She flicked a button on it, and he tensed expecting a fresh attack, but Laframboise stepped back, and the wall shifted behind Sergei’s back instead. His portion of it tilted and thrust outward, until he was lying on a table-high slab next to his tormenter. Make that bed-high. Her eyes were dark with lust, and she didn’t waste any time climbing onto it.
His head thunked back, and he reluctantly accepted that he wasn’t going to be able to escape this fate.
As she lifted her leg to straddle him, an obnoxious siren wailed in the hallway. An alarm?
Laframboise scowled suspiciously at him. He thought about shrugging innocently back, but that might make her more suspicious. He settled for a sullen glare, even as he prayed that she would get off him and go to check on the problem. That might give him the moment he needed.
Still scowling, she set the baton down next to his side and slid to the floor. She stalked to a desk and waved a holodisplay into the air. As soon as her back was to him, Sergei worked harder than ever at the scalpel. With a ripping of flesh that filled his mouth with blood, he finally tore the tool free. Halfway there. Now he had to get it into his hand. He pursed his lips around it, ready to spit it out. He would only have one chance. His aim had to be precise, his hand quick. He could hit a target at thirty meters with a throwing knife. Surely he could do this.
He checked on Laframboise first, but she was hunched over the display, her back to him. “What the hell is going on, Cheng? Are there more mercenaries in here?”
“Not sure yet, my lady. We’re checking as fast as we can.”
Sergei turned his head, grimacing at how far away his hand looked. One chance…
He spit out the scalpel like a cherry pit, arching it and hoping his aim was as true with his lips as it was with his arm. The compact handle spun through the air, and bounced off the edge of the shackle. No! He almost cried it aloud before he caught himself. The tool landed on the wall-turned-bed, less than two inches from his fingertips. And in plain sight.
Laframboise must have heard it, because she looked back at him. He returned her stare, not glancing at his hand, hoping she didn’t notice that small dark object lying beside it from across the room.
“There was an incident with a hover truck delivering groceries,” the man on the other side of the comm said, “and then something in the kitchen just a few minutes ago.”
The kitchen? Where he had left Jamie? As Laframboise turned back to the display, a fresh wave of fear rushed through Sergei. Whatever was going on in the kitchen, that had to have been Jamie’s doing. They could be zeroing in on her right now.
With new urgency driving him, Sergei pushed his arm as far out as he could through the shackle. His fingertips brushed the scalpel. His wrists were already bleeding—he barely remembered thrashing and causing those wounds—and the moisture seemed to help, lubricating the underside of those iron restraints. Another half an inch, and his index and middle fingers pinched the scalpel. He pulled it back, thumbing it on. The slender crimson blade licked out. He turned it, hardly caring if he cut himself, so long as he could slice through the shackle.
“Keep me informed.” Laframboise swiped an irritated hand to turn off the display.
Damn it, he needed another sixty seconds. The scalpel laser was cutting the iron, but the awful angle meant it wasn’t searing through it quickly.
“And turn off that damned alarm,” she snapped, though the call had already ended. The security man must have anticipated her order, because the siren did grow quieter, at least on this floor. Laframboise growled and stalked toward the table to pour herself another glass of wine.
Yes, Sergei urged. Take your time, enjoy your drink…
The beam sliced deeper, the shackle growing warmer under the laser, the hot iron painful against his bloody skin. A few more seconds was all he had to endure. As Laframboise drank her wine, he willed her not to notice the faint burning metal smell that rose above her own musk.
She set down the glass and turned toward him, a determined expression on her face. He twitched the fingers in his left hand, hoping to draw her eye in that direction, hoping she wouldn’t see the slender laser blade in his right. Freedom was so close.
“It’s time to introduce Phase Two,” she said, stalking toward him. Then she squinted, spotting the tool.
Cursing, she threw the wine glass and ran toward him.
The hot blade sliced through the last molecule of iron, and the shackle broke in half. Laframboise reached him, lunging for the baton, but it was far too late for her.
Sergei struck like a viper, his hand wrapping around her throat. He almost grabbed the damned baton instead, but he didn’t need it. He jerked her down, and all the rage and humiliation and pain culminated in one massive squeeze that crushed her neck before she had time to react.
He pushed her off him and heard her body slump to the floor. Maybe later, he would feel triumphant at his victory, but he was too exhausted and mentally battered to feel anything now. The only thought that kept him from slumping there in a stupor was that he had to find Jamie and make sure she hadn’t been captured. With a shaking hand, he picked up the scalpel and set to work on the other shackles.
* * *
Jamie stood with her ear pressed to the door, waiting for the kitchen to quiet down, for everyone to run out in response to the alarm. But it was hard to be certain with the incessant wailing reverberating from the walls. Since she was the one who had set off the alarm, she could hardly begrudge the sound. She just hoped it had come in time to help Sergei, to distract Laframboise from tormenting him until Jamie could get up there and do… she didn’t know what yet.
After everyone had seen Sergei shackled on that wall, her little robot shop had been stuffed with people for a small eternity. The display had excited the staff and aroused speculation, making them forget about the wayward robots in the kitchen. Nobody had glanced upward at her shelf, which was a good thing, because Jamie had been glowering down at everyone, resenting all of those workers for thinking nothing of helping Sergei—they could have at least expressed pity for his predicament. As soon as they had left, Jamie had climbed down and run to the terminal, afraid she wouldn’t be able to access the system again. She had wanted to find a way to activate that robot in the penthouse, to send it after Laframboise like a vengeful attack dog. But there had only been thirty seconds left before the log-in timed out—just long enough to trigger the alarm. The building’s security would doubtlessly figure out that it was a false alarm soon. She only hoped she could find a way up to Sergei before it was turned off.
It made her gut twist to think of him hanging up there naked, being tortured. Tortured for a crime that had nothing to do with him.
Jamie leaned back from the door. It had been quiet outside for a while, aside from the continued cry of the siren, and she was about to slide it aside. Then footsteps sounded in the kitchen again, fast footsteps. It sounded like someone was running toward her. Had someone already identified the source of the alarm? She rushed to the shelving unit again.
Before she had more than started to climb, the door slid aside. There wasn’t time to make it to the top. Jamie lunged and plastered herself into the corner next to the shelves, hoping whoever came in wouldn’t glance back.
Two women charged inside and ran straight for the display. The security system had disappeared once the log-in timed out, so it should take them a couple of minutes to get in and find the program again. Jamie eased for the door. Neither woman looked back. She peeked into the kitchen and heard more running footsteps, but they weren’t nearby. Several racks had been knocked over, and flour and sugar coated the floor and counters like a fine dusting of snow. The robots she had fiddled with had been powered down, even if their mess hadn’t been cleaned up yet.
When Jamie didn’t see anyone, she slipped out the way she and Sergei had first come in. If someone stopped her, she would use the original cover story, that she had been hired and was supposed to report to that head mechanic the r
ecruiter had mentioned.
She was about to step out into the main hallway when a pair of men in battle armor ran into view. She ducked back into the kitchen, hoping they hadn’t noticed her. Or at least hoping that if they had, they wouldn’t view her as a threat.
They charged by the kitchen without stopping, ran to a lift in the center of the hall, and slammed their hands against sensors.
“Malcolm, where are you?” a voice demanded over one of their comm units.
“On my way, Sergeant.”
“If your ass isn’t on the roof within ten seconds, you’re fired.”
The man looked at his comrade, who shrugged back at him, the plates of battle armor clanking. “Promise?”
His buddy smirked.
“No,” the sergeant growled. “Get up here now.”
The lift doors opened, and the two men jumped inside.
Jamie was surprised that her hasty action was resulting in so much activity—she had assumed someone would have attributed her button push to a false alarm by now. Not questioning her luck further, she eased into the hallway and ran to the lift. She waved a hand at the sensor, not sure if it would respond to her. A door thudded open at the end of the hallway, and she winced, certain someone would recognize her as a stranger. But the person merely looked both directions up and down the hall, then yanked the door back shut.
The wailing of the alarm paused and a voice came over the speaker. “We are being attacked. I repeat, Laframboise Compound is being attacked. All security personnel report to stations, unless otherwise contacted. All non-essential personnel, remain in your rooms or at your work stations.”
The lift arrived, and Jamie tensed, afraid another set of armed security guards would be inside. But the cubicle was empty. She jumped in and said, “Penthouse,” hoping that was the name for Laframboise’s level.
“Hold the lift,” someone cried from the direction of the kitchen.
“No way,” Jamie muttered, jamming a hand against the manual controls, ordering the doors to shut.
They did so as the face of a soldier came into view. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, his armor was crooked, and he was holding up his trousers with one hand. Jamie glimpsed his exasperated expression, which was followed by a confused who-the-hell-are-you look. As the lift zoomed upward, she wondered if he would be in a hurry to get to his post or would take the time to track her down. If she could find Sergei first, free him and arm him, then the guards shouldn’t be as much of a problem. Assuming he was still healthy and able to fight. He hadn’t worn any new wounds, at least not any that were visible through the robot’s limited range, but at least fifteen minutes had passed since she had been given that glimpse. Who knew what had happened since then?
The lift doors opened, and Jamie’s heart nearly stopped. She wasn’t on the penthouse level yet. Only Floor Nine. She reached for the manual door-shut button again, but it was too late. Another pair of security men in armor stalked inside.
She backed to the corner and kept her head down, hoping they weren’t as observant as the one downstairs and further hoping that the one downstairs hadn’t called to the others to warn them.
One of the men did look down at her, and he seemed to have a question on his lips, but the lift shuddered, and the lights blinked out for a second.
“Not a drill, is it?” the other man asked.
“Doesn’t sound like it. That’s the shields being hit.”
The lift reached the penthouse floor, and the doors opened. Jamie darted out, not glancing back. She hoped these men, too, had been ordered to the roof, and that they had already forgotten about her. Only when the doors whispered closed did she dare look back. They hadn’t come out.
She leaned a hand against a table in the wide hall, taking a steadying breath. This was turning into much more of an adventure than she’d had in mind. She rubbed a hand down her face, gathering herself. Once she found Sergei, she could relax. He would know what to do and how to get out of here.
Thanks to her tour via the roaming robot, the wide hallway ahead of her wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, with its expensive antique furnishings, tapestries, and fancy floating lights drifting along, casting interesting mood lighting. Jamie padded down the passage, striving for silence as she tried to figure out which room the robot had come out of and which room it had gone into. The penthouse felt oddly still, especially after the activity in the kitchen below.
Jamie passed the office, its door standing open, that single lamp still on, and she knew she was only a couple of rooms away from the one with Sergei. She halted next to a side table, realizing she was completely unarmed. What if she had to fight her way past Laframboise and who knew how many security guards to reach him?
She looked around for a weapon, rejected a statue of some naked fertility god, and backtracked to the office. There had been a hearth in there; maybe it had some nice ancient rifles mounted above it. Or—she peeked inside and raised her brows—a pair of even more ancient swords. Better than throwing statues around. She ran in, drew a sleek katana from its sheath, and trotted back into the hallway. With the sword raised over her shoulder—she had no idea how to wield the thing, other than a notion that the sharp side would be the most effective side—she crept closer.
She passed several rooms, then peeked into one and saw a familiar table, as well as a giant bed and a strange platform that had come out of the wall, the wall Sergei was chained to. He was still there and still naked, though he was sitting up, his wrists no longer bound. Jamie checked for guards, but all she saw was a woman’s body lying on the floor at the foot of the platform, her neck twisted at an impossible angle.
She stepped inside, and Sergei’s head whipped up. He had been using some laser to cut the last shackle, and Jamie lowered her sword, realizing that he hadn’t needed her, that he had already dealt with the situation.
“Jamie,” he blurted, alarm entering his eyes. Or maybe that was chagrin. He looked at his nude state and at the dead woman and grimaced. “What are you, uhm.”
Emotion thickened in her throat. Was he afraid she would judge him for being caught in such an awful situation? As if he’d had any choice. There was a haunted look to his eyes, and his wrists were macerated and bloody, as if he had tried with all of his strength to tear himself free.
“I came to rescue you,” Jamie said, waving the sword and striving for a light tone, afraid he had already endured some horrible torment. She noticed the metal baton on the floor near one of the woman’s outstretched hands.
Sergei swallowed visibly, some emotion tightening his throat, as well. “Good,” he said around the lump. “I… could use help with this last shackle.”
Jamie stepped over the woman and held out her hand for his laser scalpel—how had he managed to keep that?
Sergei drew up the leg that was already free and rested his arms on his knee, hiding his nakedness, or maybe hugging himself to fight off a feeling of vulnerability. The area stank of the woman’s musky scent. The jokes the smoking ladies had made suddenly made a lot more sense. Jamie didn’t know whether to hug Sergei or give him space.
“Were you the one who set off the alarm?” he asked quietly.
“I was.” Jamie didn’t mention that she had seen him naked and in shackles, or that half of the kitchen staff had.
“It was timely.”
“I’m glad.”
He watched her work on the shackle for a moment, then lifted his gaze to her face. “Jamie? You know back on the ship, when I, ah, blurted that I loved you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. She had barely processed it then, and even since then, there hadn’t been much time to think about it. Did she feel as strongly about him? Would she have come on this crazy mission with him if she didn’t?
“That probably alarmed you,” he said, “and maybe I shouldn’t have said it so soon, but…”
Jamie swallowed, the idea that he might now withdraw that proclamation distressing her. Her eyes blurred, and she barely saw the fina
l cut of the scalpel.
The last shackle clanked to the floor. Sergei looked down at it, then back up at her again and smiled faintly. “I meant it.”
His smile and his words filled her with such relief that it surprised her with its intensity. Yeah, it dawned on her. She did love him.
She dropped the scalpel and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He returned the hug, burying his face against her neck, holding her as if she were a life preserver. Moisture brushed her skin, and she blinked, tears of her own threatening.
“I love you too,” she said, her voice rough.
The building shuddered, the lights flickering again, reminding them that they weren’t safe yet.
Sergei kissed her neck and pulled back. He used his palms to wipe his eyes, and she winced as she got another look at the abrasions on his wrists. He gathered himself and slid off the platform.
“How did you find me?” he asked, his tone back to normal and the usual stoic soldier’s expression back on his face.
“I poked around with my temporary spy earlier.” Jamie waved to the robot near the table.
“Ah.” The faint smile crossed his face again.
“I think the more pertinent question here is—”
“Who’s attacking the building and how do we get out?” Sergei asked.
“Actually, I was wondering where your clothes are.”
Sergei looked down at his nude form, then at his fallen adversary. “She neglected to tell me.”
“Rude,” Jamie said.
“I thought so.”
“Perhaps you could use her robe.” Jamie didn’t want him to touch that perfume-drenched garment with anything except that laser tool, but she thought the image might amuse him. He looked like he could use amusement.
“I… think not,” was all he said, then strode around the room, poking into drawers and armoires.
Mandrake Company- The Complete Series Page 76