ManOnFire

by Frances Pauli

  Wells waited for her to pull into a crouch and flick her visor open. He placed one gloved finger to his distracting lips and then shuffled down the tunnel without making so much as a whisper of sound. Amanda followed, but she kept her rifle and her eyes shifting back toward the opening as they went. She trusted the squad to hold the hall, but she also trusted fate to deal her an unexpected surprise at any turn. A merc expected anything and kept ready.

  The duct tunnel turned to the left at a ninety-degree angle. The floor stepped down a good two feet and the next segment allowed for walking upright. The commander stood and waved her forward, but she held the crouch. The bend blocked her view of their retreat, and she snuggled the assault rifle up to her shoulder and backed after him.

  He still used the private comm and his voice whispered inside her helmet, “Man?”

  “Yeah.” The visor would have hidden her blush. With it up, she fixed her eyes on the floor and inhaled to a slow count of six.

  “This is it.”

  That cooled her cheeks. She looked at Wells and at the fortified door he examined. It constituted the end of their particular heating duct and she’d have bet her retirement the prime minister hid on the other side. “You should have brought Kaboom.”

  Unfortunately, he’d left the demolitions expert in the courtyard with Hicks.

  Wells curled his lips into a thin smile. His eyes sparked, reflecting the light strip for a split second. “I’m guessing the minister has to open it from the other side.”

  “So we just knock?”

  “Helmet off.” He didn’t wait for her to comply, but just closed his visor and waited until she’d pulled her helmet completely free.

  She turned her attention back to their rear, listened and heard the distant hum of laser fire that would either keep their path clear or seal it on them.

  For the door, she spared a quick examination between backward glances. The native metal was resilient enough, and she’d guess this panel to be a good three times thicker than what they’d faced so far. The outline of mag-locks dotted the frame as well and she’d put her money on some kind of laser alarm system. Wells was right. Someone would have to let them in. She aimed her muzzle back the way they came and thanked her luck that the door wasn’t her problem.

  Wells was. She chewed her lip and squinted at the gleam of empty duct. He did things to her, like it or not, and she’d better get them under control before her wandering thoughts cost her her whole head. She’d had the best training a merc could get. Losing it over a little injection of hormones wouldn’t impress her new boss—particularly since he was the target. Wells would consign her to her quarters for thinking even one of the thoughts she’d had since they embarked. He’d fire her outright.

  The man was sharp, all business, and she’d have bet he made love like an Amarylian tiger, damn it.

  “Man?”

  “Sorry!” She whipped back around. Wells had his helmet off. He wore an expression she couldn’t read. It felt like trouble, as if he’d read her mind, and her damn cheeks warmed again. “So.” She reined it in. They had a job to do. “How do we get in?”

  “We knock.”

  “Really?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Sparks again. She’d never seen the man quite so unguarded. Amusement frolicked, unmasked, across his features. He set his helmet on the ground, tucked up against the door and spoke with more volume than was necessary to reach only her. “Transmit on my mark, Chicken.”

  Amanda waited. She kept her eyes moving to the door, back down the hallway, to Wells’ face. Nothing happened. Wells kept silent and Chicken, she assumed, continued to wait for his go-ahead.

  “Man?”

  “I thought we were knocking.”

  “Not yet.”

  He touched her gun. Amanda stiffened her spine and resisted the reflex to struggle. Wells pushed the rifle muzzle down and took one very brave step forward. It brought them within inches of one another and raised the temperature in the tunnel by at least seventy percent. She inhaled. Big mistake—she could smell his sweat, a faint hint of spice. Screw blushing—her face burned now and she had no way to hide it. Wells stared into her eyes and leaned in, pinning her to the wall.

  He might have shot her. Her defenses fell like a house of cards, and his hand on her gun rendered her weapon completely useless. He could have snapped her neck, could have easily knocked her hard enough to put her out of his misery. He’d be right to fire her ass.

  He kissed her instead. Wells leaned in, fast, and pressed his lips against hers. Amanda’s nerves lit up like a flare. Her body rocked forward into him, responding on its own, and Wells met it halfway. His mouth opened enough to brush his tongue against her lips. They parted and let out a soft whimper, enough for Wells to push the kiss deeper. He burned through her. Her skin flamed and tingled all the way down, under a layer of heavy armor, poly-skin and sweat. She moved her mouth against his and felt each flick of his tongue like a spark.

  Her pulse pounded, pulsed and moved her body on autopilot. Her free hand grasped at his shoulder, dragging him even closer. The arm holding her rifle dipped under the pressure of his hand. She arched her spine and pressed their chests together.

  Wells tilted his head, breaking the kiss long enough to catch his breath. His hands gripped her, one on her weapon arm and the other at her waist. He moaned low in his throat and brushed his lips against her neck. Amanda gasped. Not subtle in the least, but then, her whole body ached for him to touch her again—anywhere.

  He kissed her earlobe, breathed into her hair and ran his hand up her side to rest just under her breast plate. His voice rumbled near her shoulder.

  “Mark!” A series of tones played from his helmet, a code to open the prime minister’s door. Wells rubbed his body against hers, groaned and turned back into the kiss. He pried her lips apart this time, darting his tongue against hers. The tones continued. Long, long, short, changing pitch each time. Commander Wells ran his tongue along the inside of her mouth, sucked her lower lip gently and brought his hand to her face. “Amanda,” he whispered and then pulled away.

  She felt the cold rush in. Every inch of her body throbbed to touch him again. She looked and found his eyes on her, the lights burning inside them. Her breaths squeezed in and out, not bringing nearly enough air. Her gun sagged and threatened to slip from her fingers.

  Commander Wells grinned at her and the fortified door clicked and began to slide open.

  Chapter Three

  Amanda ran through two full routines with the ship’s holo-spar program. The prime minister had paid them a bonus, given her his personal thanks for his safe rescue. Of course, he wasn’t the prime minister any longer. Happy customers kept them in business, though, regardless of rank. Amanda toweled off a layer of sweat and eyed the ramp that led to the suspension track. She still felt like working out, still had energy to burn.

  She could still feel the kiss.

  Time to run. She chucked the towel into her locker and shut the door. The track would do the trick. She was running out of ways to let off steam, and Commander Wells had definitely turned the pressure up on that front. He hadn’t said a word afterwards. She leapt up the ramp and hit the track at a jog. Not a damn word.

  Her support shoes banged a steady rhythm against the surface. It gave just enough with each step, dipped and eased the impact on her joints while still letting her dig in and let go. She sped up, pumped her arms and let her breath settle into the same rhythm as her legs. She hadn’t kissed anyone in years, couldn’t remember if the last time had come close to Wells, but she doubted it. You don’t forget perfect.

  The poly-skin suit hugged her body tightly, but it couldn’t suppress the trembles just from remembering how Wells had felt, how he’d tasted. Sensations shuddered through her and she ran faster and tried to grind them away with her feet. Half way around her second lap, another beat joined hers.

  Amanda moved her feet faster. She streaked around the rest of the circuit, but the newc
omer still gained on her. She ran full out, leaned into it and let the effort chase her thoughts away from Wells. It worked, too. Her muscles bunched and flexed, burning the extra energy, forcing her mind to focus on the job at hand—until Commander Wells jogged up alongside her.

  In poly-skin…and sweat.

  The tingles spawned without the physical contact this time. She revisited her Gerafit theory. She needed medicine and quick. Perhaps the doctor could give her a shot.

  “You didn’t file a complaint.”

  “For what?” She fixed her eyes on the track ahead, which helped, but didn’t drown the sound of his breathing.

  “Unprofessional conduct.” His footfalls matched her steps. The rhythms blended. “Assault?”

  She stopped running and grabbed the wall. The track bounced enough to throw Wells wide, making him stumble a step before he caught his stride and pulled up six paces ahead. His ass looked like marble in the poly-skin. “Assault?”

  He didn’t turn around right away, and she saw his shoulders lift and fall. When he did face her, his expression held fire again. His broad jaw glistened, and his eyes met hers in something akin to defiance. His voice, however, held less confidence than his gaze. “Why didn’t you file a complaint?”

  “Was I supposed to?” Her anger swelled to the surface and she latched on and used the momentum to subdue her body’s reaction to the man. It didn’t help that he advanced on her, cutting the distance between them in half. “Was it some kind of test?”

  He frowned. The scowl made her heart stutter, but at least it stopped his feet. “A test? No.”

  They stared off for a moment, both breathing hard, but with enough space between them that she could at least attempt to focus. A test made sense. She should have filed the report the second they got back to base—she’d wanted to think it. She fished for the anger again, tried to fan it into some kind of defense. Wells tilted his head and curled his lips into a smile.

  “Why didn’t you file it?” He took a step closer.

  Damn. She needed an offensive and more than just the wall to hold her up when he looked at her like that. He made a good point, though. She could have filed a complaint, could have ruined his career if the brass had believed her. Why would he have risked that, if not to test her? She snagged the thought and flung it at him. “Why did you do it?”

  That brought him up. His eyes widened and a soft chuckle drifted down the track. Wells stepped forward again, one, two steps, until they could have touched. He let his eyes slide down, pointedly following the line of her poly-skin suit and then back up to meet hers. “Why?”

  “Why? If not a test, then why’d you risk it?”

  His smile faded. Something flashed in his eyes, but it was hard and steely. His jaw tightened. “Because I wanted to. Because I thought—”

  Footsteps sounded below the ramp, boots clipping between the mats. Wells stiffened. He snapped his mouth shut on whatever he’d meant to confess. His eyes tried to finish the thought, bored into Amanda until she had to look away. She remembered to breathe, to cling to the fading ember of anger and to keep her hand firmly wedged against the track wall. He thought what? That she wanted him to kiss her? Had her out-of-control hormones been so obvious that the commander was obliged to kiss her? The warmth spreading over her face this time didn’t make her want to do anything but run away.

  “Man? Is that you?” Hicks’ voice shouted from below the track.

  “Yeah.”

  Wells said nothing. She could feel him willing her to look up. The tension swelled and pushed at her, but she focused on the track, on the railing and the space where Hicks stepped into view.

  “Big boss wants to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “How the hell should I know what the idiots in charge want? Oh, sorry about that, Commander. Didn’t see you up there.”

  “At ease, Hicks.” Wells took a long step backwards. “Man.” He nodded once and spun on his heel. The track bounced as he launched into an all out run.

  Amanda watched his ass. Marble. Who could blame her for it?

  “You coming down, or not?” Hicks hollered.

  “Yeah.” Coming down. More like crashing and burning.

  Amanda bit her lip and watched Wells round the next curve. She needed a doctor, maybe. She needed to calm the hell down, definitely. At the moment, she needed time away from Commander Wells. Whatever he was about to tell her would have to wait. She hit the ramp at a trot, listening to the rhythm of his feet. Whatever it was, she was damn sure going to find out.

  Just as soon as she found out what the big boss wanted.

  The new Mercenary Defense Conglomerate offices orbited the secondary moon of Oxlyn Delta. This base meant new opportunities and a reach well into territories that the primary location couldn’t hope to service. It also required a long trip in cryo, but the pay raise had tempted six full units of mercenaries and a battalion of new recruits for on-site training.

  Amanda had her suspicions about the brass, though. Standing outside the branch manager’s door, she pondered again whether the higher ups who made the trip were just offered bigger cookies, or whether the Corps had used the relocation to rid itself of less desirable members of its management team.

  Devlan Tryn answered her knock with a curt, “Come in.”

  When the door slid open, Tryn already stood at attention behind his slick, translucent desk. He carried the extra bulk of a humanoid bred on a low-gravity planet, every inch of it softened by years spent sitting behind a stack of paperwork. His chunky fingers whitened on the lip of his desk, no doubt, due to the presence of the other man in the room.

  “Man,” Tryn’s voice warbled like a lunar sparrow. “This is agent Vines.”

  Sure it was. People in Vines’ line of work didn’t use real names. Amanda stepped inside, but her heart pounded as the door slid shut. She snapped to attention, her eyes forward, but she’d already taken a mental picture of the agent. Tall and skinny, black suit and shiny, copper insignia—Vines reeked of government authority. He must have pissed off someone big, to get assigned to the far reaches and their little operation.

  If she hadn’t already been sweating, just standing in the same room with agent Vines would have done the trick.

  “This is the mercenary?” Vines spoke to Tryn directly. His gaze didn’t even twitch in her direction.

  “Yes.” Tryn sighed and waved a hand wildly, an ambiguous gesture. The manager’s cheek twitched. His nerves didn’t care for Vines any more than hers did. “Can we sit down? Sit down, Man.”

  She marched to the chair farthest from the agent and folded into it. Her hands settled in her lap. Her shoulders formed a line parallel to the chair’s back and just as unflinching. She stared at Tryn and waited. A government agent meant nothing but trouble. It meant trouble that had something to do with her. She’d do best to show no reaction at all—give them nothing to go on until they’d offered her an explanation.

  “Agent Vines has a few questions for you.” Tryn cleared his ample throat. The sound of gravel and fear emerged. His eyes widened. “You will answer him as candidly as possible.”

  “Yes, sir.” She’d landed in a mess, all right.

  “You are one Amanda Rosario Antilla?”

  “Yes.” She fought off the desire to cringe at her given name. Fix eyes forward, Man. Count the cracks in Tryn’s desk and pray this isn’t your exit interview.

  “You go by Man?” He made it sound like an insult.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you know about Commander Wells?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you not understand the question?”

  Vines hadn’t sat. Now, he turned to face her and plopped his skinny butt right in the middle of Tryn’s desk. He couldn’t block the big man from view, but she understood the gesture just fine. He meant to intercede between them, to show her who was in charge of the situation.

  “I don’t understand the relevance,” she said. “And I know nothing a
bout Commander Wells. He’s only been in charge of our unit a short time.”

  “You have no opinion on the man?”

  “He gets the job done.” She bit the inside of her cheek, on the side Vines couldn’t possibly see. Control. He didn’t know shit or he wouldn’t be asking.

  “He certainly thinks highly of you.”

  “Huh?” Damn it, anyway. Did they have telepaths now?

  “Wells’ reports list you as a rising star, Mrs. Antilla.”

  Amanda ground her teeth together.

  “He seems to have you pegged for a fast promotion.”

  “News to me.”

  “Your record agrees with him. And Mr. Tryn here concurred.” He leaned forward. The smile he offered did nothing to ease her nerves. “You’re a first rate mercenary, Man.”

  “Sir.”

  “A model soldier.”

  “I do the job.” She shifted her weight and stuffed her hands under her thighs. He could kiss her…

  “Exaclty the person I need.”

  “What?”

  “I have a sensitive operation on my hands, Mrs. Antilla.”

  “It’s Man.”

  “Man.” He ran his long fingers through thinning hair and nodded at her. Condescending bastard all around. She chewed her cheek again and smiled back. “I need someone inside Wells’ unit who can report to me if they notice anything…” he pursed his lips and wobbled his head slightly. “Let’s say anything unusual.”

  “Unusual?” Like making out in a decoy air duct, perhaps.

  “Anything about Wells’ behavior, his orders, just anything that might strike you as off.”

  “You want me to spy on the commander?”

  “Spy is an ugly word, Man, but in this case, accurate. Yes. I want you to spy on him.”

  “And report to you?”

  Vines stiffened. His lips twitched, exposing neat white teeth. The jackal wanted her to rat on Wells, to spy on her own commander, and he managed to look like she’d offended him.