Danger in the Stars: (The Sectors SF Romance Series) Page 4

  “Who attacked you?”

  “Does it matter?” Her answer was bitter, but then she thought about his kindness in bringing her here and found no reason to withhold what little she knew. “I’ve been told they’re called the Shemdylann.”

  “Heard of them. Fierce enemies. Why didn’t you use your powers on them? Fight back?”

  She made a sound of disgust. “Our powers are ineffective against the creatures. No effect at all. And the invaders had weapons such as we’d never imagined. Blasters against crossbows and swords.” She choked back a sob. She never spoke of these things or allowed herself to remember—why was she answering his questions? Because he was kind to me, because the sound of his voice is so calming, because his touch—

  Angry at herself, she abandoned the thought. “How did you come to be Amarotu?”

  There was silence, broken only by the whisper of a slight breeze through the foliage.

  “I used to be an elite soldier,” he said, voice tight. “Things happened. I was dishonorably discharged after spending time in the brig. The only place I could find work after Command threw me out of the service was as a Combine enforcer. I have the right…skill set, shall we say? Then I climbed the ranks beside Opherra and became her second-in-command when she took over the operations in this area.”

  Her attention was caught. Something in his words didn’t ring true to her. With her refreshed and enhanced power, she probed deep into his aura and detected the dull rusty red of a lie. The tiny blue flames flickered. What is he lying about, and why would he bother lying to me?

  “Miriell, we had a truce.”

  Startled at his perception, she shut her search off. “I apologize. It’s instinctive to me, a survival skill in my current life, but I meant no harm.” Curious, she asked, “How did you know I was using my power?”

  “We’d better be getting back. I don’t want to have to answer any awkward questions from my boss. Your questions I can ignore.” Thus pushing aside her inquiry, he shoved away from the tree. “I hope you’ve gotten enough of whatever it is you need.”

  Getting to her feet, she brushed off her skirt and nodded. “Thank you. I feel much better.”

  “If Jareck and his bosses don’t know your secret, how do you and the others manage to stay alive? Is your base on a planet with a lot of greenery?”

  “Devir 6 is a desert, but still there are growing things, energy we can pull from. I hate the cryo sleep, but it’s probably a good thing the Combine forces me to travel hidden in those containers since I’m undocumented. I’m not sure I’d survive on a long space journey otherwise.”

  “If the ship is big enough, it has a hydroponics area, sort of a water garden,” he said.

  Side by side, not touching, they strolled to where she’d kicked off her shoes. He waited while she slid the heeled sandals onto her feet, leaning against him, fingertips resting lightly on his rock-hard arm for balance. There was silence between them as they made their way from the garden after Conor locked the gate and re-entered the hotel, taking the employee gravlift, much to the puzzlement of two maids.

  Conor winked at them. “Snuck out with my girl,” he said. “Don’t tell on me.” The maids giggled and got off at the next floor.

  He let Miriell into the suite she shared with Jareck, who luckily was still absent.

  Sad at the end of the respite from her depressing reality, she went to recline on the couch. “It was a lovely change in my routine as a prisoner. Thank you.”

  “Nothing’s changed.” His voice was harsh as he picked up the shackles to lock them around her ankles. His touch, however, was gentle, and he didn’t make them nearly as constricting as Jareck had. “Bastard will be too drunk to remember how much he tightened them, I’m sure.”

  He took the now wilted and blackening bouquet back to the side table.

  “You’re probably right.” She fumbled with the blanket.

  He came over and took the fabric from her, laying it over her carefully. “Will you be warm enough?”

  “I have to be. This is all Jareck gave me.” She shrugged. “He’ll remember that detail.”

  Conor looked as if he was going to say more, but then walked away. Miriell forced herself not to watch him as he flicked the lights off and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next day passed slowly for Miriell, confined to the couch. Jareck released her to go to the bathroom a few times and take a shower in the late afternoon. His eyes were red and his gait unsteady after his night of revels, but his mood was upbeat. “I won some pretty substantial pots,” he said over their shared lunch from room service, not that she cared, but he clearly wanted to boast to someone. “Piles of credits. I like this assignment so far. Beats some of the others we’ve done. High-class hotel and all the trimmings. This is the life. Too bad if you help Opherra snag this guy she wants tonight, then we’re on our way back to base tomorrow, or whenever the next ship leaves.”

  “I don’t think Opherra would take it well if I fail for her.” Miriell kept conversation with Jareck to a minimum at all times, but she couldn’t resist pointing the fact out.

  “No.” He shuddered and pointed his fork at her. “This time, be sure you carry through to the end, not like the woman at the restaurant, although it was funny. The expression on the waiter’s face!” Mouth open, still chewing, he guffawed. “This job does have its moments. I about bust my gut when the dishes and the food went flying. Better than a comedy trideo. Maybe I should have you force people to do more slapstick stuff when we’re out and about. Relieve the boredom.”

  In the afternoon, Tamlu came with the usual armful of cosmetics and dresses and spent two hours getting a docile Miriell properly done up for the evening’s expensive festivities. As she worked, the garrulous assistant gossiped a bit about Opherra. “I think she has a sneaking fondness for this guy you’re going to meet at the charity event. Or maybe she’s intrigued because he hasn’t fallen at her feet yet. He’s a challenge. She didn’t much appreciate the big boss insisting on bringing you in to help persuade the rich industrialist to fall for her, let me tell you. Not only does she not want anyone sharing the credit for acquiring this guy as a patsy, but she’s super-competitive with your boss, the ringmaster. Took Conor hours to calm her down after the order came through.”

  “What does he think about this situation?” It was unprecedented for Miriell to ask a question. She didn’t care about these people who owned her, but she was curious about Conor. “Is he jealous of her seducing someone else?”

  Tamlu moved to paint elaborate eye makeup on Miriell’s left eyelid. “Don’t move, honey. Jealous? Of what? There’s nothing between him and Opherra. Not anymore. She takes all the good-looking ones to her bed eventually, like some kind of initiation, but she doesn’t keep them. Life is a moving feast to our boss lady.” Tamlu paused, brush in midair, motes of colored powder drifting away. A small smile played over her lips. “I pick up the pieces when she’s had enough. Well, usually. Not with Conor. Man’s a monk.” She went back to work with renewed energy. “Now, if you were asking me about Saviano—” Spreading a creamy rouge on Miriell’s lips, Tamlu whistled and winked.

  Obediently, Miriell blotted her lips on a tissue. “When we go out, Conor and Opherra act like they’re together.”

  “He’s the best bodyguard she’s ever had. Ex-military. Nothing gets by him. Saved her life a couple of times. But it’s business. He’s her trusted second-in-command, and if he’s secretly scheming to take her place, he hides it well, which is rare in the Combine. But you never know with these big silent types.”

  Tamlu added a finishing touch of some sparkly stuff to Miriell’s cleavage and stepped away to consider dresses and accessories.

  Miriell stayed put in the chair, like an obedient servant, pondering the tidbits she’d gleaned from the chatty woman. If the Shemdylann had sold her to this branch of the Combine, instead of to the woman she knew as the ringmaster, would her life have been a
ny different? Any better? No, I’d still be a prisoner.

  “I vote for the red one,” Jareck said, passing through the room.

  “Totally wrong with her pale green skin tones.” Tamlu tossed the dress aside. “The dress got mixed in by mistake. And besides, Opherra tends to wear red. She doesn’t like competition.”

  “My homely alien female is no threat to someone like your boss lady.” After delivering his cutting assessment of Miriell’s charms, Jareck went into the bedroom and shut the door.

  “A jerk like him stands zero chance with Opherra,” Tamlu said, bending close to Miriell’s ear as she fastened earrings to her lobes.

  “It matters not to me.”

  Tamlu gave her a sideways glance and bit her lip, apparently to stop herself from saying any more.

  At the appointed time, Jareck took Miriell to the lobby to meet Conor and Opherra. While she waited beside the bank of large-leafed ornamental plants, Miriell sipped a bit of power from them, just in case. She was feeling much restored after her clandestine trip to the garden with Conor the night before, but the evening ahead was no doubt going to be challenging.

  Jareck tugged at the collar of the all-black suit that had been delivered to the suite midmorning with strict instructions for him to wear it. “I hate this boring getup. A man has to express his true self when he’s going out on the town. How else can he attract the ladies?” Straightening, he pasted a smile on his face. “Here they come.”

  Opherra’s expensive perfume announced her arrival, the scent clogging Miriell’s nostrils with a too-rich mixture of night-blooming flowers and seductive spice. When she turned, she had to stifle a laugh. Jareck—younger, skinnier and ill at ease—was a poor imitation of Conor, whereas the Amarotu soldier never displayed the slightest sign of being perturbed by anything. Jareck’s suit was undoubtedly expensive, but something about the way he wore it spoke of a man trying to ape his betters and failing. Conor was all elegant sophistication, his well-cut garment cloaking deadly abilities.

  “All right, the two of you will have to do,” Opherra said, eyeing Miriell and her controller up and down. “My shell company bought an entire table at this boring charity gala tonight for an obscene amount of credits, so all members of the party seated with us are Combine family and will do as they’re told. And no one will talk about anything they overhear. Nothing like an oath of silence.”

  The event was being held in a glittering ballroom a short drive away. When Miriell walked into the main ballroom in Opherra’s wake, she was overwhelmed by the size of the chamber, the glittering chandeliers overhead, the crowd of people dressed as expensively as Opherra, or even more so. Jewels flashed on the men and the women. A live orchestra played, strange-sounding music to her ears, but harmonious enough to be pleasing. Couples danced on an expanse of gleaming wooden flooring, while waiters circulated bearing silver trays of feelgoods and appetizers.

  Opherra and her entourage were led to their table, where a group of bored citizens waited, all of them coming to attention when the boss arrived. Four seats were empty. Miriell was glad her back would be to the wall, as she’d been located next to a potted plant of some kind, vivid orange flowers decorating the dark green stalks. This planet covered by city wasn’t healthy for her, and she welcomed any chance to store up a bit more energy.

  “I have to circulate, see and be seen,” Opherra said with a bored sigh. “Come, Conor.”

  Gallantly, he gave her his arm, nothing but good humor showing on his face as he complied with her command.

  Miriell wondered how he really felt but stopped herself from using even a small amount of her power. Conor wasn’t the target this evening. “How will I know who—”

  “Bazin Megrew, sitting at the table across the way.” Opherra made the slightest gesture. “The blond who’s too sure of himself. In the impeccable suit and the boring shirt. The sacrifices I make for the Combine.” She laughed gaily and tugged Conor into the throng.

  Unsure exactly whom she was to influence into a mad desire for Opherra, Miriell sipped her water and eyed the occupants of the designated table. There were three blond men and an older white-haired patriarch with the same strong features. Another family Opherra wants destroyed. The longer she watched, the more she realized everyone, even the oldest man at the table, was deferring to who she guessed was the middle son. Hoping she was right and this was Opherra’s target, she let her senses drift toward him.

  “The assignment will be impossible,” she said to Jareck a moment later. “The man has no interest in Opherra whatsoever.”

  Her controller stared at her, slack-jawed. “Well, I’m not letting you tell her that. You have to make him want to be in her bed. Try again.”

  Opherra and Conor sat down as waiters began bringing lukewarm, bland food. “What progress have you made?” asked the crime boss as Conor poured her a glass of wine.

  Miriell swallowed hard as Jareck elbowed her sharply in the ribs. “I’m working on him.”

  “Work harder.” Opherra’s lips were thin and her forehead unbecomingly furrowed as she sipped at her wine. “As I suspected when I was pressured to accept this contract, the performer’s services have not been worth the fees,” she said to Conor, raising her pencil-thin eyebrows.

  Miriell took a deep breath and tried again. The target was a normal man, no deep reserves of evil or lust. The most prominent aspect of his colors was the purple of true love for the woman at his side. Studying her for a moment, Miriell judged her to be an exceptional person, her aura bright with white and yellow tones. A selfless, intelligent, honest woman. If Bazin’s drawn to a mate with her attributes, there’s even less chance he’ll find Opherra’s brand of dark sexuality attractive. This task is impossible.

  She glanced at Opherra, whose attention was on her plate and the shelled sea creatures she was extracting and devouring. Conor looked Miriell straight in the eyes and shook his head slightly, as if warning her not to report failure to the boss again.

  Taking a drink of cool water, crunching the ice in her teeth to work off a bit of frustration, Miriell considered the matter. The man’s aura held a significant pocket of the shiny green she associated with business interest and acumen. Not quite greed, but certainly close. She was more accustomed to working with similar factors because of some of her past assignments in which she’d swayed people to agree to terms and conditions that a more-clear thinking individual might otherwise balk at. Might greed be the way to go? Could she influence him to want to hear Opherra’s business proposition and hope the boss could do whatever she needed on her own once she had an opening?

  Worth a try.

  Miriell focused all her efforts on the relevant aspect of Bazin’s desires, trying to tie the upsurge in financial concern to thoughts of Opherra.

  Soon enough, the target excused himself from his own party and crossed the floor to Opherra’s table. “I watched you out on the dance floor a few minutes ago, putting everyone else in the shade,” he said as she greeted him with a provocative air, giving him her hand to kiss. “Listen, we probably should make an appointment to discuss a prospective deal further. I see possibility in what you were proposing now that I’ve considered the outline further. My family’s company has synergies with yours.”

  “See, now this is what I’ve been telling you all along.” Opherra’s beaming smile invited the entire table to agree with her. “By all means, let us meet. Tomorrow? I hate to waste any more time exploring the synergies. Of the businesses.” She toyed with the fastening of his jacket, her red nails like claws, as he bent over her to chat.

  His eyes widened in surprise at Opherra’s boldness in touching him, and Miriell increased her pressure on his craving for business success and the riches it might bring. Swallowing and straightening his jacket, retreating a step, the target said, “Fine, I’ll send your office the time and place.”

  “Let’s keep the invitee list cozy—only the two of us for this opening discussion.” Opherra tilted her head as she played with
one ruby-studded earring. “Get me alone, and I might reveal aspects of the deal my more cautious staff here”—she waved her hand at the people around her table—“wouldn’t like.” Her gaze was apparently mesmerizing. Bazin couldn’t seem to stop staring into her eyes.

  She’s a deadly predator. Can’t he see the warning signs? Miriell was actually glad she and Jareck would soon be away from this woman’s sphere of influence. At least she knew what to expect from the ringmaster who ruled the branch of Amarotu holding her captive. Tiring, but still under orders, she pushed at Bazin to like the idea of conducting a meeting with Opherra alone, two principals together, no red tape or fussy lawyers. He had confidence in his own negotiation skills, and Miriell boosted his self-perception to reckless levels.

  “Tomorrow, then.” Opherra fluttered her eyelashes and sipped at her wine.

  “Sounds good. We can cut through the bullshit and red tape.” Nodding to the others at the table, Bazin walked away, rejoining his own group a moment later. He drew the woman he truly desired from her chair and whirled her off to the dance floor.

  Miriell slumped in her seat, cutting off her efforts. A private business meeting is the best I can do. Opherra’s on her own now.

  “Perhaps business is the way to his heart,” the crime boss said, spearing another crustacean and working to get at the rich meat concealed inside. “How boring. Of course, we may have to remove the fiancée to make room for me in all areas of his life.” She gave Conor a sideways glance. “You can arrange her absence? Permanently? I’ll make sure his heart doesn’t grow fonder. He’ll be far too busy to think about her.”

  “Say the word, boss.” He took a mouthful of his own pasta. “No problem.”

  “We’ll see how tomorrow’s meeting goes.”