposure (three or more years of service in mines deeper than five hundred meters) increased the frequency and intensity of symptoms.’”

So the miners were experiencing lung problems. Not surprising. Dust and vapor in an enclosed space was bound to be detrimental. Some of the shorthand designations looked familiar, like the notations in the files I’d taken from Zia’s SI at Exeter. Were the numbers in those first data files the rates mentioned here?

I read part of a less technical passage to him. “This is from Pritchard, the Chief Engineer. ‘The failure of the K-73AL’—what’s ‘AL’?”

“I have no idea.”

“‘The failure of the K-73AL is most notably due to an increase in sublimated vapor concentrations released by deep keracite deposits. Combined with difficulty in maintenance, it is no surprise that a twenty percent loss has occurred.’”

Something in my brain clicked. Pritchard. Loss. On the comm recorded by James, Pritchard had said something about loss being closer to fifty percent. In her conversation with Clemens yesterday she’d been worried about saturation levels. Had she been referring to this report?

“Loss of what?” Tonio asked. “If it’s a failure, why is Exeter being so guarded about it? Why did Willem start this?”

I’d wondered the same thing when I’d overheard Zia, Pritchard and Craig discussing K-73 problems. But as I read on, both Exeter and Willem’s motivations became clear.

“‘External atmospheric cleansers and full body suits have been utilized with limited success. The external units are too bulky for the more narrow passages, and the body suits’ smaller filters become clogged quickly. Remote mining reduces the number of personnel required to be in proximity of the keracite vapors, but the ore properties, particularly its vulnerability to sparks and excessive heat, have made unmanned operations costly.’”

Tonio took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Their robotics couldn’t do the job so they put in people. Not unusual, considering the number of willing workers out there.”

“No, that’s not unusual,” I agreed, “but this is. ‘The availability of correctional mine inmates has reduced company overhead by eighteen percent. Taking into consideration the compensation packages provided to volunteers, the company can still experience positive revenue in the next five to ten years if problems with the K-73AL filters are rectified. However, the loss of revenue from a delay of five or more years, or the inability to develop deep keracite mines, is projected to be in the range of fifteen to twenty billion credits over the next ten to fifteen years.’” I swallowed hard and finished reading the report in a near whisper. “‘The estimated cost-benefit analysis of personnel loss versus revenue gained is within acceptable margins.’”

“They’re using CCM inmates to test their new filters.”

“And their ‘loss,’” I said, “is all part of the cost of doing business.”

“But if the inmates volunteered, signed consent waivers and were compensated, even if they die we have little to hold over Exeter.” I could imagine Tonio running his hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “They’re lying about some numbers, but is it worth two hundred million credits to keep that quiet?”

The last bit of James’s secret recording of Pritchard and Clemens made perfect sense now. Perfect, disturbing sense. My mouth and throat dried, and I had to swallow twice before my voice would come out above a rough whisper. “They aren’t all volunteers.”

I told Tonio about the snippet of conversation I’d found on the assistant’s computer. A thirty-percent difference between reality and what you report to the VP of Research and Development could be swept under the rug with a little creative math, but “volunteering” inmates and disposing of all those extra bodies required a major cover-up. This was what Willem was after. How much did Zia know about it?

I searched for any reference to higher loss figures and mention of volunteers. Nothing. The information in her files indicated the K-73s were at a twenty percent failure rate, that all test subjects were legitimately obtained and signed the proper waivers. But if she was hiding something darker, something so deadly…

My gut twisted.

No. I couldn’t believe that. Zia was a tough businesswoman and a no-nonsense scientist, but she wasn’t ruthless. She wasn’t cruel. I’d experienced her compassion firsthand. She’d been genuinely upset when she spoke to Pritchard and Craig about the filter replacements, willing to abort the whole program if not for Clemens countermanding her.

But went along with it anyway.

I blinked back sudden tears of anger and disappointment.

“Exeter will fry if the CMA gets this,” Tonio said.

And being the VP of Research and Development who authorized every aspect of the K-73 project, whether she knew it or not, so would Zia. Even if she claimed ignorance—and who would believe her?—there would be no slap on the wrist, no reassignment, no quiet move to another company. She’d find herself swinging a pick right alongside Exeter’s upper management and the inmates they’d been exploiting.

The twist in my gut became a lurch as I pictured Zia in correctional-facility orange, filthy and worn down by hard labor, harassed by other inmates, assaulted or worse when they discovered who she was and what she’d done to them and their cohorts.

I clamped my hand to my mouth and forced back the bile that raced up my throat. Despite the evidence I couldn’t be responsible for that happening to her.

“I have to warn her,” I said, pulling the gizmo out of the SI unit.

“Warn who? Talbot? Don’t you fucking dare!” The shock and anger in Tonio’s voice didn’t surprise me. Nor did it stop me.

I bolted from Zia’s office and stuffed the data stick into my satchel. “She’s on her way to Hudson. I might be able to catch her.”

If I hurried I could make the Exeter gate at the Hub Station before the charter took off. God, I hoped so.

“Damn it, Liv, we’ll all go down if you do this.”

“I have to,” I said as I shrugged into my coat. “She’s guilty of not sharing the filter technology, there’s no doubt, but maybe she can cut a deal with the Sterling and the CMA about the phony volunteers. I have to give her that opportunity.”

Maybe I was wrong and she knew everything, but I needed to hear it for myself. I needed to give her the chance to defend herself.

“Wait a minute. What about Sterling?”

“I’ll tell you later.” I slammed the door of Zia’s flat and punched the elevator call button. “I have to go.”

“No, Liv, don’t—”

I hit the disconnect then requested the nearest taxi on my comm. My heart pounded painfully against my ribs by the time I reached the ground floor and ran to the door. The bright yellow air car waited at the curb, its lifters keeping it at a quarter-meter hover for ease of entrance. Service was a hell of a lot faster in this neighborhood than in mine.

The man on duty—not Peter from last night—opened the building’s door for me and then the taxi’s. I tossed him my last anonymous chit and told the driver to take me to the Hub Station.

“Double your fee if you get me there in less than five minutes.” I’d have to use my very traceable cred-ID for that, but it didn’t matter now.

He cleared his throat as we rose into the crisp morning air. “Restrictions maintain—”

“Triple.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He punched the controls, and the sudden increase of force pressed me against the seat. The extra creds would cover an excessive speed fine.

I commed Zia, but an error notice flashed across the screen. Smacking my comm on the seat, I tried again. Same result. Damn, damn, damn. What did I expect from a cheap unit?

Tonio’s number flashed on the screen. I ignored it.

I found my regular comm in the satchel, and my finger hovered over the power button. If Willem had managed to put a tracer on it, turning it on would alert him to my whereabouts. I slipped the comm back into the bag.

I closed my eyes, my stomach rippling. Air travel didn’t usually make me nauseous. Perhaps it was this whole business coming to a roiling head. Either way, if the ride lasted longer than the requested five minutes, the driver would be washing out the inside of his taxi.

“Which platform?” he asked.

I opened my eyes to find the Hub Station complex growing larger in the front window. Car and shuttle lights winked and streamed. Beyond the main building, landing pads were bathed in white brilliance, some waiting for arrivals while others prepped shuttles for departure. Zia would be on one of those soon, if she hadn’t left already. “Exeter’s charters. Hurry, please.”

“I have to pull in here.” Banking away from the controlled chaos of the public platform, he dropped into the lighter traffic of the charter platform and into the queue of other cars waiting to offload passengers. “Breaking air regs at the Station will get my license yanked. The Exeter gate is a bit further up.”

“I’ll get off here.” I swiped my cred-ID card across the box adhered to the back of his seat and punched in three times the amount shown. When it accepted my account, the door locks disengaged. “Thanks.”

Clutching my satchel to my body, I shouldered past travelers, dodged Skycap Autocarts and ran into the building. A quick glance at the directory pointed me toward Exeter’s gates.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I was amazed I could stay upright on the eight-centi heels as I ran. People either heard me coming or sensed my desperation and got out of my way. They probably thought I was late for a flight. I hoped not.

At Exeter’s security, a large steel door emblazoned with the giant Exeter E, I waved my ID over the raised panel on the wall.

“Baines, Olivia,” the unit said. It had a more mechanical twang than Exeter’s elevators. “You are not scheduled for any flights departing today. Access denied.”

Shit.

“Please, I have to talk to Miss Talbot. I’m her assistant. It’s important.” I doubted the computer could hear the strain in my voice, but I felt the quiver from my throat to my gut.

“Talbot, R.J., is scheduled to board EX-2 to Hudson in twelve minutes.” The unit’s lack of inflection, lack of feeling, made me want to rip it out of the wall.

“I know.” I ground my teeth together and took a deep breath. “I know. I need to see her before she boards. It’s an emergency.”

“If there is an emergency, Station security will be contacted for you.”

“No, it’s not that kind of emergency. I have to see Miss Talbot now.”

“Comming R. J. Talbot with your request.” After a second or two, the unit said, “R. J. Talbot’s communicator is not functioning.”

Not functioning? So it was her comm, not mine.

“Then let me through, damn it.”

“Override authorization code?”

I slapped the wall beside the box. The sting vibrated up my arm. “I don’t have a fucking code. I need to see her before she gets on that shuttle.”

“Excuse me,” said a masculine voice behind me.

I whipped around, expecting Station security. What was the fine for assaulting and cursing a computer for merely doing what it was designed to do? Instead of a uniform, a middle-aged man in a neat, dark suit gave me a cautious once-over.

“Are you going through?” he asked.

I stepped aside. “Sorry, go ahead.”

He came forward and swiped his card over the box.

“Markum, Stuart. EX-3 is being held for your arrival. Please step through.”

The door mechanism clicked and slid open. Markum, Stuart started forward, but even in my eight-centi heels, I beat him through the doorway.

“Hey,” he shouted as I ran, “you can’t go in there!”

The hum and glow of the red security scan beam passed over me. I hoped the coating on my pulser was still adequate; bringing an unauthorized weapon through Hub security would guarantee a ten-year sentence.

Through overhead speakers, the security unit agreed with Markum. “Unauthorized access. Security alert. Unauthorized access.”

It only acknowledged me, not my weapon. That was something, anyway.

The Exeter concourse was less populated than the public areas so I didn’t have to dodge many people. No one tried to stop me as I sprinted past, though I did get some startled looks. Beneath a lit sign that read “EX-2 HUDSON,” I recognized the back of Zia’s upswept ‘do and her heather-grey overcoat.

Relief made my legs wobble, and I had to slow down.

“Zia!”

She turned, surprise and then confusion on her face. “Liv? What are you doing here?”

I didn’t get the chance to answer as my legs were jerked out from under me and the ground rushed toward my face.

Chapter Eighteen

My knees slammed into the floor, sending a teeth-rattling tremor through my body. Instinct brought my arms forward to break the fall, but not fast enough.

“Son of a—”

The rest of the expletive was cut off by a rainbow of starbursts as my head struck the thinly carpeted floor. Pain crackled along my skull.

What felt like a Bidarki gorilla dropped on top of me, pinning my satchel beneath my body, his weight concentrated above my hips. The pulser in my satchel dug into my chest, and my lungs struggled to inflate.

He wrestled my arms behind my back, my shoulders protesting with the strain. “Gotcha.”

Like I didn’t know that. But breathing took precedence over smart-ass remarks; I couldn’t have spoken if I wanted to.

“Get off her.” Zia’s voice carried over the roar in my head. She didn’t yell, but her tone was as commanding as I’d ever heard. Only a fool would disobey.

“Breaching security is a Class B felony, miss,” he growled.

Okay, only a fool and a gorilla of a security guard would disobey. I wanted to see Zia tear this slag mucker to pieces, but my eyes watered from the pain and I was light-headed. Better that I concentrate on oxygen intake.

“She’s with me. I take full responsibility for any misunderstanding.”

The guard rose, relieving some of my breathing difficulty, and the roar subsided. When I tried to bring my arms and legs under me to stand, I couldn’t. Trussed like a hog on slaughter day, I turned my head toward them.

From the floor, the guard’s large, squarish head and flattened nose completed the simian image, except for the uniform and the shiny pulser holstered on his hip. He wore the grey and black of an Exeter guard, not the gold and blue of Hub Station security. Exeter’s charters, their security.

Despite being more than a head taller, the man flinched under Zia’s steel-green gaze. She held up her ID, and though her voice softened it was as precise as a laser scalpel. “Get those things off her, or I’ll have you picking in a mine so deep you’ll never be seen again.”

The warm, fuzzy feeling of having someone care enough to threaten another person washed over me, but a smaller part of me winced. Hers was no idle threat. If sent down to the mines, he could be as good as dead.

What I was about to do to her was far worse than defying her authority. What would she think of me? I shuddered at the thought.

The guard raised his hand as if to snatch the ID card from her then hesitated when her words penetrated his brain pan. He took the card between his thumb and forefinger and swiped it over the portable reader attached to his belt. His dark eyes widened. Handing the card back as gingerly as he’d taken it, he swallowed hard. Maybe he knew what the mines were really like.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but she did violate security.”

Zia’s eyes narrowed. “And?”

The guard lost a few centis of height under her glare. His gaze flicked to the side, down to me, back to her. “And I’m sure the whole thing is a misunderstanding.”

He knelt beside me to fiddle with the bindings on my wrists and ankles. With a metallic click my arms sprang away from each other, back to a more natural position. I started to push myself up from the floor, but my legs were still bound. He’d shot tanglers to bring me down. The thin, flexible strands had to be cut individually.

While he worked, I checked to see what kind of spectacle I’d created. Another rule in the felon’s handbook that I’d violated: Keep a low profile. We hadn’t attracted a crowd, but there were more than a few curious stares from well-dressed business travelers as they passed. Move along, people—nothing to see here.

Reluctantly I turned to Zia, knowing she’d be mad as hell. She kept her glare on the guard, as if daring him to slip and cut into my leg. With her focus on him I took a minute to collect myself, but my time under that withering gaze would come soon. Going with the guard could be safer.

The last tangler strand popped loose, and the guard slipped the cutter and the wires into his pocket. He offered me his hand. “Sorry about the confusion, miss,” he said with false sincerity. “If you have trouble accessing the gate in the future, please call for assistance rather than taking things into your own hands.”

I let him help me up. “I’ll do that.”

What else was I supposed to say? Thanks for giving me a concussion instead of zapping me with your pulser? An apology would have been appropriate, but all my remorse was spoken for.

With a curt nod to me and another to Zia, he strode off with as much dignity as a whipped gorilla could muster.

Zia faced me.

There was anger in her eyes, but also concern and confusion. She grasped my hands, and I enjoyed the warmth of her skin on mine for the moment. She skimmed her thumbs over the pink welts the wrist bindings had caused. They stung a little, but her touch was gentle, soothing.

The anger in her eyes waned. “Are you okay?”

I licked my lips and eased my hands from hers. “I’ll be fine. We need to talk.”

“About what, Liv? Why didn’t you just comm me?”

“I tried. Your comm isn’t working. The security unit tried too.” Besides, this discussion was not to be done over hackable, recordable comms.

Fine lines marred the space between her eyes when she frowned. “It worked earlier this morning. What did you need to see me about that required breaking security?”

I glanced around the gate area. The curious stares were gone, but there were too many people within earshot to have the conversation we were about to have, not to mention surveillance cams. I’d had enough with electronic ears and eyes.

“Not here, Zia. In private.”

Impatient, she gestured toward the sign behind her. “My flight boards in five minutes.”

I squeezed my eyes closed, dreading what I was about to put into motion, having no choice if I wanted to give her the slightest chance to escape imprisonment. Knowing that what I said would make her hate me, despite any deal she might cut with Sterling and the CMA. Better that she hated me and received a lighter sentence than have the CMA toss her into a correctional facility.

The K-73 filter program had gone wrong. She knew it, but maybe she didn’t know all of it. I had to find out.

I opened my eyes and stepped closer to her. She leaned in, her cheek almost touching my lips, ready to listen, trusting I had good reason to jump security. Jasmine perfume wafted from her skin. I swallowed down the boulder of guilt in my throat and said quietly, “I know about the K-73s.”

Zia jerked away as if I’d shot her, and our eyes locked. “I have no idea—”

I frowned; her mouth compressed into a thin line as she realized I knew she was lying. She grabbed my upper arm and steered me toward the wall, away from the main flow of commuters. “What the hell did you do, Liv?”

Fury tightened her jaw, but it was the feeling of betrayal on her face and in her voice that made my heart twist. And it was about to get worse.

“I have copies of the files. The ones about the company’s ‘acceptable margin of loss.’” Recalling the words I’d read on the reports, the conversations between Pritchard and Clemens, made my own anger and disappointment flare. I understood her reaction to my activities, but she wasn’t completely innocent. “The question is, Zia, what the hell did you do? The filters aren’t working. Your reports claim a twenty percent loss of volunteers. Is that the truth?”

Her face paled, and she stared at me for several thundering heartbeats. “Who do you work for? A-O? Blue Mountain? The CMA?” Her voice quivered as my true deception sank in. “You slept with me so you could get to my computer.”

The pain in her words diluted my own. She may have done something terrible, but mine was a personal betrayal in her eyes. How could I tell her I’d slept with her not just for the files but for so much more?

I responded in a rushed whisper. “I don’t work for any of them. I was involved with a plan to extort Exeter over the K-73. My job was to copy the files. I’d collect my share after the deal went down. I wasn’t supposed to—” The words lodged in my throat like a spiny rock.

“Wasn’t supposed to what, Liv? Ruin my life?”

There it was, the look I’d so feared. The hate-filled sneer was like an iron claw ripping open my chest. I winced but forced myself to keep my eyes on her. Seeing what I’d done to her was the punishment I deserved. My legs wobbled, and if she hadn’t been holding my arm I’d have collapsed onto the floor.

“I need to know the truth, Zia.”

Someone stepped up behind her. “Miss Talbot? Your flight is ready to board.”

She turned to talk to the man but didn’t release my arm. “I have an emergency to take care of here. Book me on a later shuttle.”

The reprieve from her burning gaze gave me a chance to rally. I lifted my chin and stood straighter, my legs not as watery.

When she finished rescheduling her flight she resumed her glare, but something made her waver. Tears shimmered in her eyes. She jerked me forward, and we began a stiff-legged walk to the security gate.

“How could you do this to me?” she whispered.

She wasn’t talking about industrial blackmail. She was talking about us. What resolve I’d mustered almost evaporated, and I bit the inside of my lip. “Did you know the death rates were more than the twenty percent reported to you?”

Zia’s jaw muscles bunched. “I knew six months ago.”

My heart twisted. She knew. Damn it. She knew.

“I told Clemens we’d have to scrap the project if we couldn’t fix the filters. The numbers were dropping. Not as quickly as I wanted to see, but coming down.”

“They weren’t,” I said. “James recorded a comm call between Pritchard and Clemens. I’ve got a copy with me and buried the original file on my office unit.” I swallowed, licked my lips. “All your volunteers may not have been legitimate. I don’t know where Pritchard got them, but they’re still dying in greater numbers than you’ve been told.”

Her fingers dug into my arm. “No. You’re wrong. Or lying.”

“Why would I lie? What would I gain?”

Zia shook her head. “They told me…”

Her voice trailed off, and she looked at me with such desperation it almost hurt. I’d been with her long enough to read her expressions, to judge when she was sincere and when she wasn’t. She may have guessed about the disparity between the reports she’d received, but she didn’t know everything that was happening in the mines. She didn’t know Pritchard and Clemens were using unwitting volunteers.

At least she hadn’t been part of that aspect of the cover-up. Relief washed through me, and the knot in my chest loosened a little.

Zia winced as if punched in the gut. “Those sons of bitches.”

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

She gave a scornful snort. “What wasn’t? Your stealing files, or my colleagues fucking me over?”

I was just another person who’d betrayed her as far as she was concerned. Which was true, but I had to tell her I was different from Pritchard and Clemens in one significant way. The words tearing at my throat and heart, I said, “I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you.”

Zia pulled me to a dead stop, her eyes wide as scorn became surprise. She released my arm and searched my face for deception. But she found none. For the first time in as long as I could remember I let my true feelings show. It felt wonderful, and terrifying, given our circumstances.

“I have to go to the CMA,” I said when she didn’t respond. Not that I expected her to. What could she say? That we’d just forget my betrayal, forget the cover-up and live happily ever after? “They cornered me, and I have no choice. But I want you to come with me and make a deal with them.”

That snapped her out of her daze. “Come with you?”

“If you turn in the files, work with them, the CMA might go easy on you.” I licked my parched lips. “Please.”

“You don’t understand, Liv. I’m in too deep.” Her green eyes were hard, angry. Not at me in particular this time. “I can’t claim ignorance. I knew about the death rates months ago. Even with the information you have it would be Clemens’s and Pritchard’s words against mine that I wasn’t complicit in the entire cover-up. There are going to be serious repercussions.”

I took her hands in mine, surprised she’d let me, and traced her knuckles with my thumbs. “I know,” I said quietly. “You’re involved up to your neck. I’m no angel either.” I gave her a crooked smile, my heart fluttering when she returned it. But the gravity of our situation wiped them from our faces. “We can fix this. Make up for what’s been done. We’ll talk to the CMA, give them anything they want. We’ll get new identities then…” I dropped my gaze to our hands, feeling like a lovesick heroine on a drama vid.

“Then what?” she asked. “Run away together? Start a new life on some other world?”

There was no derision in her tone, no ridicule as she voiced the very words I’d been thinking but was afraid to speak. She squeezed my fingers, prompting me to look up at her.

Her face had become a mask, giving me no indication whether she felt the same or wanted to see me dead. I had to convince her I was sincere, that this was our only option.

“Yes.” I stared into her eyes so she could see the truth. I lifted her hands and pressed my lips against her cool fingers. “I want to be with you, and this will be the only way that can happen. I can’t have you sent to the correctional mines, and that’s where you’ll go if you don’t talk to the CMA. Please, Zia. I love you.”

Saying it twice in the span of a few minutes made it all the more real, and I couldn’t help giving her a shaky smile. There was a very good chance she hated me, and my admission was the ultimate in unrequited love. But I had to tell her, and it felt good despite the mess we were in. The only question was, did she feel the same?

“Liv—”

“Miss Talbot?”

We both snapped our heads toward the low voice.

“Connor,” she said with a frown, “what are you doing here?”

Zia’s driver stepped closer and grasped her bicep. His other hand was partially hidden inside his jacket, angled toward her waist. “You need to come with me.” Then he gave me as hard a look as I’d ever seen on his bland face. “Both of you. And don’t do anything stupid.”

I reached for my satchel and the pulser inside but stopped, my hand clutching the strap instead. Taking it out now would be doing the “something stupid” he’d advised against.

Zia glared at Connor’s hand on her arm, her body tensing. “What the hell are you—”

I squeezed her fingers. When she looked at me I gave a nod downward. Her gaze fell on the pulser pointed at her side then shot up to the driver’s face. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Please come with me.” Keeping the weapon under his jacket still aimed at Zia, he guided us toward the main terminal. I held her other hand as we kept pace with Connor’s longer stride. Walking abreast, we cut a wide swath through the crowd.

“The SI in your flat was compromised, Miss Talbot.” He spoke with no more inflection than the security unit I’d breached.

Zia’s jaw tightened as she flicked a glance at me. “Exeter techs shadowed my unit the day it was installed. I thought I’d disengaged all their little tricks.”

My accessing the SI had alerted someone. Damn the void.

Connor’s grin held no humor. “Not all of them,” he said as the steel security door opened. No alarms had gone off. Either he was permitted to carry a weapon through security, or his pulser was coated too.

“So Clemens sicced his dog on me when something tripped,” Zia practically growled.

When I’d first met Connor I’d assumed he was Zia’s bodyguard, but I was wrong. He was a watchdog. Clemens had been afraid she’d flip on them sooner or later.

“Just doing my job,” he said.

“So was I,” she said. The low pitch of her voice didn’t mask the heat in her words. “I’ve gone along with them since the beginning. I’m involved more than just about anyone. Why do they think I’d turn them over to the CMA now?”

Connor’s plain features showed no reaction as he blinked at her and then fixed his eyes on me. “You weren’t in your flat when the files were accessed, Miss Talbot, but it’s obvious you’re…working together.”

“That’s not true,” I argued. Maybe I could get him to let Zia go. “She had no idea what I was doing there.”

He shrugged. “Either way, Miss Talbot’s misjudgment is a liability. And you, Miss Baines, are expendable.”

Expendable? Ouch. And to Exeter, Zia was guilty by association. The odds were good it wasn’t our jobs we were about to lose. I swallowed hard.

Zia’s hand tightened on mine. Connor returned his attention to navigating the crowd, no more perturbed than if he’d mentioned it was raining.

I didn’t know where he was taking us, but he had to get us out of the crowded Station, take us someplace isolated. Too many people around to make a scene, let alone shoot us outright. As if on cue he veered toward a sign indicating the direction to lower level parking. A classic, almost clichéd location for nefarious deeds.

I should have been scared, and I was to a degree, but this whole “I’m just doing my job” garbage made me skitzie. Didn’t anyone put any creativity, any feeling, any passion, into their work these days?

Does sleeping with your boss count?

I almost laughed in a hysterical sort of way before shutting the door on that errant thought.

Fed up with being dictated to first by Willem and Sterling, and now by this goon, I eased my hand into my satchel. Connor admitted I had nothing to lose. My only concern was keeping Zia safe. Going with him was anything but, so we had to change that. If we escaped Connor and headed for the CMA, at least our chance of survival would be better than zero. Maybe not by much, but better.

Fewer and fewer people populated the corridor as we headed to the parking level access elevators. I had to do this now.

I leaned toward Zia, squeezed her hand and whispered, “I love you. Remember that.”

She turned her head, astonishment clear on her face that I’d pick now to say such a thing, but I had my reasons. When I had her attention I jerked her behind me and stepped between her and Connor. At the same time, I yanked my pulser from my satchel and stuck it into the driver’s gut. With his hand still clutching Zia’s arm, it appeared we were sharing a bizarre three-way hug in the middle of the hallway. I’d accomplished my first goal: His weapon wasn’t pointed at her any longer.

It was pointed at me.

My heart thumped painfully. This wasn’t the first time I’d been on the wrong end of a gun, but it wasn’t an event any sane person cared to repeat too often.

Connor lowered his gaze to the pulsers concealed by our clothes and bodies. An amused grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “You’re not going to shoot me, Miss Baines.” His flat brown eyes met mine. “I doubt you’ve ever shot anyone in your life.”

I hadn’t, at least not fatally, but to keep Zia safe there was no question or doubt in my mind I would.

So what stopped me from sending a few thousand volts into him? Immediate death. At this range we were guaranteed fatal shots, but being dead wasn’t my idea of a good plan.

Connor must have seen my hesitation because his grin widened. I wanted to punch the smirk off his face.

“You’re right.” Behind my back I released Zia’s hand. I swung my fist up against Connor’s wrist, loosening his grasp on Zia. She lurched sideways, breaking his hold. I followed her as I pocketed my pulser. “Gun! Gun! He has a gun! Help us!”

The few people in the corridor turned toward us, their eyes locking on Connor standing there with his weapon out, exposed like a perv at a park. For a paralyzed moment the driver’s eyes bulged at my antics. Someone screamed, and others called for security.

Then Connor raised the gun.

I shoved Zia forward, intent on staying between her and the driver. Pivoting, I pushed off that foot and the eight-centi heel snapped. I stumbled.

Ftt-ftt, ftt-ftt-ftt. The bite of ozone from the discharged pulser cut through the air.

Pain knifed into my left side, momentarily numbing my body before returning with a blazing vengeance. I cried out as I crashed into Zia. We hit the grey-speckled carpet hard. Damn, my side hurt. I’d never been shot with pulser fire before. The shock of the burn made my eyes water and my stomach heave. But we had no time to nurse wounds.

“Come on.” On my knees with adrenaline rushing through my veins, I curled my fists in her coat, ready to drag her to her feet as I glanced back to see how close to death we were.

Some stalwart citizen had taken Connor down. The driver lay on the floor, arms behind his back. He lifted his head, glaring at me while a blue-and-gold-clad Station security guard ran over to them, shouting into his comm.

I relaxed my grip on Zia’s coat and sent a silent prayer to the god of fools and felons. Holding my hand to my burning side, I turned back to her. “Come on, we have to go.”

Beneath a loose tendril of hair her eyes were closed. Her gold chain had slipped from beneath the neckline of her dress; the threaded ring rested on her breast like a target. She didn’t move, didn’t seem to be breathing.

“Zia?” I brushed the hair aside and touched her cheek with my fingertips. My hands shook as I felt for a pulse at her throat. No no no no no.

“Medic! We need a medic here!” someone yelled. It might have been me.

I opened Zia’s coat, and the stench of burnt wool and flesh overpowered her jasmine scent. The smell seared my nostrils, burned into my brain, brought acid into my throat. The right side of her coat and sensible plum-colored dress were scorched from hip to just under her arm. Ragged shreds of the charred material revealed blackened and angry red flesh.

I lifted my head and glared at the nearest person. “I need a fucking medic!” I cupped Zia’s cheek in my hand and leaned down to press my lips against her ear. With each breath, my chest tightened. “Don’t die, please don’t die,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Someone grasped my upper arm and tried to pull me up. “Come on.”

I jerked out of his hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“Liv.”

Tonio.

My head snapped toward him. His dusky face was pale, lined with concern. “Come on. We have to go.” His eyes darted to Zia, to her wound—he winced—then back to me. “They’ll help her. We have to go.”

He reached out again and I twisted away from his grasp. “I won’t leave her.”

“Out of the way,” someone called. “Coming through. Medics coming through.”

Two people in red coveralls pushed past the few spectators and knelt down by Zia.

“Please step aside, ma’am,” one said as he flipped open his pack and began extracting equipment.

I gave him room but didn’t rise. Tears blurred my vision. Don’t die don’t die don’t die.

“Liv,” Tonio said gently, his hand on my arm, “let them do their job so they can save her.”

“Christ,” one of the medics muttered, “this is a bad one.”

If they can save her, that bastard of a voice in my head whispered.

“I can’t leave her.” I tried to jerk out of Tonio’s grip but he held fast. I glared at him as he crouched beside me. “Let me go.”

Tonio put his mouth near my ear. His voice was low so only I’d hear him, but the words hit my brain like a shout. “Willem has Sabine. He’s going to kill her if we don’t get him the files right now.”

My heart stumbled. Our eyes met. Tonio wasn’t just saying that to get me away from Zia. He wouldn’t have been so heartless. I believed him. Believed Willem would kill my mother for the information I had.

“Here.” I fumbled in my satchel, searching blindly for the data stick. “Bring it to him.”

Tonio shook his head. “He wants both of us. Now.” He started to rise, taking me with him.

“No.” I resisted, my eyes on Zia. I couldn’t leave her like this, abandon her when she needed me here. I’d betrayed her once. I couldn’t do it again.

He leaned down and whispered fiercely, “You can’t help her now. If you stay, if security grabs you to make a statement, Sabine will die.”

My teeth ground together. Fury burned in my throat and throbbed in my head. I opened my mouth to lay into him but stopped as a small glint of logic cut through my brain.

He was right. I had to let them do their job. There was nothing I could do for Zia now—I’d done too much to her already. Her life was in the hands of others. Now I had to do what I could to save my mother.

I brushed a lock of hair off her forehead and touched my lips to her ashen skin. My tears fell in her hair, my heart breaking. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Keeping my gaze on Zia’s face for as long as I could, I let Tonio ease me to my feet. One of the medics gave a small nod, appreciating the extra room to work as their hands flew over her body and they exchanged information with the hospital on the other end of their comm link.

Tonio wrapped an arm around my waist, his fingers brushing my aching side. We melted into the crowding spectators to avoid security. I grimaced, but the pain there was nothing compared to how the rest of me felt. Each hobbled step was more agonizing than the last. We stopped long enough for Tonio to lift my foot. He snapped off the other heel and pocketed it.

We separated ourselves from the onlookers and walked casually down the corridor in the same direction Connor had been forcing Zia and me.

The two-toned siren of the ambu-car grew louder as it arrived from the main terminal. Pain knotted in my chest and a sob escaped my throat as I pivoted, needing to go back, but Tonio drew me closer.

“You can’t, Liv. You can’t.”

That brutal truth forced another sob, and I turned away from her.

Chapter Nineteen

Tonio shoved open the door accessing the stairs to the parking level. Grasping my hand as if he expected me to bolt, he led me into the depths of the Station. Our footfalls echoed off the cold, grey concrete walls and steps. Two flights down another door led to the dank underground lot. Banks of lights illuminated most of the area, except for pockets of deep shadows that anchored long rows of cars.

Connor could have easily found a blind spot in the security cameras and killed Zia and me among those shadows. The thought of Zia possibly dying or already dead twisted my gut and made me stumble.

Tonio grabbed my arm to keep me upright. “You okay?”

A sob building in my chest threatened to blow open my tenuous defenses. I could only nod a lie, not trusting my voice. I wasn’t okay. How could I be? If I let myself think about Zia, I’d be paralyzed with fear and worry. Tonio needed me functioning. Sabine needed me functioning. I couldn’t let them down, not like I’d let Zia down.

I forced the events in the Station into their own compartment, locking them up until I had the time and courage to face them. Put it away, Liv. If ever you had the need to just make the job the job, now is it.

Taking several deep breaths, I wrestled the mental door closed. This was why felon’s Rule Number One existed. Attachment to the people you were deceiving made it hurt like hell when things went belly-up. And this job couldn’t have gone worse.

Tonio turned his head this way and that, searching among the cars. Shuffling along beside him in uneven heels made my side hurt, but it was little more than a surface burn. I’d live. In the middle of a row we stopped at an older model ground car. Tonio released my hand. I slumped against the rear fender, my head and side throbbing.

He withdrew a thin, metallic card from his jacket pocket. “Give me a minute.”

I caught a glimpse of a screen before he held it beside the door lock mechanism. Watching him work gave me something to focus on.

“What is that?” My voice sounded oddly distant, like it was coming from the other end of the garage.

He concentrated on the card as he tapped the screen. “A piece of nostalgia from my wild and woolly youth.”

Back in the day, well before I met him, Tonio and his crew cobbled together devices and jacked cars for fun or profit or as getaway vehicles for petty jobs. Newer models had better security systems, making the homegrown electronic jackers obsolete. Apparently there were enough old clunkers on Nevarro to justify hanging onto the gadgets.

“What if you hadn’t found the right kind of car?” I asked.

He glanced down at my feet. “Running was out of the question, so we’d have resorted to Plan B.” His eyes met mine and he gave me a wry smile. “Or maybe Plan C.”

I managed a halfhearted smile of my own. Even when I screwed things up, Tonio had a Plan B and C.

A series of soft clicks sounded within the door. He opened it, the hinges protesting loudly. “Get in.”

I climbed across the driver’s seat to the passenger’s side. Cold synthetic leather crackled beneath my weight. Shivering, I hugged my knees to my chest.

Tonio sat, yanked on the door twice before getting it to shut then held the jacker to the steering column. “Two more minutes, and we’ll be gone.”

“Where does Willem want to meet?” That’s it, stay on the job. It’s the only way you’ll make it through this.

Tonio flicked a glance at me and back to the device. The movement was too quick for me to read his eyes, but the strain lines around his mouth made me think he was wondering if I was about to fall apart on him. “The roof of our apartment building.” He tapped the metallic card.

“How did he know I had the files?”

Tonio didn’t answer for several seconds. “I told him.”

I nodded, staring out the window. Of course he would have told Willem. What else could he have done?

The car engine sputtered, coughed then settled into a loud hum interrupted by an occasional mewling. Tonio pocketed the jacker and worked the controls to start out of the lot. The sounds of early morning traffic blurred into a cacophony of meaningless noise.

“Willem called right after I talked to you. He got tired of waiting and knew you’d gone back out last night.” Tonio glanced down at my attire. “Dressed the way you are, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you were up to.”

I didn’t want to think about that either. The betrayal on Zia’s face when she figured out why I’d slept with her would haunt me forever.

“He wanted to know where you were,” he continued, “why it was taking you so long. I tried to stall, told him you were on your way, but he wasn’t biting.” Tonio ran a hand over his morning stubble. “He was at Sabine’s hotel room.”

My stomach churned. It was my own fault for asking her to help. I squeezed my eyes shut and hugged my legs tighter. “Is she all right?”

“She’s okay. A little shaken. Liv, look at me.”

I drew in a slow breath and blew it out before opening my eyes.

“He was going to hurt her. I had no choice but to tell him you had the files. You know that, right?”

“I know,” I said, my voice rough and quiet. “And I had no choice but to do what I did.”

Frown lines creased his brow as he alternated glancing at me and watching the traffic ahead. “Telling Talbot?”

I nodded then swallowed hard. “And Sterling.”

His face smoothed to almost slack-jawed astonishment. Hitting him in the head with a steel beam would have produced a similar expression. He stared out the windscreen, but I doubted he saw more than necessary to keep from wrapping us around another vehicle. “Sterling?”

I relayed my meeting with the CMA agent, telling Tonio everything from Sterling having our picture, to his knowing about the Milchner job, to his threat to have us sent to a correctional mine for past activities. I tried to explain why turning the files over to Sterling would save us. Eventually. Tonio listened without uttering a single word, not even a grunt or groan at my lack of fortitude.

“He’s after Exeter and the Greys,” I said, winding up my excuses. “Chances of our getting away with blackmailing Exeter were dwindling to near zero while the chances of our heading to a correctional mine were growing.”

The unraveling of Willem’s scheme wasn’t entirely my fault. Somehow Sterling had made the Exeter-Grey-Milchner job connection before I was asked to join. Except for Sterling pegging me as the weak link, and my falling in love with the mark, I’d succeeded in doing the job I’d been hired to do. Yay, me.

Neither of us spoke as Tonio maneuvered through morning traffic. The bunching of his jaw muscles was the only indication that he was upset at all.

“Tonio?”

“You should have told me sooner.” There was no inflection in his voice, no blowup of anger. In a way, his lack of emotion was scarier than if he had yelled.

What would have gone differently if he had known about Sterling? Would he have told Willem? Probably, but I doubt Willem would have pulled the plug. There was too much money at stake. I had a job to do as far as Willem was concerned. Though after getting the files, he would’ve killed me. Would they have kept me from finding Zia at the Station? They would have tried, and I’d have hated them for it or done it anyway. Probably both.

“It just happened yesterday. Besides,” I said, “would it have mattered?”

He didn’t respond for a minute, but we both knew the answer.

“You have the files both Willem and Sterling want, but we’re giving them to Willem.” He shot a glare my way. “So in the end we’ll be nailed by Sterling anyway.”

I slipped my hand into my coat pocket. Under the heavy bulk of my pulser I felt for the plastic card Sterling had given me yesterday. I withdrew the blue rectangle and held it out for Tonio to see. “Not necessarily.”

“You’re sure we can trust Sterling?” Tonio asked not for the first time in the last seven minutes.

We’d abandoned the stolen ground car in an alley a block from our building, making our way through morning commuters to the entrance. Cold wind gusted between the megascrapers. On the horizon, thick, leaden storm clouds rolled in. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me.

“We don’t have much of a choice at this point.” I tugged my coat tighter around my body, tucked my chin into the collar and tried not to wince. The brisk walk stretched the skin at my side, making it ache. In the car, a quick inspection of the proximity burn had shown scorch marks on the cloth and second-degree burns. Zia had taken the brunt of Connor’s shot.

I shook off the mental images of her ravaged body, returning them to their cell before they could overwhelm me. No time for that, not yet.

I shoved my hands into my pockets; the right bumped the pulser. I wrapped my cold fingers around it, tracing its simple lines. “I trust Sterling more than I trust Willem.”

Tonio grunted in what I assumed to be agreement as he held open the door to the building. Several people passed us on their way out. As Tonio and I entered the elevator car, a man with reddened cheeks jogged into the lobby.

“Hold the elevator,” he called from across the room.

Tonio pressed the close door button. I’d have laughed at the shocked indignation on the man’s face any other day.

“Roof access,” Tonio said. “Code AK99574.”

“Roof access code accepted,” a mechanical voice replied. “Thank you, Mr. Murphy.”

I cocked an eyebrow at Tonio. “Who’s Murphy?”

“Building maintenance.” He watched the floor number display over the door. “I copped the code for Willem when we first got here. You know, just in case.”

Today was definitely a “just in case” kind of day.

When the numbers reached the low twenties, about a dozen floors from the roof, Tonio withdrew a black pulser from under his shirt at the waist of his trousers. He thumbed aside the guard over the power button, charged the weapon then returned it to the small of his back and covered it with his jacket.

I checked the satchel for Mom’s data stick, reassuring myself that it hadn’t been lost. It sat at the bottom of the bag, next to my comm. My comm with the file that could help Zia. Leaving the stick in the bag, I tucked the comm into my left coat pocket.

In my right-hand coat pocket I found the guard protecting the power button on my pulser and slid it over. When I pressed the button, the gun warmed.

Tonio turned to me. He brushed the backs of his fingers across my cheek and stared into my eyes. “I won’t let him hurt you or your mother, Liv. I swear.”

The ache of remorse for getting us into this, for losing what we had together, rose up through my gut and into my chest. “I’m sorry,” I said in a husky whisper, “I never wanted—”

“This isn’t how we saw our lives turning out. We’ll get through it.” He cupped my cheeks between his palms then pressed his lips to mine. “I do love you, you know.”

My heart spasmed. I couldn’t return that love, not in the way he wanted. “Tonio.”

“And you love Zia Talbot.” He drew away from me, a crooked grin quirking his mouth. “I blew it with you.”

“We blew it together.”

Tonio lowered his hands and nodded. “I hope you have better luck with Talbot.”

I swallowed hard and tried not to think about how I’d last seen her. Would I ever see her again?

The elevator shuddered to a stop and said, “Roof access.”

I wiped damp hands on the sides of my coat.

“Your friend better arrive soon,” Tonio said.

It had been a good ten minutes since I’d called Sterling, plenty of time for him to get here. I hoped.

The elevator doors opened.

Ten meters in front of us stood Willem, Sabine, Chaz and Natalia. Willem’s hands were tucked into the pockets of his black coat. Mom’s red wrap was incongruously cheery for the situation, though the strain lines on her face made her look her age. Chaz, also in black, held her arm and pointed a pulser at her chest. Natalia stood beside Chaz. Her short, bright pink jacket made my teeth hurt.

I met Natalia’s eyes and searched for that spark of awareness, a sign of the mutual loathing for Willem we seemed to share last night. It wasn’t there. Her eyes were as vacuous as ever. Had last night been a lie? A test of my loyalty? A test I’d failed?

“Glad you could make it,” Willem said, drawing my attention to him. “Step out of the car.”

Grit crunched under foot as Tonio and I exited the elevator and took an automatic step away from each other. Rule of thumb: Spread out the target area. Five meters to my left was a green maintenance shed. In front of the shed, a waist-high venting tube.

A blast of icy wind made my eyes tear. My hand itched to dive into my pocket for my pulser but I resisted. Chaz could, and probably would, shoot Sabine with little provocation. Any wound from a pulser was potentially fatal, but a chest or head shot virtually guaranteed death via disruption of the heart’s or brain’s electrical impulses. Fast and clean, but dead as dead could be.

Other than her lack of makeup and unkempt hair, Mom appeared all right. When I tried to speak to her I realized my jaws were clamped too tight to form words. I made the effort to relax then licked my lips.

“You okay, Mom?” My voice was more controlled than I’d expected, given how angry I was at the Greys and how scared I was for her.

Where the hell was Sterling?

Mom forced a smile and shrugged. “Could be better.”

Willem laid a hand on her shoulder, a gesture that would have been companionable if you discounted the ice in his gaze. “She’s fine, Liv. No harm.” The implied “yet” tightened my stomach. “You have the files?”

“It’s here, everything about the K-73s. I made sure they were more than useless numbers.” Slowly I reached into my satchel.

“Hand out of the bag,” he ordered. I withdrew my empty hand. Willem smiled, all teeth and no amusement. “So now you know what Exeter’s doing with the miners and the artificial lungs.”

“Artificial lungs?” Another gust rocked me on my heels. It almost blew me over after hearing that.

“That’s what the K-73s are?” Tonio asked.

“Exeter calls them filters,” Willem said, “but they’re modified biomechanical organs. They don’t work like the company wants. Can’t mass-produce them and get it right for everyone.”

K-73AL. Artificial lungs. Reading the reports this morning—an hour earlier? It felt like a lifetime ago—we’d thought they were ineffective atmosphere scrubbers or personal filtration systems. They were PFSs, but more personal than we could imagine.

Artificial organs, like Sterling’s eye, had been around for over two centuries. Some were modified for a recipient’s lifestyle or occupation, but those were very expensive and required extra time to personalize, and still sometimes caused problems for the user. Whatever Exeter was doing, or not doing, with their version of the lung made them deadly to almost half their “volunteers” and the company vulnerable to blackmail.

Oh, Zia, what were you involved in?

“How do you know all this?” The words scraped my throat, raw with grief and dismay.

Willem adjusted the cuffs of his coat. “Chaz’s time inside one of Exeter’s correctional mines five years ago. Inmates transferred without notice, a few due to get released were never heard from again on the outside. When Chaz got out, we talked to a few former prisoners, bribed a few guards.” A predatory smile curved his mouth. “We pieced together a likely scenario but were missing a few vital elements.”

Chaz jerked his head toward Natalia. “Nat honeyed up to Talbot’s assistant, James. He met with an accident before we could get everything we needed.”

Beside him, Natalia’s expression remained unreadable, except for a twitch in her left eye. Maybe she felt bad about James. Had she warned him about the Greys before his “accident”? I guessed he wouldn’t be returning to Exeter after all.

Willem cast a scathing glare at Chaz. “You’re lucky we got the Milchner info before you shot him.” His cold blue gaze settled on me again. “We were after files he’d copied, but they were as useless as the stuff you found in Talbot’s office. What we did find was evidence of some side projects he was working on.”

“Side projects?” I asked.

“Mostly dirt on other employees,” Willem said with derision, as if inner-office blackmail was beneath him. Then he grinned. “But helpful, in the end. The HR drone responsible for hiring temps is into some kinky activities.”

So that’s how they’d gotten my resume to the top of the list. James had hidden his own fodder for funding an early retirement plan, but not the key to the Greys’ extortion scheme. That snippet of a conversation he’d stashed in the SI and the files Zia had kept at home were everything James was supposed to give the Greys. And now I had them.

“If the CMA learns about the ALs and the volunteers, Exeter could lose everything,” Willem continued. “Convictions for most of their executives and liquidation of the company versus a mere two-hundred-million-credit payoff? What we’ll demand will seem like a bargain.”

Which explained why Connor was sent to stop Zia when I tripped the alert on her computer. She had threatened to go to the CMA if the death rate numbers didn’t improve. Exeter assumed she’d decided it was taking too long. Another wave of guilt churned my stomach.

“Put the bag down, Liv, and step back.”

Tonio and I exchanged glances. His jaw muscles bunched. “Do it.”

My hand tightened on the satchel’s strap. “But—”

“Do it. It’ll be okay.”

I didn’t have that much faith in Willem’s sense of honor and fairness. Once I gave up the data stick we’d be vulnerable. And dead.

I looked at Willem. “Let Sabine go into the elevator, and I’ll drop the bag.”

“Liv.” Tonio’s warning tone didn’t surprise me, but we both knew how the Greys played.

Willem grinned again. “Don’t you trust me?”

“About as far as I can throw you.” Preferably off the roof, but I didn’t add that last bit. Where the hell was Sterling?

Willem laughed, really laughed. “I like you, Liv. You don’t take shit from anyone.” The amusement fled from his face. “Drop the bag or I’ll kill her. Or maybe I’ll kill you first.” He pursed his lips in a mock pout and patted Mom’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t it be sad for momma to watch her baby girl die at her feet?”

My stomach knotted as Sabine and I locked eyes. She paled, fear flashing across her features. “Do what he says, Olivia.”

Chaz raised his pulser from Sabine’s chest to her temple. There was no expression on his face. Not glee, not anger. Nothing. Where Willem savored the power he held over people, killing my mother would just be another part of the job for Chaz.

I eased the satchel strap off my shoulder and held the bag in my left hand. “What happens after we make the exchange?”

Willem opened his arms, palms up. Mr. Magnanimous. “What do you want, Liv?”

“I want to leave here with my mother and Tonio. Alive.”

“And not take your cut? That’s very kind of you,” he said.

I’d never offered it, but we both knew after today I wouldn’t see a credit. At this moment, that was fine by me. I wanted to forget I’d ever met the Greys.

His gaze shifted to Tonio. “How ‘bout you, Calderon? Who are you standing with?”

“Depends,” Tonio said with a shrug. “Deal fairly with Liv and Sabine, and I’ll know you’re not gonna fuck me over later. I’ll finish the job with you.”

What the hell? Was he doing this to deflect Willem’s anger? I didn’t want Tonio in any more danger.

Tonio and Willem regarded each other for several long moments. Another gust of wind cut across the rooftop.

Finally, Willem nodded. “Let her go, Chaz.”

Chaz lowered his pulser and nudged Sabine forward, his gun trained in our direction.

I walked toward Willem, holding the satchel with my left hand. I held my right near my pocket. When Mom was even with me, I said, “Go to Tonio, Mom. Get in the elevator. I’ll be right there.”

I hoped so anyway.

With a jerky nod and worry in her eyes, she kept moving.

I waited until her feet no longer crunched on the gritty rooftop, telling me she was in the elevator and behind Tonio, before laying down the satchel. I clutched my coat closed with my left hand, slid my right to my pocket. Slowly, I backed away until I was beside Tonio.

Willem grinned. “There, was that so hard?”

As he stepped forward to pick up the bag, his other hand went into his pocket.

And so did mine.

In a blink, the four of us had pulsers aimed at each other. Only Natalia stood there unarmed, her eyes wide and her hands deep in the pockets of her silly, blinding jacket. My insides quivered but my hand was steady as I trained my weapon on Willem.

“Not a very trusting crew, are we?” he said.

“Damn shame,” Chaz added.

“Liv,” Tonio said, “get into the elevator with Sabine.”

“We’ll go together.” I stepped closer to him, careful of my heelless boots on the uneven surface.

“I’ll make sure you’re safe.” Like he always promised.

“Tonio—”

“Go.”

As I opened my mouth to argue, another gust rushed across the rooftop from behind the Greys and Natalia, but it was hot and metallic. A black-and-silver air assault vehicle with the gold CMA insignia on its side rose over the lip of the roof in the wake of the wind, its anti-grav lifters whining.

“CMA. All of you, drop your weapons,” boomed Nathan Sterling’s voice.

Willem barely glanced backward. A snarl contorted his features as he glared at me. “You bitch.”

The hand on his pulser twitched at the same time mine did. Both of us missed as we dodged aside. The heat of his shot whizzed past my ear.

“Come on!” Tonio grabbed my arm and propelled me toward the maintenance shed, drawing fire away from the elevator and my mother.

Willem’s gun spit deadly energy pulses as he ran behind the vent tube.

Half-turned toward Willem as we ran, I held my trigger down and kept firing. My aim wavered—I wasn’t the best shot in the ‘Verse—sending pulses arcing past Willem, into the vent tube and roof. He dove for the ground while firing, missing, as well. He wasn’t much better than I was. Eventually one of us would get lucky. Or unlucky.

Tonio cursed and shoved me behind the shed. I stumbled, fell, scraped my knees and palm. Without stopping, I got back to my feet and took cover on the other side of the shed.

Crackling pulser fire filled the air. Beneath it, my heartbeat pounded in my ears and my breath rasped in my throat. The stench of burnt ozone invaded my nostrils.

From the corner of my eye I saw the pink blur that was Natalia drag Chaz’s limp body behind the far side of the elevator housing. Had he been hit? The large black-and-silver assault vehicle had set down beyond them. Where the hell was Sterling now?

A pulser shot cracked the corner of the shed, right near my head. I peeked out, holding my fire for a second. The vent tube Willem used for cover didn’t afford him the best shot, but I could see one ice-blue eye boring into me.

Willem leaned to his right, his weapon aimed at me. But I was quicker. I squeezed the trigger and didn’t let up. The tube sang as my shots vibrated the metal housing. From the other side of the shed, Tonio’s pulser fired. Willem shot at him.

I don’t know if it was my shot or Tonio’s that caught Willem. He staggered out, the front of his wool suit erupting with smoke. As he fell to his knees he fired in a sweeping arc, kicking up dirt and concrete at my feet, raking pulses across the shed before he toppled to the ground, his gun silent.

My ears rang and my mouth was dry as I breathed hard. I relaxed my grip on the trigger and the snap-crackle-pop sound stopped, but I kept the pulser trained on Willem.

“Olivia, oh my God, Olivia.” Mom came running out of elevator toward me. “Are you hurt, baby?”

“No,” I said, figuring she didn’t mean the scrapes on my hand and knees that oozed blood and began to sting. “Tonio?”

No answer.

I started toward the other side of the shed, where I’d left him. A figure came around the corner, but it wasn’t Tonio.

Sterling held his arms up to keep me from going past him. “Olivia…” The grim expression on his face said it all.

Nausea and dizziness hit like a fist. “No.”

I dodged his halfhearted effort to stop me. Around the corner, the cold wind ruffling his dark hair, lay Tonio. I stumbled to a stop and blinked away tears.

His eyes were closed, his face smudged with dirt except where a livid burn marred the skin from above his right eye to his jaw. Blood dribbled from his ears and nose.

“Oh, honey.” Behind me, Mom’s voice was pained. “Oh, no.”

My chest felt like it was being compressed in a vise, and I began to shake. This wasn’t right. He’d open his eyes any second, brush himself off, and we’d applaud our luck once again.

Except Tonio didn’t move.

No, no, not again. I couldn’t lose him and Zia in the same morning.

“Nooooo.” My throat vibrated and a keening animal howl came out, but it sounded far away.

Arms wrapped around me. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”

“No. We need a medic.” I shook her off and knelt beside him. The stench of cooked flesh surrounded him, forcing me to breathe through my mouth. I felt for a pulse but found nothing and started pounding on Tonio’s chest. That’s what you did to restart a heart, right? “Call a medic.” I glared up at Sterling as he approached, not caring if he saw the desperation in my face. “Call them!”

His blue eyes held mine. “I’m sorry, Olivia. It won’t matter. He’s gone.”

I stopped hitting Tonio. Anger knotted in my gut, and I jumped to my feet. “This is your fault,” I shouted at Sterling and shoved him back a step. “You took too damn long. Get the fucking medics here now!”

We both knew it was pointless. It wasn’t Tonio’s heart that needed repair, and no one had figured out how to make a reliable artificial brain yet.

Sterling became blurry as tears filled my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them away with my open palm, the salt burning into the gritty scrapes. Sobs stopped and started in my chest, and when it hurt too much to keep them in I had no choice but to let them out.

The CMA agent turned away and spoke into his comm.

I sank to my knees again, my entire body shaking and hurting as I said goodbye to someone I loved for the second time that morning.

Chapter Twenty

Numb and drained, I barely felt Mom’s arms around me. Barely heard her words of consolation and sorrow over the roar in my head.

Gone. Zia and Tonio were both gone because of things I’d done. Did I think I could get away with breaking all those rules? Who the hell was I that they didn’t apply? And now look what had happened.

Someone in the black-silver-and-gold uniform of the CMA draped a blanket over Tonio. I started to move it aside, thinking he needed to breathe, but stopped midway, my hand trembling. No, he didn’t. Not anymore.

I squeezed my fist closed, fingernails slicing into the scrapes on my palm, as the icy wind froze tears to my cheeks. Mom guided me to my feet, urged me to walk. My legs felt rubbery and leaden at the same time.

Another CMA agent, wearing a pilot’s jumpsuit and headgear, came around the other side and held my arm. She escorted us away from Tonio, toward the vehicle waiting across the roof. I shuffled up the short ramp into the belly of the assault vehicle. The pilot set me on a bench seat along the hull and moved forward into the cockpit. Mom buckled me in, adjusting straps like she did when I was a kid. I stared at the smooth grey hull. Static-filled comm traffic spat from an overhead speaker, more noise joining the pounding in my head.

Natalia sat on the bench across from us and strapped in. She nodded to my mother and caught my eye. “I’m sorry, Liv,” she said over the hum of the idling lifters. Her demeanor held the intelligence and acuity I’d seen yesterday. “He was a good guy.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Who the hell are you?”

“I work undercover for the CMA. We’ve been after Exeter for years. When the Greys’ old partner spilled about the blackmail plan, we jumped at the chance to nail both of them. That’s when I came in.” Natalia jerked her head toward the back of the vehicle. “Sterling’s the AIC, the Agent in Charge.”

Sterling entered with Chaz. The younger Grey brother, hands secured behind his back, stumbled, a dazed expression on his face. The CMA agent kept him upright then shoved him onto the bench beside Natalia.

Chaz blinked at her. “Bitch,” he slurred.

Natalia’s nose wrinkled with repulsion. “After the things I had to do with you, be grateful the boss made me use a stunner. I’d have preferred to fry your ass.”

An involuntary shudder ran up my spine. Whatever she’d done to secure a relationship with Chaz Grey, it had to have been well beyond the call of duty. And I thought my part of the job had been difficult.

Two other agents boarded, one turning to punch a button. The access door rose with a mechanical whine and clanged shut. They sat down and strapped in.

Sterling glanced over at Natalia as he buckled the head-lolling Chaz onto the bench. “I just wish we could have taken Willem alive.” He flicked his gaze toward me and added, “And not lose Calderon.”

My jaws clenched against a wail. Yeah, me too.

“Where is he?” Mom asked Sterling.

“There’s an agent waiting with him and Grey. Coroner’s car will come for them.” He finished with Chaz then buckled himself in. “You can make arrangements after the debriefing.”

The anti-grav lifters engaged. With a gentle wobble we rose from the roof. The small portholes only showed the dark clouds in the distance.

I licked my dry lips. “Then what?”

Sterling leaned back against the hull, arms crossed. “I need your testimony against the Greys and Exeter. Willem’s dead, but baby brother will still have contacts, so you’ll be kept safe.” He focused on Mom. “You’ll be asked some questions as well, Mrs. Montgomery.” He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the data stick Mom had given me. “Like where this came from.”

Mom stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but when we get to your headquarters I want to contact my husband and our solicitor.”

Even feeling like hell, I couldn’t help but grin as Sterling’s jaws tightened and his lips pressed together. Dealing with Sabine Montgomery? Welcome to my world.

Mom put her arm around me. I laid my head on her shoulder. It felt safe and comforting to be with her despite the uncertainty ahead.

“You’re back with Monty?” I asked quietly.

She sighed, but I heard happy resignation behind it. “I never left him, sweetie. Not really.” She kissed my hair. “You can stay with us when all this gets sorted out.”

I didn’t feel that comfortable. I raised my head and our eyes met. “I don’t know, Mom.”

She smiled. “Just for a little while. I think a family reunion is in order. Maybe we’ll look for your grandmother.”

Mom eased my head back to her shoulder, and I closed my eyes until we reached the CMA headquarters.

Sterling and the CMA treated us well when we arrived at HQ. Our various abrasions tended, we were offered showers and a change of clothes, and asked if we wanted anything to eat or drink while waiting for the debriefings to begin. I wasn’t hungry but I took them up on the shower and clothing.

Mom hadn’t provided more than her name and stuck to me except for the time I was in the shower. I was grateful for her support but glad when she finally decided I didn’t need minute-to-minute guarding. Her transformation from absent parent to overprotective mother was a little unnerving. She followed Natalia to another office while I was shown to a windowless interview room.

Weary, I sat in one of the two hard chairs and laid my head on my crossed arms on the table. My oversized shirt with the CMA logo on the left breast and soft, tie-at-the-waist trousers were boring but comfortable. Plain black shoes finished the ensemble.

The silver dress, now-heelless black boots and my coat were in a bag on the floor by my feet. I’d keep the dress, even if it was a bittersweet reminder of the last twenty-six hours.

The door clicked open. I straightened and waited for Sterling to sit in the chair on the opposite side of the table before speaking. “How long is this going to take?”

He set a small black-and-silver cube on the table and slid a glass of water in front of me. “Depends on you, Olivia. Answer all my questions honestly, and you can be out of here in a few hours.”

“And where will I be going after that? A correctional facility?” The thought made me quiver. Sterling had said that wouldn’t happen if I gave him the files, but what if he’d been lying just to get me to cooperate?

His blue eyes bored into me, and I noticed the scar on his forehead was paler than the rest of his skin. It’d been a long morning for him too. “If you lie, yes.”

I swallowed hard and decided now was as good a time as any to ask him for a favor. “Zia Talbot.” Her name burned in my heart and dried my mouth. I picked up the cool glass and took a sip of water. “She was…she was hurt earlier today at the Hub Station.”

Nothing showed on Sterling’s ruddy face. “You want to know if she survived.”

My hands started to shake at the thought she hadn’t survived. I set the glass down and nodded.

He leaned forward and tapped the top of the cube. “Let’s get started here first. Please state your full name and any aliases.”

Bastard. He knew something but wouldn’t tell me until he got his information. An effective tactic. I’d answer his questions for any crumb of news about her. But if he wasn’t going to tell me about Zia, I wasn’t about to hand him everything I knew on a platter. Felon’s Rule Number Five: Insurance. Mine sat safe and sound in my comm and in my head.

The interview took over three hours as Sterling had me repeat the events from my first meeting with the Greys and what I’d agreed to do for them in six different ways. I recognized it as a technique to suss out lies, but when you’re telling the truth it gets tedious. A small part of me ached to toss in some fabrication just to keep things interesting. Besides, it’s much easier to keep your story straight when you stick with the truth. So I did. Mostly.

In regard to my feelings for Zia I told him I’d slept with her, but as far as the official report, it was all for the job. When he asked me about being in her flat last night, Sterling never let on that he suspected there was more. When he questioned why I’d followed Zia to the Hub Station to tell her I had the files, he nodded when I said I’d done so because I’d grown to admire and respect her and left it at that. Nothing in my voice or manner revealed the truth that ate at my guts with every glossed-over word.

After my butt had gone numb for the third time and I sighed for the thousandth, Sterling scooped up his cube recorder. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” On his way out, he held the door to allow my mother and Monty in.

Mom immediately came over and hugged me when I stood. “Are they treating you okay, sweetie?” she asked, brushing an errant strand of hair out of my eyes. She had changed her clothes, fixed her hair and put on some makeup. Monty must have been given detailed instructions about what to bring when she’d called.

I shrugged. “As well as can be expected.” I turned to my stepfather and held out my hand. “I’m Liv.”

We’d seen each other back at my flat in Pembroke, when he’d come wailing for Sabine, but we hadn’t been properly introduced.

Not much taller than I was, Monty Montgomery wore a thick, real-wool sweater, crisp khaki trousers and a genial smile. “I’ve heard good things about you,” he said as we shook hands.

I cocked an eyebrow at Mom. “Really?”

She tsked with indignation. “Of course. You’re my daughter, and I’m proud of you.”

A rush of emotion filled my chest and closed my throat. Reconciling with her had been worth it. Tonio said I’d be glad I did, and he’d been right. Maybe we’d have a normal mother-daughter relationship after all. Well, normal for us, anyway.

Tentatively I stepped forward and hugged her. She stiffened for a millisecond then relaxed in my arms. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

Returning the hug, she stroked my hair. “Love you too, baby.”

We parted and I sat again. She took the chair Sterling had occupied. Monty stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Mom glanced up at him and when their eyes met it was so obvious they loved each other I had to fight a flare of jealousy and look away. I was happy for her, but felt just as miserable for myself.

Mom was right. I was a chip off the old block. We’d both blown Rule Number One, but at least she’d have a chance to see how a normal couple lived.

“Are you sure you don’t want my solicitor, Liv?” Monty asked.

I shook off a threatening swell of despair and smiled at him. “No need, but thanks.”

Sterling returned, leaving Natalia in the open doorway. She’d removed the pink jacket and appeared a bit haggard.

“I’d like to continue the interview with Miss Braxton,” Sterling said. He gave Mom a significant look. “Agent Hallowell is ready to wrap up your interview, Mrs. Montgomery.”

Mom got up; Monty tucked her arm under his.

“We’ll be right outside when Sabine is done,” he said. He ushered Mom into the hall to follow Natalia. Mom waved to me over his shoulder. I felt a little sorry for Natalia.

Sterling shut the door behind them then sat. He removed the cube from his pocket, put it on the table once again and tapped the top. “Ready?”

I scrubbed my hands over my face and raked them through the tangled curls of my hair. “I’ve told you everything half a dozen times. What else do you want from me?”

“What was in the files you took from Talbot’s SI?”

His question startled me. I lowered my hands. “You have the data stick.”

I’d told him how it worked, that I’d copied files on the failed filters. Natalia had heard the part about the K-73s being artificial organs. I figured that’s why Sterling hadn’t asked me for details. Until now.

He reached into his shirt pocket and tossed the black stick onto the table. “One of the shots Grey took fried it.”

The seed of a new tactic began to take root in my brain as I stared at the stick. I looked up at Sterling. “What about Zia’s computers?”

His blue eyes—even the fake one—burned with frustration. “Talbot’s home and office units have been wiped.”

I wasn’t surprised the CMA had descended upon Exeter and Zia’s flat so quickly. And I wasn’t surprised they’d found nothing there. Exeter probably cleared the SI I used at the office, as well. But my gut told me even though I hadn’t discovered hard copies or data sticks, Zia had taken precautions. She was too smart not to. Which was why Connor had been assigned to her.

“According to Agent Hallowell, Talbot’s assistant had provided information to the Greys,” Sterling continued, “but not enough. He withheld something they wanted.”

“Not smart.”

“No,” he agreed. “James got cocky. Demanded a larger cut. Chaz took exception. With his pulser.”

“And Zia fired Natalia before she could get anything.” Which was why I was brought in.

He nodded. “But you can help me, Olivia. What else is there about the filters?”

Sterling knew I had something. James had died for his cockiness. Was Sterling warning me away from the same folly?

Without the files, Exeter might squeak free. That wouldn’t be good. On the other hand, Zia might squeak free if I played this right. My insurance just might pay off. I contained the thrill of having something—anything—to my advantage. “I don’t remember.”

My first outright lie all morning. If you didn’t count lies of omission.

Sterling narrowed his eyes. “Olivia.”

We stared at each other for several moments, his willpower almost palpable as he silently urged me to reconsider my reply. But I was my mother’s daughter. Probably more than I cared to admit. I crossed my arms over my chest and sat back in the seat.

He touched the cube, shutting off the recorder. “Help me get Exeter, and I can give you a whole new life anywhere you want to go.”

He wanted me to turn over evidence against Exeter, which meant evidence against Zia. If there was a chance I could get a new life and keep Zia out of the correctional mines I was going to grab it.

“What about Zia? How is she?”

Sterling didn’t respond, just stared at me with his lips pressed together. Was he trying to figure out a gentle way of telling me she had died? Oh God, please, not that. Sweat broke out on my chest and back.

Something in his eyes changed. A decision was made. “She just got out of surgery. She’ll pull through.”

Relief made me giddy and weak. I dropped my head onto my arms on the table, not caring how Sterling or the CMA interpreted my reaction. Slow tears and quiet sobs soaked into the sleeve of my oversized shirt. She was alive. Even if I never saw her again, at least I’d know she wasn’t dead because of me. It wasn’t the best scenario, but I’d take it and be happy.

“That information goes no further than this room.”

I brought my head up, mindless of the tears on my face. “Why?” I asked, confused.

He didn’t answer, leaving me to figure it out.

I did, soon enough. If Exeter thought Zia was alive and talking, they’d destroy everything on the K-73s. With Zia “dead” the company might let its guard down, thinking their main leak was out of the picture. I wouldn’t if I were them, but the CMA was smart to take advantage of the possibility.

Paranoia led me to another possibility: Maybe he was lying to me about her being alive for the same reason. My hands started to shake. “If you’re lying to me, Sterling—”

“I’m not.”

I had to believe him because contemplating anything else would be torture. I wiped my damp cheeks with the heels of my hands. “When Zia’s up to it, you’re going to ask her about the files no matter what I tell you.”

“You can get me started in the right direction.”

He wanted me to point him toward the real culprits, Pritchard and Clemens. Telling Sterling the Chief Engineer and Chief Operations Officer were involved might clear Zia, but it might not. The CMA wouldn’t care if she got caught up in their net. They’d expect her to plead innocent. I had to make sure they spoke to her before coming down on the others.

I placed my palms together, resting my forefingers against my lips and my thumbs under my chin. Closing my eyes, I separated the emotional need to keep Zia safe from the lying thief I had to be right now. If I were to reveal what was in the files, what I’d heard Pritchard and Clemens discuss myself, and that I’d stashed the comm recording, it would give Zia nothing to bargain with. She would want to make her own choices, not be dictated by someone else’s actions. Even mine. Especially mine. But I had to take the chance. If it looked liked Sterling wasn’t willing to play, I’d spill about the others. She was going to hate me no matter what.

I lowered my hands to my lap and opened my eyes. “I don’t remember.”

Sterling sighed, his eyes hard. “We know Exeter was falsifying information about the K-73s and their modeling figures, but we need more.” He pounded the table with his fist. “Damn it, Olivia, help me so I can help you.”

And I was trying to help Zia.

“There was a lot of technical jargon and numbers.” I shrugged and shook my head, appearing to lament my lack of memory. “Maybe if I knew Zia could cut a deal first, I might remember something about a conversation between two other Exeter employees.”

His brow furrowed. “What conversation? Between who?” When I didn’t respond he leaned toward me, his voice harsh and low, probably to avoid the room’s security recorder. “I can’t guarantee the Commissioner will go along with it, Olivia. The case against Exeter is too big. It’ll take time to coordinate meetings.”

I sat back, my arms crossed over my chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He opened his hands and spread his fingers. The tendons stood out as he flexed them against the table. If he’d had claws there would have been gouges a centi deep. He stood and pocketed the cube. “Okay, let’s go.”

I rose slowly. Had I crossed the line? “Go where?”

“Protective custody.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “For now.”

Chapter Twenty-One

The spiky-haired, white-clad chef on the small screen over the kitchen counter chopped and chattered. “Sauté the onion until it’s transparent and return the chicken to the pan. Add the cumin, salt, pepper and garlic.” He stared at me over the tops of his spectacles. Who wore spectacles, except to achieve a “look”? “Don’t let the garlic burn,” he admonished, pointing a wicked-looking knife in my direction.

“I won’t, I won’t.” I stirred the ingredients. The aroma of the chicken, onion, garlic and spices wafted up on a cloud of steam. My stomach gurgled with anticipation. It smelled like the chicken dish Tonio used to make. I hoped it tasted like it; my previous attempts had ranged from so-so to recycler fodder.

Why hadn’t I learned to cook sooner? It wasn’t that hard. Okay, yes it was. Cooking real food, not using pre-formed protein matter or programming the CompuChef, kept me busy and sane. Mostly.

In the three weeks I’d been a guest of the CMA, I’d had to find something to do to fill the endless time I spent in the tiny flat they’d assigned to me. I spoke to Mom every couple of days over a secured comm link, but that didn’t take hours. And one could only do so many sit-ups and watch so many vids. Abs of steel, brains of mush. The cooking lessons helped with the latter, if not the former.

The nondescript building was under heavy security, both electronic and human, more like a fortress than an apartment complex. Instead of windows, the outside wall—I think it was an outside wall—sported a screen that played a live view of Pandalus or anything else you programmed in. Currently I had it running a peach-and-violet sunset on one of the beaches of Pacifica. A girl can dream.

I’d also had a lot of time to think about what I’d done, and what I hadn’t done, over the past weeks, months and years of my life. The adrenaline-filled jobs made life exciting. Just dangerous enough to keep the blood pumping. No one ever got hurt.

Until now.

Zia.

My chest ached whenever I thought about her, which was often. I woke up at night crying and shaking, images of her burned and bloody body haunting my dreams. I knew she’d survived the shooting, but that’s all I knew. She was alive. That was something.

My gaze flicked to the simple metal box sitting on the floor below the false window, and my throat tightened. Tonio’s ashes. The CMA had tried to locate next of kin, to no avail; I was the closest thing he’d had to family. When I landed on Pacifica I’d scatter his ashes on a beach like the one in my window. Not a bad place to spend eternity.

Thinking about them hurt too much, so I concentrated on the screen near my head.

“Now,” the chef continued, “stir together for three minutes then add the Merricala wine and tomato puree. And make sure it isn’t any of that genetically modified crap.”

I looked up from the pan on the cook top and frowned. “Merricala wine? Was that on the ingredients list?”

“Reduce the sauce down to—”

“Hold it, hold it, hold it,” I said over his relentless instructions. “Program, pause.”

The chef stopped in midstir, his mouth gaped like a fish.

I opened and slammed cupboards, searching for the wine I couldn’t recall buying. A half turn in either direction covered the whole of the kitchen area, so it didn’t take long for me to realize I didn’t have it. Planting my hands on my hips, I grumbled.

It wasn’t like I could go knock on a neighbor’s door to borrow some. There were more than a dozen flats around me, but I never saw another occupant. I wasn’t completely sure I had neighbors, and even if I did, being in the CMA protection program meant they were probably the most paranoid people on the planet and wouldn’t answer their doors to a stranger anyway.

Running to the grocer was out, as well. My excursions into the world were limited, supervised by Sterling or some other CMA agent. Sterling was afraid I’d be attacked by one of the Greys’ associates, or would run off. I’d come close to doing just that a couple times in the past few weeks.

He said I was becoming rude and surly, that I might want to consider counseling. It was recommended for their Special Cases—those who’d soon be given new identities and a one-way ticket off world—but I think he recognized there was more going on with me than concern over changing my name and location. Let him think what he wanted. Being cooped up all day while trials were scheduled and depositions were recorded would make anyone rude and surly, no matter how Special they were, and he could stick his counselor someplace inappropriate. Though not finding the damn Merricala wine was making me ruder and surlier by the second.

The two-toned door chime sounded and I froze. My next outing wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow. Wiping my hands on the backs of my thighs, I called out to the security system. “Who is it?”

The electronic voice replied. “Colonial Mining Authority Senior Agent Sterling, Nathan and guest.”

Guest? Probably the counselor he’d been threatening me with. I’d give them something to counsel.

I returned to my chicken. “Let them in.”

Maybe it was foolish to trust the security system worked and it really was Sterling and guest at my door. But if a friend of the Greys’ had somehow found me, stolen Sterling’s iris and fingerprint patterns and infiltrated the building, there wasn’t much I could do to stop them anyway. The CMA had confiscated my pulser, so wielding a pan of poultry would have had to suffice if it came to that.

Behind me the door clicked open. The rustle of cloth and footfalls crossed the threshold.

“Next time call ahead, Sterling.” I stirred the sauce, my back to them. “Maybe I was entertaining or meditating or something.”

“I told you she was cranky,” he said.

“She has her reasons, Mr. Sterling,” a familiar husky alto replied.

The spoon in my hand shook, splatting sauce on the dingy counter. I turned around.

Beside the blue-coated Sterling, she stood with her hands shoved deep in the pockets of a worn leather jacket. Wearing no makeup and her thick chestnut hair caught in a loose tail, she appeared ten years younger. Her dusky skin was sallow, evidence of her recent recovery, but her green eyes glinted. A lightweight shirt clung to her body, and a pair of canvas trousers hung low on her hips above thick-soled boots. She was too thin.

And more beautiful than I remembered.

My heart stumbled, and my voice broke over her name. “Zia.”

Her gaze traveled over my tank top and loose pajama pants, down to my bare feet, then back up to my face. Our eyes held. “Hello, Liv.”

I wanted to run to her, throw my arms around her and never let go. But the sudden fear she’d only come to tell me goodbye spot-welded my feet to the floor.

“I didn’t—I wanted to—I—” Explanations and apologies careened through my brain and tangled my tongue. For the past three weeks I’d rehearsed what I’d say if I ever saw her again. How I’d tried to get information about her situation, tried to get word to her. The CMA would give me only the barest of details about her health, and there was never any response to my recorded heartfelt blatherings about what had happened and why I’d done what I did. I’d given up on her ever replying. Now that she was here, I could barely remember my own name.

Sterling cleared his throat, reminding us of his presence, but I didn’t take my eyes from Zia. “I’ll let you two chat,” he said. “Call me when you’re ready, Miss Talbot.”

Zia kept her gaze on me. “Thank you, Mr. Sterling.”

He let himself out, leaving silence in his wake.

We stared at each other for several moments then Zia said, “Something’s burning.”

A bitter aroma rose from behind me. Shit. The garlic. I turned and shut off the cook top. Grateful for a chance to collect myself, to prepare for her telling me to go to hell, I poked at the contents of the pan with my spoon.

“I didn’t know you cooked.”

“I’m just learning.” I set the spoon down and faced her again, leaning on the counter in a relaxed attitude I didn’t feel in the least. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” She moistened her lips and my insides melted. She’d always had that effect on me. I’d missed it terribly.

“You made a deal with the CMA,” I said.

She nodded. “With your help. Sterling told me you couldn’t, um, remember what was in the files or where some evidence was until you were sure the CMA would talk to me. Thank you for that.”

“I’m glad it worked.”

When Sterling showed me the Commissioner’s signed immunity order for Zia in return for her cooperation, my memory miraculously cleared. I told them how to retrieve the recording from my comm, linking Pritchard and Clemens’s false death rates and lack of true volunteers to Zia’s reports. Luckily my insurance paid off.

She gave a humorless laugh. “You and me both. Clemens gave Connor the order to kill me—and you—despite my years of loyalty to Exeter. If they wanted to play the Cover Your Own Ass game, I wasn’t going to go down with them.” She took a half step closer, hesitant in a way I’d never seen in her before. Pain flickered across her face. “The K-73 project started out legitimate. Signed volunteer forms, compensation for the subjects. The experiments skirted an ethical edge, but I thought it was important work we were doing. Then the filters began to fail. We should have stopped it, but we didn’t. I didn’t. By then, I was in so deep…” Her voice trailed off as she slowly shook her head.

“You had no choice,” I finished for her. I could relate.

She glanced away, not as a liar’s tell from the high color on her cheeks, but in shame. “I always had a choice. I just didn’t make the right one.”

“You didn’t know what was really going on, Zia. Pritchard and Clemens were falsifying the death rate numbers and using people.”

“I knew enough.” Her eyes, filled with anger and remorse, met mine again. “I should have suspected the rates they gave me were conveniently dropping. I let myself believe them because it would risk my career, my life and lifestyle if I didn’t. I didn’t want to think about who was receiving the K-73s. They weren’t people. They were numbers. Failure rates and costs. If I could get the K-73s to work, Exeter would save thousands of miners’ lives in the years to come.”

“And make a few million credits before the other companies could get into the deep keracite markets.” My words came out with a harshness I hadn’t expected. She’d admitted she was wrong, had accepted responsibility. Still, she’d initially upheld Executives’ Rule Number One: Don’t let anything stand in the way of profit. Why should that surprise me? It was the way the ‘Verse worked. It was the way I was supposed to have worked.

But it wasn’t the way I’d wanted to see Zia. Even knowing she was part of the cover-up, she was supposed to be better than that. Better than me.

“People died, Zia. Being inmates didn’t make them any less human.” I swallowed down the rock of anger and disappointment I’d thought I’d managed to get over these past weeks. “I could have been one of them.”

Her brow furrowed. “Because of the blackmail? You and the CMA worked that all out.”

I shook my head and told her what I’d been, what I’d done practically since birth, until agreeing to join the Greys. She listened in silence, her arms wrapped around herself like a shield.

“Tonio and I were lucky. We never got caught, and no one ever died during our jobs,” I said. “But they could have. And we could have been sentenced to one of those mines.”

“Brighton.” She took a deep breath and released it with a slow shudder. “It’s an unregistered facility three kilometers below the surface. No one knew anything about it until now. We transported volunteers there specifically for testing the filters. And when they died…” She lowered her head. There was a certain satisfaction in seeing her shaken, having her realize there were faces behind the K-73 experiment. That one of those faces could have been mine. But it still felt as if I were kicking a puppy.

Zia looked up at me, understanding in her eyes acknowledging why I had to let her see my own pain. “I distanced myself from what was happening in the labs and mines so I could get my job done. So I could live my life as I’d always wanted it.” She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again they were shiny and wet. “I didn’t let myself feel for them. I couldn’t. That was wrong, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

My lingering anger dissipated, my heart aching for her because I knew what she was going through. Emotional attachment clouded your judgment, made the job difficult. Made you human.

Maybe now we were both better than we had been.

She cleared her throat, but her voice was low and strained when she spoke. “You could have turned the files over to Sterling, handed me to him along with Pritchard and Clemens. You didn’t have to come to the Station to warn me. You didn’t have to insist they offer me a deal.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice just as rough. “I did.”

Her expression crumbled, and tears coursed down her cheeks. She crossed the short distance between us. Arms around each other, we clung together as if our lives depended on it. Maybe they did.

She cried against my neck, her body trembling. “How could I have been so stupid? So callous? That’s not me, Liv. I swear it isn’t.”

“I know, I know.” I stroked her back and rocked her like a child who’d scraped her knee, not a woman who’d compromised her own ethics, who’d risked her career and her life.

The agony of how close I’d come to losing her forever rippled through me. I held her tight as I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods of fools and former felons.

What had happened to the tough VP who’d scared me half to death weeks ago? To the lying thief I’d been?

Tears finally petered out, and she stopped shaking. I rested my cheek on her shoulder. Jasmine. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, content to stand that way forever.

“I thought you were here to say goodbye,” I whispered against the side of her neck.

Her body tensed. “Liv—”

“I know. It’s just—” My voice caught as the image of her bleeding on the Hub Station floor filled my head. “Betraying your trust, leaving you like that, I couldn’t imagine you ever forgiving me.”

I’d been so scared for her, so angry with myself. With her. It all came rushing back with a painful jolt that made me cringe and leak tears on her shirt and skin.

“I can’t condemn you for what you did, what you were, when I was worse,” Zia whispered. She loosened her hold and cupped my face between her palms. “Sterling explained about the Greys and your mother, why you had to leave, even before you sent your messages.” She brushed away the dampness on my cheeks, my own sadness reflected in her eyes. “He also told me about Tonio. I’m so sorry.”

Tonio’s death wasn’t her fault. Every job required a price to be paid, a risk to be taken. Between his loss and the near loss of Zia, I couldn’t afford it any longer.

She drew me into another hug, consoling our losses, celebrating our survival. After a minute, the inevitable happened. The kiss was tentative at first, gentle, forgiving. Then the teasing, not-quite bite of teeth. Lips parted, and our tongues sought each other. She was everything I remembered. The sweet heat of her mouth. Her underlying scent beneath the jasmine perfume.

Slowly I ran my hands up and down her back under her jacket then under the hem of her shirt to trace circles on the soft skin at the base of her spine. She threaded her fingers through my hair while we tasted and touched, learning each other all over again.

Zia broke the kiss and rested her forehead on mine. “I love you, Liv,” she said breathlessly.

Arms still around her, I leaned back to search her face. Did she mean it?

She smiled. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“When I told you I loved you, I never thought I’d hear you say it back.”

“You certainly surprised me when you said it at the Station.” Growing sober, she said, “I had a lot to consider the past few weeks. Mostly, I spent time thinking about you.”

A pleasant shock ran through me. “You did?”

She nodded. “Even though I was confused and upset, and not sure how I truly felt about you, you told to me to remember that you loved me. I did.” She smiled again; my heart fluttered. “Then I used this methodical, instinct-guided brain of mine that you admire so much to figure it out. The answer was easy.”

I grinned, and we kissed some more.

“Now what?” I asked when we came up for air. I held her hand and guided her to the couch to sit.

“Well,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, “at the Station you said we’d go off together.”

Cheeks burning at that little bit of melodrama, I said, “I sounded like a bad vid.”

“No, you sounded sweet and sincere.” She sighed. “And it’s part of my deal with the CMA.”

My jaw dropped. “They’re throwing you off Nevarro?”

“It’s not as bad as you think. I gave the CMA everything I had on the K-73s, including some files I’d made regarding the Brighton facility.” Her mouth curved into a wry grin. “Loyalty is one thing, but I’m not stupid.”

I laughed and kissed her cheek. I knew she’d had her own insurance somewhere.

“Between that and the comm file you gave them,” she continued, “Pritchard and Clemens have been taken into custody, and Exeter is being thoroughly investigated. The CMA will likely get a conviction, and the company will be liquidated or handed over to the government. In exchange, I don’t spend the rest of my life in a correctional mine. But I’m banned from working in the industry, and I’m being deported.”

“What are you going to do?”

She had no career, no home, nothing left to hold up and say, “This is me, these are my accomplishments.” A few weeks ago, R. J. Talbot had done all she could to save her job, her lifestyle. But Zia had changed. We both had.

“I don’t know yet.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter that her life was now in complete disarray. Releasing my hand, she reached behind her neck, under her hair. The gold chain dangled between us, the ring glinting in the artificial light of the programmed sunset. The ring that matched the one still concealed under her clothing. “But I want to do it with you by my side.”

Her fingers brushed the small hairs at the nape of my neck as she fastened the chain there. The gold ring, warmed from her body, settled between my breasts. I stared down at it, wondering what it meant.

Zia ran her hand under the links, the backs of her fingers leaving a tingling, heated trail across my skin. “I’ve worn these rings,” she said, touching the spot on her abdomen near her navel with her other hand, “since I was a girl, waiting for the right person to share all I have and all I can be. I’ve found that person.”

My head jerked up and our eyes met.

Her grin held both pleasure and the satisfaction of having surprised me. “We’ve been through as bad a situation as any couple could and still found we loved each other. I trust you with my heart, and you can trust me with yours. Do you agree?”

Zia rarely asked questions she didn’t already know the answer to, and this was no exception. After all the lies and betrayals, after all the pain we’d put others and ourselves through, we could start over on a solid foundation of trust. There was nowhere to go but up.

I closed my hand around the ring and chain, feeling her warmth. “I do.”

She covered my hand with hers and squeezed gently. “Whatever form it takes, I want there to be an ‘us.’”

I couldn’t argue with that. My heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest as I kissed her. We’d run away together, just like in those sappy vids. It was trite, and I was thrilled.

“I have a little cash tucked away,” she said. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’d planned on retiring with my cut of the blackmail money.” I gestured toward my fake window. “To someplace warm. With a beach.”

On the HD image, waves lapped at lavender sand, and a burnt-orange sun sank in a peach-and-violet sky. She nodded, and her arms went around me as we shared another kiss. Who knew what the future would bring, other than the contentment of being together? And the adherence to New Rule Number One: Find someone you love who loves you back, the job be damned.

About the Author

Cathy Pegau’s muse always finds some sort of science-fiction, fantasy or paranormal bend to the stories it offers. A self-proclaimed science geek, she studied wildlife biology at universities in North Dakota and Alaska. As an enthusiastic student, she spent summers aboard a research vessel scooping muck from the ocean floor and winters cataloguing the critters there to see what gray whales were eating. One of her first biology jobs found her trundling across the Wyoming prairie—and avoiding rattlesnakes—for a black-footed ferret reintroduction program. She hooted for spotted owls in Southern Oregon and got lost overnight the first week. But that’s another story.

Now, she lives in Alaska with her husband and kids, several pets and the occasional black bear that roams through the yard.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9199-1

Copyright © 2011 by Catherine Pegau

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