Sovran's Pawn (The Black Wing Chronicles Book 1) Page 7

  Chase shook his head. “No, it just means we stay home and invite all the boys from work over to play. What’s the use in having that superfortress you bought if we don’t barricade ourselves in for some serious drunken debauchery? It’s big enough to declare ourselves rulers of our own splinter republic. I wonder what it would take to get favored nation status from the studio…”

  Blade’s lips twitched at his brother’s easy humor. He started to return to his study of the room, but before he could, Chase’s eyes glazed over and his jaw dropped.

  “Speaking of debauchery, I’d like to start with her, please.” Chase said.

  Following his brother’s stare, he watched the young woman from the embarkation lounge enter on her client’s arm. Blade’s eyes traced her curves, pausing to admire the way the filmy green dress clung to her cleavage. He had no doubt this dress would be transparent when properly backlit also. With every step she took, the skirt parted to display a tantalizing length of a very shapely leg.

  His eyes caressed the perfect oval of her face, noting her stubborn chin. Without her sunshades, her dark-fringed eyes captured his full attention. They flashed with an amber fire, tempered by sorrow and fueled by determination. Dark delicate brows arched over her eyes. Her long brown hair tumbled loosely down her back in sensual, carefully contrived disarray.

  Now here was a woman who didn’t mind having her hair mussed… nor anything else. He’d be willing to lay odds on it. Hers was a tawny, exotic beauty, wild and untamed, lithe and graceful. Given the proper circumstances, savage might even apply.

  The man on her arm, her client, leaned down and spoke in her ear, drawing an ebullient grin from her. Blade’s attention dropped to her full, expressive mouth. She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. For a man who worked and played with the most celebrated beauties in the Commonwealth, that was saying a lot.

  She hugged the older man’s arm to her and laughed easily with him. A cold, primal hunger congealed in the pit of Blade’s belly and he was seized with the sudden need to beat the other man to a pulp. The force of it took him by surprise.

  Chase’s voice broke through the rising red haze of possessive jealousy.

  “What the hell is she doing with him? He’s old enough to be her father.”

  Blade swallowed hard, shaken by the force of his emotions. Glancing around, he noted that he and his brother were not the only men leering at her. He clenched his teeth so hard he felt a muscle twitch in his jaw.

  “Hey, Dev? Are you okay? You don’t look too good.”

  Clamping down on his emotions with an iron will, Blade shook his head.

  “Was I unclear about the nature of this cruise?” he said, far more sharply than he’d intended. “This is a Five-Point tourney, not a singles cruise.”

  “Really?” Chase didn’t bother looking at him. “Because the whole Darien Roarke, gambler-by-trade, drunkard-by-inclination persona was kind of vague about it all.”

  “We’re here to gamble, not chase tail.”

  “Remind me again, little brother, if women are off-limits, why am I here? Because gambling at this level is your thing, chasing tail is mine.”

  Blade closed his eyes and brought his hormones under control before replying.

  “I thought your job was to mock and abuse me.” He said at last with a small smile of apology.

  “I’d much prefer doing unspeakable and completely disgusting carnal things to her,” Chase nodded towards the Joy Babe.

  Another flash of jealousy flared in the pit of his belly. “Give it up, Chase,” he said, with a coolness he didn’t feel. “She’s out of your league.”

  Out of his brother’s league for sure… but not out of his.

  If this were any other Five-Point tourney…

  He watched the woman rise up onto tiptoes to kiss her client’s cheek before she slipped away from him through the crowd. It was all Blade could do to keep himself from following her.

  What the hell was wrong with him? One little stolen kiss and he was acting like some lovesick pup.

  “Are we going to have a problem?”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “Are we both going to go after the same woman?”

  Blade conjured a look of surprise. “The Joy Babe?” He shook his head. “Chase, she’s here with a client. She’s probably under contract. You sure as hell don’t have the money to settle a breach of contract lawsuit. Stay away from her. She’s trouble… and she’s out of your league.”

  “You keep saying that, but what does that mean?”

  “It means that if you go after her and get sued, I’m not paying the settlement.”

  Chase considered it for a long moment. “You really think he’d sue?”

  Blade nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.” He shrugged. “I would.”

  He scanned the faces in the crowd. Several of the players milling about the gaming lounge looked familiar. He itched to switch on his data reader and compare faces to service files, but as long as Chase hovered by his side, he’d never manage it without tipping his brother off. As long as Chase thought this cruise was a simple outing for the Darien Roarke persona, the better for both of them. After the IC had threatened Chase, there was no way Blade was leaving him unprotected. The safest thing for both of them right now was to stick together. That was tough enough to manage without tipping off his brother that he’d gone back to his old job, at least for one more mission.

  The intel from Larianne had been sketchy at best. Fortunately he wasn’t without resources, or research skills. Unusually high security clearance helped, too. If he couldn’t go after the girl, he needed to throw himself into his assignment. If he didn’t do something, he was afraid he was going to explode.

  He looked to his brother and offered a lopsided grin. “How about a drink?”

  Chase brightened and immediately relaxed. “Great idea! What can I get you? Old Arturian?”

  “Shockwave.”

  “Shockwave? Really?” Chase shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder. “I can’t wait until we get home and I get my brother back. Darien Roarke is kind of a shit.”

  Blade shrugged, his grin still in place. “Yeah, but when we get home Darien Roarke goes back into a box in the closet. Chase Fossey will always be a pain in the ass.”

  Chase smiled and executed a mocking bow. “Just for that I’m spitting in your drink,” he said, walking away.

  “You need to come up with new material,” Blade called after him.

  Reaching into his pocket, Blade keyed the interface between his data reader and the display on his sunshades. The sunshades brightened with a holographic display and flashed in readiness for his first command. Operating by touch, Blade wasted little time calling up the IC database and cross-referencing with the passenger images. One after another, files downloaded into his reader. Scanning through the files, he glanced around, using the facial recognition protocols linked to his sunshades. Setting the data reader to recognize government operatives and military personnel, the display in his sunshades locked onto a nearby face that matched, flashing with a positive ID and calling up service records. He paused when he read a series of violations of the punitive articles of military code.

  Checking to make sure his brother was still at the bar, he scanned the crowd, locking onto several more agents and calling up their files. Each one displayed some type of court-martial offense, ranging from insubordination to desertion.

  By the time he had seen enough to confirm his suspicions of a pattern, Chase was headed back to his side. Filing the information away for later, he started to switch off the device, but on a whim, he flipped through the passenger list, searching for the woman.

  He found her quickly: Marissa Kiara from Altair. Sure enough, her ID showed a Joy Babe certification number.

  He frowned over the information. He knew false identities. The woman he’d stolen a kiss from was no Joy Babe – he’d bet the mission on it.

  Blade switched off the de
vice and his sunshades dimmed as the holographic display faded away. As he took the glass from his brother, it occurred to him that perhaps he hadn’t been chosen for this job solely because of his Darien Roarke alter ego after all, but for Blade Devon’s sketchy service record, or for another possibility he didn’t even want to consider.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bo studied her face in the mirror in the ladies’ lounge and touched up her makeup like any good Joy Babe. Harsh theatrical lights flooded the area directly in front of the long counter that ran the length of the mirrored wall. The dark red walls seemed lost in shadow by comparison.

  She made a face at herself and turned her back on her reflection. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the counter and focused on the slight vibrations of the liner’s engines. Smiling to herself, she let the faint tremors surge through her body. She loved space travel. She was born and bred for it. Altair made an adequate base of operations, but she hated being groundside. By the time this job was over, the ship Edge had promised her should be ready.

  Her own ship.

  Freedom.

  Perhaps then she could start making progress on her quest to clear her name. Her father’s voice echoed in her head. “Duty, Responsibility, Service.” It was the Barron Clan motto. As the Chief of her Clan in his absence, she was the guardian of Clan honor. As long as she was branded a traitor, all of her people carried her disgrace.

  With a sigh, Bo opened her eyes and pushed away from the counter. Stepping gingerly across the lounge, she eased down onto one of the opulent tufted benches lining the walls. Slipping off one of her impractical high-heeled shoes, she rubbed her aching foot. An attractive woman dressed in the provocative, sensual attire that only Altairian Joy Babes seemed capable of wearing glided through the door and glanced briefly at Bo before moving to the mirror.

  “You’re new, aren’t you?” the woman asked in Toban, the native language of Altair.

  “New?” Bo echoed in kind. “As opposed to… what?”

  Not bothering to look at her, the woman focused on reapplying her lip rouge. “I mean I’ve never seen you on the gambling circuit before.”

  Bo smiled. “Are you trying to find out how experienced a gambler my client is?” she asked.

  The Joy Babe rolled her eyes and flashed Bo a long-suffering smile in the mirror. “You know how they are,” she said. “Trying to find whatever edge they can get over one another and asking for all kinds of services the D’or Choh never covered.”

  Bo slipped her shoe back on and rose to her feet. “I don’t know, my D’or Choh was pretty thorough.”

  “Which D’or Choh did you go through?”

  “Kiara,” Bo replied.

  The Joy Babe hesitated, her hand halfway to her lips. She slowly lowered her hand and turned, eyeing Bo in surprise. “Kiara?” she repeated. “What world-ending mistake did you make?”

  Bo smiled. “I beg your pardon?”

  The Joy Babe shrugged. “Forgive my impertinence, but a Kiara is awfully high-class for this clientele,” she said. “I was under the impression that your sisterhood never stooped to take any contracts with anyone of lower status than a noble. Either you’re a screw-up of interstellar proportions or Madame Kiara must be more egalitarian than I’d been given to understand.” She lifted the lip rouge once again. “Or you’re not a Kiara, at all.”

  “Or perhaps my client is a noble with a penchant for gambling.” Bo lifted her chin. She favored the other woman with a measuring look then smiled again. “Don’t injure yourself trying to figure out which one it is.”

  Without a backward glance Bo left the ladies’ lounge. If she were any judge of character, speculation about Royce, and her, would be rife by the time the games actually started.

  It was bad enough that Darien Roarke had questioned her status as a Joy Babe: now another Joy Babe questioned her too. Bo shook her head. Perhaps she should have paid better attention to Aunt Misou. If she couldn’t convincingly pull off the Joy Babe persona on a consistent basis, she was going to get herself killed. It might behoove her to go back for a refresher course.

  Under Royce’s instructions, Bo made the rounds of the various gaming and entertainment lounges, looking for Tennova and half-hoping she wouldn’t find him. She scanned the faces of the other passengers and studied their body language. Moving slowly and deliberately through the crowded rooms, Bo held to the shadows as much as possible.

  Loud laughter exploded from a group of six revelers who appeared to be near her in age. Crowded around a small table littered with drinks and finger foods, they bent their heads close to one another as a young man in their group related an amusing anecdote, while two others chimed in with details for the ladies’ amusement.

  Watching them, her thoughts wandered to her cousin Jaden and his recent affianced state. Her heart twisted in her chest. Jaden and Kari had no doubt celebrated with their intimates in much the same fashion. She and Jaden had always celebrated all of life’s important events together: birthdays, holidays, starting at the Academy, getting their wings, graduation, first assignments and promotions. Her eyes filled with tears as it struck her how much she was missing and how much she would miss.

  Sorrow welled up from deep inside her, crashing over her like a wave. Tearing her attention away from the group, she lifted her face to the ceiling and drew a deep breath as if she were drowning in the sea of beings pressing in around her. Before the sense of loss overwhelmed her completely, Bo firmly forced the feelings down, burying them deeply. With grim determination, she turned her attention to the here and now, and the mission before her.

  Pounding bass notes, like thunderous artillery, from the nearby dance club thumped against her chest in time with her heart, calling her away from the revelers in the lounge. Bo squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Sentiment was a luxury she could ill afford. If she wanted her father back, she would do well to keep her head in the game. Unconsciously, she fell into step in time with the beat of the music.

  Explosions of light flashed over the crowded dance floor, illuminating the writhing knot of life forms undulating in whatever passed for dancing in their culture. The deeper shadows of the club suited her mood. As the searchlights swung around, playing across the other side of the club, she spotted Tennova leaning on a high table, drink in hand, charming a small group of passengers.

  Her mind cleared as the last of her personal feelings ebbed away. She had a job to do. The wild, primal song wound up to a fever pitch. The dancers flailed around in a frenzy, carried on the rhythms. Purposefully, she picked her way through the close press of bodies.

  The last desperate beats faded into a more deliberate, sensual rhythm as the song changed. The dancers followed suit, their wild abandon transmuted into something more sexual as the provocative song encouraged a different style of movement. As she passed through, the musky odors of sweat and pheromones from several different species mingled with perfumes, liquor and intoxicants.

  Fueled by the rhythm and the subtle change in the air, Bo noticed herself moving with a little more fluidity than normal, succumbing to the undulating music and the writhing dancers. Her own people loved little better than dancing and song. It was in her blood and her blood was rising. With single-minded determination, she struggled to keep her focus on her quarry.

  An arm shot out of the darkness catching her tightly around her waist. It spun her around and pulled her tightly against a hard, masculine body, knocking the breath from her. Too surprised to resist as he pulled her towards the dance floor, Bo looked up. She caught the glint of reflected light in his sunshades before the bursts of light played over his face. Her heart missed a beat and she lit up with a welcoming smile.

  “Darien!”

  With one last glance at her quarry, she dismissed him. Tennova could wait.

  He leaned closer to her so she could hear him over the music. “You remember me, good.”

  He moved with a natural, fluid grace she hadn’t expected from a man of his size. Relaxing in
his embrace, she lightly rested her hands against his chest and let him lead her through the steps of the dance. Closing her eyes, she shut out the crush of the other dancers crowding the floor. The clean, spicy scent of his cologne teased her. Pressed tightly against him, he was very easy to follow. She should have been annoyed at his interference, but truthfully, she welcomed it.

  “Are you here alone?”

  Reluctantly, Bo opened her eyes and peered up at him. “My client is playing Five-Point.”

  He smiled. “Even better.”

  Her pulse quickened. “What are you doing here?”

  “Following you.”

  “Why?”

  “To discuss the relative merits of Vestian Free-form Sculpture over Tadesian Abstract Sculpture.”

  He said it so seriously, she wondered whether he was joking . Leaning back against his arm, she peered up at him. A Kiara should be able to discuss countless topics easily and intelligently, art chief among them. However, Bo didn’t have the first idea what he’d been talking about. His lips quirked and she laughed in relief.

  “Don’t look so panicked,” he said. “One might get the impression you weren’t well-versed in art.”

  Annoyed that he could read her so easily, Bo averted her gaze, but she didn’t really have anywhere else to look aside from the silver clasp that held the short, black cravat crossed around his neck.

  “Will you promise me something, Marissa?”

  Bo’s head snapped up and she peered at him.

  “Promises? I don’t even know you.” Her eyes narrowed. “I never told you my name.”

  “I never told you mine either.”

  “You sent me a drink.”

  “I also bribed a steward to get your name.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t know whether to be flattered or worried.

  “Stay away from him.”

  She canted her head at him, not sure she understood. “My client?”