He shook his head. “Enjoy the food. Take a fast glance at each of the team leads, if it won’t deplete you too much. General impressions only.” As he ushered her into the room and toward their seats at the head of the table, he lowered his voice to say, “Maybe we’ll lose Saviano after dinner and go for a drive, just the two of us.”
“I’d like that.” Because I really want to talk to you and find out what your intentions are, what your plan for us might be.
The dinner was a combination of excellent food smoothly served, if a bit spicier than Miriell preferred, and a lot of boring conversation. As the courses were brought and consumed, and the dishes silently removed for the next offering, she scanned the men and women who were Opherra’s key people and found nothing unusual or unexpected. All were greedy, cruel, vain and unprincipled to various degrees, like every other Combine person she’d ever come across. All except Conor, with his enticing but elusive blue flames. Seeing the blue behind his shields took more concentration than she wanted to exert in this setting. She sat back, sipping at her wine, and glanced from Conor to the people seated around the table. As the conversation went on, the group discussed drugs, gambling, prostitution and other related criminal activities as calmly as anyone else might discuss sports or politics. The discussion nauseated her, even inured as she’d become after four years of captivity. She found it impossible to reconcile the man who’d rescued her and treated her so gently with the ruthless crime captain in charge of this meeting, talking about a horrific amount of human misery and illegal activities.
Truth be told, the restaurant manager and the waiters bothered her more than the Combine people. The staff fidgeted, entering and exiting the room briskly, as if nervous. The service was impeccable, no dishes were dropped or wine spilled, but Miriell picked up the fine edge of terror. Maybe if Opherra had been present, she’d understand, because the crime boss had shown how capricious and casually cruel she could be. But with her absence, why were the restaurant employees and the manager so frightened? The oppressiveness of their anxiety got to the point that she decided to scan the manager the next time he came in. She took her drink and wandered to the glass doors leading to another part of the garden, wishing she could go outside and escape the Combine and the unnerving wait staff alike. But Conor wouldn’t allow her the latitude to leave the room, not in front of all of Opherra’s people.
Pushing the thought of the forbidden garden out of her thoughts, she pivoted to take the measure of the gathering, trying to gauge how close the evening might be to ending. Many of the girlfriends and wives had withdrawn into a circle at one end of the table, chatting. The four male significant others had formed their own group in a corner. Conor and the team leads were still deep in conversation, but the formal reports had ended. Are they talking sports now? About to take a sip of the wine, Miriell froze.
The remnants of the last course were still on the table. It had been at least five minutes, and no one had come in to clear the dishes or bring the desserts, which she’d been assured by her seatmate were renowned. Was she the only one who noticed?
Placing her glass on a low table by the door, she walked to Conor, bending to speak in his ear. “Something’s wrong.”
“Give me a minute,” he said, patting the hand she’d laid on his shoulder. “I need to—”
Senses blaring an alarm inside her, she grabbed his arm and tugged. “I need to talk to you now.”
Saviano, sitting to Conor’s left, laughed. “Better see what she wants. Never keep someone as hot as she is waiting. You’ve been ignoring her all night, and she might take revenge by refusing you later.”
“Excuse me, I’ll just be a minute.” Dropping his napkin, Conor followed her to the door leading outside.
She felt safer there, close to the tree and garden.
Brow furrowed, tone furious, he asked, “What the seven hells is the matter with you?”
“Where’s the manager? Where are the waiters? Why hasn’t anyone brought dessert? All of them have been incredibly stressed tonight, which I thought was due to having the Combine on the premises, fear of displeasing them or making a mistake, but what if it’s something more?”
Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder. “You may be—”
BOOM.
The sound was so loud she was deafened, ears aching from the pressure of the blast. She felt herself lifted from the floor and literally thrown through the glass doors on a wave of unbearable heat. Conor landed on top of her and wrapped himself around her body, serving as a shield as she felt rather than heard two more blasts. The dining room behind them was enveloped in flames.
Not able to hear herself speak, she screamed Conor’s name and pushed him off. When she sat up, she realized she was surrounded by small chunks of the glass, which had fortunately shattered into nonlethal clumps. Frantically examining the unresponsive Conor in the hot light from the fire, she found the back of his suit had burned off, down to the skin. The remnants of the shirt were still smoldering, and his skin was charred in places. She hoped the nerves were numbed by the severe damage.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she laid her hands on the blistering and blackened skin and began chanting a healing song. Fortunately, she was full of power taken from the ancient tree, and she could see him healing as her gift flowed over him, enhanced by the song. Her hearing came and went, bringing the agonizing screams of those trapped inside the banquet room. As she finished the chant, she rose, ready to try to rescue someone else, but the heat was intense, and the people she could see lay unmoving.
“What the seven hells just happened?” Conor sat up, hand to his head. In the next moment, he was on his feet, taking charge, blaster in one hand, tugging Miriell away from the burning building.
“A bomb, I think. Maybe several.”
There were still screams, and now she heard the buzz of blasters, punctuated by a few shots from projectile weapons.
“Why am I half naked?” he asked without altering his focus on drawing her away from the fire and the shootout.
“You shielded me from the blast, but you were badly burned. I healed you.”
He did a double take then, but was distracted by the sound of the blaster fire. “We’ve got to move. Someone is determined to kill off any survivors who make it to the front door, or drive them back inside the burning building to die.”
“Who would do this? Why?”
“We’ll figure it out later. Come on.” He pulled her toward the rear of the garden.
“Wait!” She wrenched her hand free and ran to the tree, the crown of which was burning fiercely, set alight by floating embers from the restaurant. Placing both hands, palms down, on the trunk, cheek resting on the smooth bark, she said in Tulavarran, “You’re not going to survive this, my ancient friend. Let me set you free, and in exchange, I ask the gift of your power.” She sang the chant for the peaceful passage into the next life.
“Miriell, we don’t have time for this.” Conor hovered close by, eyeing the burning branches above her and checking the restaurant for signs of pursuit. Fortunately, it was so engulfed in flames that no one was going to come at them head on.
“There must be time. This is an ancient one. I can’t help the people, but I can and must assist this spirit. It’s my duty.”
He brushed falling embers away from her skirts and grabbed her wrist. “We should be on the move. We’re too close to the fire and whoever is hunting survivors.”
Twisting free of his grip, she stepped away from him, moving to the other side of the trunk as the heat from the burning building threatened to scorch through her clothes. “You go ahead, if you must, but I can’t shirk my responsibility as a priestess.”
Muttering a curse, he took up a defensive stance close beside her. “I’m not abandoning you here, but make whatever you’re doing quick.”
She felt tremors under her palms and clung tight.
Above her, the as-yet-unburned branches sprouted a cascade of shiny new green leaves and then b
urst into flowers, the blooms’ perfume incredibly rich, overpowering the smoke for a second. Gratefully, she drew the scent into her abused lungs. Then the flowers died, morphing into seedpods in a blink, releasing from the tree and floating away on the wind fanning the fire. Miriell felt power flowing from the tree into her in a riveting flood of energy, filling her from head to toe, every nerve ending in her body transformed into a conduit for the transfer. The tree under her hands cracked, and Conor yanked her away as the wood crumbled into pulp, and the mighty boughs crashed to the earth, breaking as they fell. The fire blazed up.
“We’re going now.”
“How can we get out? The garden’s fully enclosed,” she said, dazed from her encounter with the dying sentience of the tree. She stumbled as he pulled her along the path.
“There’s always a way. I’m not getting shot down like a penned dog, and I’m not allowing them to kill or capture you.” At a run, he led her to a tool shed in the farthest corner. The door was locked with a padlock and chain.
“We can’t shelter in there.” She checked over her shoulder as more explosions rocked the building behind them.
“Kitchen going up probably.” He stowed the blaster in his battered shoulder harness. “If I give you a boost, can you get on the roof of the shed?”
She kicked off her shoes. “I used to climb trees so high their crowns touched the sky. I can do this.”
“Stay low once you get up there.” He lifted her, and she managed to claw her way onto the corrugated roof of the shed, ripping her dress in the process, crawling to the other side as she heard him leap and catch the edge to pull himself up. The shed overlooked an alley.
“I don’t sense anyone nearby,” she whispered.
“Good.” He handed her the shoes. “I’ll go first and catch you.” He slithered to the ground and then held up his arms for her.
Taking a deep breath, Miriell let herself down, falling the final few feet into his rock-solid embrace.
Blaster in hand again, Conor hustled her down the alley away from the restaurant. Sirens blared in the distance.
“Surely we could get help from whoever comes?”
He shook his head, stopping in a pool of dark shadow and surveying the street ahead. “Until I know who ordered this hit and why, I’m not trusting anyone, including Opherra.”
“Why would she want to eliminate her own team? Kill you?”
“I doubt it was her, but until I’m positive, we’re not taking chances. Stay here for a minute.”
Before she could answer, he darted down the street, hugging the line of vehicles. A moment later, she heard an engine sputter to life, and a small ground-only cargo hauler came toward her, making a U-turn before stopping. The door slid open, and she ran to throw herself inside. Conor sped off almost before she was safely in the passenger seat.
“This truck’ll take us a few miles, and then I’ll switch to something better. No one’s likely to report it stolen tonight.” He glanced at her. “You doing okay?”
“I’m full of energy from the tree, so yes, physically. I think I’m in a bit of shock, though.” She held one hand out so he could see how she trembled.
“Probably. We had a helluva close call. Thank the Lords of Space you figured out something was going on. Breathe deep and trust me. No one’s going to find us again tonight. I know where we can lie low.” He drove the truck smoothly, not too fast, obeying all the traffic laws, as far as she could tell with her limited experience. There were few other vehicles on the road.
“How can you stay so calm?”
“Nerves of steel are in my job description.” He grinned. “I’ve been in bad situations before. Soldier, remember?” Glancing at her after he guided the truck around a curve, he said, “Thanks for saving my life. I owe you.”
“We’re even, I think. You saved me from Jareck last night. I wish I could have done something for all the other people we were with. I know they were Combine, but I can’t be reconciled to such a terrible death for people who never directly harmed me or mine. If only I’d spoken up sooner. I knew the restaurant staff was nervous, but until everyone waiting on us disappeared completely at dessert time, I didn’t suspect they knew an enemy would try to murder us.”
“Hey, don’t blame yourself.” Reaching out, he squeezed her hand. “This was a well-planned, professional hit. “
“Why would the attackers warn the restaurant manager?”
Conor shrugged. “Historically, that restaurant was a neutral place, a safe zone. He probably has informers and allies in many of the different factions. Maybe someone owed him. Maybe he helped set us up. Once you’re in the world of organized crime, all bets are off and you can’t rely on anyone. No trust.”
“I trust you.”
He took a deep breath. “I trust you too. You’ll find out how much in a little while. I hope we’re going to have a chance to talk tonight.” Holding up a hand as he steered the truck into a parking structure and headed for an upper floor, he said, “But not yet. Bear with me a little longer.”
He parked the truck at the edge of an empty floor. “We’ll be leaving the truck here.” He climbed past the seats to check the contents in the back of the vehicle. “This is more like it, better than driving in burned rags.” He tore the remnants of his burned jacket and shirt off, dropping them to the floor, and removed a uniform tunic from a peg. Although the stolen garment was tight fitting, he took a deep breath and closed the fasteners. He retraced his steps and exited through the driver’s door, walking around the vehicle to assist her in sliding from her own seat.
Miriell stood by, hunched against the cold wind blowing through the empty structure. “Now what? Why are we leaving the truck here? Should we take the burnt clothing?”
“I’ve left enough other evidence behind already, fingerprints for one, so the clothes hardly matter. No time to erase all traces. Lucky Opherra has most of the cops on her payroll and she can probably afford to buy the damn trucking company if they get upset over us borrowing a vehicle in an emergency. As to why we’re abandoning the truck now, you’ll see in a few moments.”
Hugging the wall, he led her to a dark stairwell. Despite her misgivings, she followed him into the inky passageway and descended the narrow steps for a nerve-rackingly long time. She tried not to breathe too deeply of the mold-scented air. Eventually, they arrived at a locked door, dimly lit by a flickering yellow light set into the ceiling directly above. Conor took out his handy tool kit, and a moment later the portal opened. She was barely across the threshold when the door snapped shut again, and Miriell gasped as she found herself in total darkness, only his tight grip on her hand to anchor her.
Then lights came on in rapid succession across a vast expanse, revealing a subterranean level of the parking structure. Enclosed in translucent security forcefield shields, a few vehicles sat scattered throughout the expanse.
“Long-term storage,” Conor said, heading toward one of the groundcars. It took him only a moment to retract the security stasis and usher Miriell into a beige, nondescript, older groundcar with a few dents and some missing paint here and there.
“Is this your car?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He activated the engine by tapping a code into the panel, and there was a muted roar. “I have the use of it if I need transport in an emergency. I think tonight qualifies.”
“The engine sounds like it could power a spaceship, not a groundcar.”
“Hidden capabilities.” His grin was cocky. “Not much longer now, and I’ll have you somewhere you can clean up and relax. We’ll be safe, I promise.”
Conor drove up and out of the garage at high speed, exiting onto a different street than the one they’d arrived on. He drove west, activating the vehicle’s flight configuration for a good half hour and blending smoothly into the aerial traffic lanes that soared above the glittering expanse of lights. “This city never sleeps,” he said. “Rush hour is around the clock.”
Eventually, he exited the sky
lanes, set down on a road again and drove at a conservative speed through what appeared to Miriell to be a normal subdivision of homes, each house set back from the street, kids’ toys scattered on the lawns, along with other evidence of the ordinary people who lived in the neighborhood. The battered appearance of their car fit right in with the other vehicles parked on the side of the road and in driveways. For the most part, the houses were dark. Conor pulled into a driveway seemingly at random and drove around to the back and into a garage whose door opened as their car approached and closed again smoothly.
He came to her side of the groundcar and opened her door. “No need to sit in the garage.”
She took his hand and let him assist her from the seat. The garage was featureless, had no windows and had room for at least two more groundcars. There was a single door, which led into a kitchen, the lights coming on as he entered in front of her. Conor tapped a code into an AI beside the portal so rapidly she couldn’t see the individual digits, then pulled her close with a sigh, resting his head on hers. “At last.”
She put her arms around him, and they stood locked together for a moment. “Are we safe here?”
“Absolutely.”
“No listening devices? No danger of anyone walking in on us?” Tilting her head to gaze into his face, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling at the idea of total privacy. Going on tiptoe and pulling his head down at the same time, she brushed a kiss across his lips. They’d barely escaped a fiery death. Who knew what might happen tomorrow? She’d made her decision to celebrate being alive and to experience what this warrior could offer. There’d been attraction and desire between them long enough. Time to seize the opportunity. From the way his arousal pushed at the fastening on his trousers, Conor was of a like mind.
“I deactivated all the surveillance ganglions, and we’re completely alone, I swear.” He moved to get a better angle for a second kiss, his hand brushing the side of her breast in an intimate caress. While he was kissing her, he unfastened the necklace and laid it aside on the counter.
Danger in the Stars: (The Sectors SF Romance Series) Page 8