Redek (Barbarian Bodyguards Book 2)

by Isadora Hart

  "Do you have a few words?"

  "Will the conference go on?"

  Endless questions were thrown at her, and the bitch face wasn't difficult to conjure now. "No comment," she said, cold, turning away from the hungry journalists who were eager to snap pictures of her grief; of Archie dead on the ground and the man who'd killed him lying dead just a few feet away.

  Miranda was watching the scene play out from the sidelines with wide eyes, clutching her binder with white knuckles. Cassie went to her, and wrapped the aide in a hug. She wasn't sure if it was for her benefit or Miranda's, but it felt right, so she did it.

  "I'm so sorry you had to see that," she whispered, keeping her voice low and away from prying ears. "No one should have to see that." No one at the foundation was unfamiliar with death. They'd all been on the ground during war zones, during State executions. They'd seen victims of torture and sexual violence reliving their stories in court and in interviews.

  But she knew Archie. Archie had been her friend. Her best friend. The only person in the world she truly looked up to.

  And she'd just seen him murdered in cold blood.

  She didn't know how to cope.

  "Let's get out of here," she decided, releasing Miranda and squeezing her upper arms. The aide's eyes were red-ringed, and Cassie's shoulder was wet from being cried on.

  She gave the scene one last look, and wondered whether she should make a statement now. She should be the first one to speak to the press about Archie, shouldn't she? She should tell them what a brilliant person he'd been, how he was the last person in the universe who should be attacked.

  She wanted everyone to know. She didn't want to hear speculation on what he might have done wrong, or whether he'd done something to deserve it.

  One look at the hungry press told her she needed to wait, though. She wouldn't be able to hold herself back from telling them how disgusting she thought it was that they were profiting off people's grief right now. "Let's go," she repeated, turning away and going to one of the guards who was securing the glass doors through to the main building. "Can we leave?" she asked. "I can't stay in here any longer, with all that going on. It's too much right now."

  He looked around, but then nodded. "Of course." It wasn't like there was anywhere she could hide or leave once within the headquarters. The hangar was the only way out. Teleportation was disabled on the space station. "Speak to someone at reception and they'll give you your room key. The police will want to speak to you soon."

  She did as he'd said. Miranda trailed after her, head down and her gaze on the floor.

  The architecture barely registered as Cassie walked. She'd been so excited to see the old marble statues, the famous fountain in the lobby. Union headquarters was as much a museum as a parliament building. It was a blur now, though. Everywhere she looked all she could see was the red of Archie’s blood, was the laugh Archie had given her before they left the corvette, the encouragement he'd given her for years.

  He'd even been encouraging her on his deathbed.

  She wanted desperately to drop out of the conference. To retire to her small apartment back on Luseck Six and grieve properly.

  The memory card in her bra was like a dead weight, though. If they missed this chance it might never come up again. They were the only three people in the world who had this information.

  She planned to do exactly what Archie had told her to with it.

  She planned to win.

  2.

  CASSIE

  Cassie threw herself into action when she was back in her room. She walked Miranda to her room, gave her another hug, and told the aide to buzz her if she needed anything, even if it was just to talk.

  Then she retired to her own room and made a list of things she needed to do before she collapsed onto her bed and cried.

  She needed to write a speech for the press, about Archie's life and about how she was going to stay at the conference as lead diplomat in honor of his memory.

  She needed to get his memory card back, somehow. If someone got hold of it before she had the right moment to use the information it might all blow up in her face.

  She needed to get herself some protection.

  The assassin had pointed the barrel of the gun in her face, and the eyes that had watched her hadn't been unsure. They were cold and detached as they prepared to pull the trigger.

  She was sure she'd been a target, too.

  And so she needed someone to have her back.

  She looked at her bed, tempted to sit down to make the necessary call to her director, but was worried she'd never get up again. She sat cross-legged in front of the floor length window at the edge of the room, instead. She was back in the new quarters of the space station: her room was absent of stone, and included every modern convenience she could think of. The glass didn't have curtains, it had a button to tint it to darkness when she wanted to sleep.

  From here she could see plenty of things on the station below her, though. The station was like a floating saucer, and she was halfway up a tower on the edge. The courtyard was completely visible to her, as was the rushing of journalists, IU staff, and diplomats attending the conference trying to organize themselves and figure things out.

  Just before she was about to press the call button to the director, she saw the stretcher carrying Archie's body being brought across the courtyard. They'd covered him, but she could see his outline beneath the black plastic—see his hooked nose and the outline of his wedding ring where his hands were crossed over his chest.

  Tears stung in her eyes, and she pushed them back. Crying was for later, when she'd done everything she could to make sure she was prepared.

  She was a professional first and foremost.

  Everything else was secondary.

  She waited until he'd been taken to an elevator and out of sight before turning and leaning her back to the glass instead. It was only distracting her. Then she pressed the call button.

  The director's PA answered. "Jensen Lassen's office, how can I help?"

  "Dala, it's me. Cassandra. I need to speak to the director. Have you heard yet?"

  She could picture Dala's frown. The older woman had seen a lot of shit over the years, and she knew how to read when something was wrong. "What's going on?"

  "Put the news on. Any station will do."

  There was a pause, and then a gasp. "Oh my Lord," Dala breathed, her voice catching. "It's really true? Archie?" There was another gasp. "How can they be allowed to play the footage like that? Oh, no. No. No. This is not okay."

  "Dala," Cassie tried to soothe, though it came out as more of a bark. "I need to speak to the director."

  "Of course! He's on a phone call, but I'll make him hang up. He's going to be devastated. Oh, Archie. He never deserved this."

  Cassie's chest felt hollow, and she dug her nails into her palm to stop her bursting into tears. She just needed some time alone, to get it all out. To scream and punch and cry until she was worn out and could deal with people without flying off the handle. But she didn't have that time.

  "I'm sorry I had to tell you like that," she said to Dala. "It's all just so hectic here and I need to make arrangements and speak to the press and everything fast. I need to get ahead of it."

  "Don't apologize. You're doing the right thing. It's just hard. Give me a second." Cassie was put on hold for a moment while Dala spoke to the director. "Okay. I'm about to put you through. Stay strong, Cassie. I know you can handle it. Archie thought you could."

  Two tears burned tracks on Cassie's cheeks. "Thanks, Dala. I'll see you at the funeral."

  “I’ll put you through to Jensen.”

  Then she was patched through to the head of the foundation. "I'm so sorry to hear the news," he siad. The director wasn't someone she'd had much contact with herself, but she knew he and Archie had been negotiator and mentor once upon a time, just like she and Archie had. He must have been grieving. His voice betrayed nothing, though.

  “It’s
not been the best start to the conference,” she agreed. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

  “Better from you and Dala than a call from a journalist. I’m sure I’ll be getting many of those over the coming days.”

  “I need to ask you about getting some protection.” She may as well get straight into it. The director was a busy man, and he didn’t need to spend time placating her feelings. “The assassin almost killed me too, and I don’t believe it was accidental. I’d feel safer having someone just to watch out for me, if the budget can swing it.”

  “Of course. I’ll sort something out and have someone with you before the day is out. We have companies on hold for situations like this. Unfortunately it’s not the first time we’ve had to deal with threats to our personnel.”

  Her fingers laced in her lap. She wanted to ask what had happened last time. “Thank you.”

  “So you’re staying at the conference?” he checked. “There’s no shame in saying you need to come home. We have people on stand by.”

  “No, I want to stay.” She didn’t want to stay at all; she wanted to go home and cry, and get lost in her misery for a few days. She wanted to be on the ground, where she could help people directly and immediately and have that satisfaction of someone giving her a grateful smile. The last thing she wanted to do was play politics with people she knew were scum.

  With people who might be responsible for Archie’s death.

  But she and Archie had worked long and hard to get the information that was going to swing this conference in their favor. It was highly secret, and she couldn’t bring herself to give it to someone else in the organization even if they might have been better equipped to use it.

  Cassie and Archie had had a plan, and she was going to stick to it.

  It was what Archie had wanted, in that last dying moment. He’d told her to win, and she would.

  “I can be first chair at the conference. Archie trained me well. I’m ready.”

  “I don’t doubt your skills as a face for the charity, I doubt your emotional state right now. Losing someone close to you isn’t the basis for a good negotiating performance.”

  She swallowed the automatic response that she agreed with him. She didn’t know if she was ready, or if she could do it. “I’m a professional. I can grieve on my own time.”

  Jensen paused. “Then I shall leave it in your hands. Don’t hesitate to call if there’s anything we can do for you. I’ll inform Archie’s widow, and let you know of the funeral plans when I have them.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Jensen, please. There will be someone with you about your safety by the end of the day. Stay put until then. Keep your statement to the press short and to the point, and take the day off. The conference will be delayed for a couple of days, take that time to get your head together. I have to go. I’m sure you can do it.”

  Her heart clenched, and she had to clear her throat before responding. She hadn’t realized she needed that encouragement until she heard it. “Thanks, Sir. Erm, Jensen. I appreciate the vote of confidence. I’ll keep you updated.”

  He hung up and she was left staring at the ceiling, the temptation to crawl into bed gnawing at her. Just a few hours to mope. Just a few hours to remember all the things she’d admired Archie for.

  She stood up, though, and stretched. Not yet. There was still too much to be done.

  And the first of those was to draft a speech for the press. She wanted to give it before the day was out and she’d let it sit and the speculation happen. She didn’t want to seem weak, either. Taking a day to recover would be weak. Getting out there and showing that she was grieving, but still a professional, might help stop some of the dismissal she was going to get from other conference-goers that she was just being an emotional woman whenever she said something they disagreed with.

  The Intergalactic Union refused to legislate against torture—there wasn’t a lot of legislation, or common sentiment, confirming that sexism was wrong yet, either.

  She took her notepad and pen from her bag rather than her tablet. She didn’t handwrite things very often, but right now she needed the distraction of forming the letters on the page, the satisfaction of scribbling out words she’d changed her mind on rather than an underwhelming backspace. It helped stop the thoughts of Archie taking over as she tried to write about him.

  The mini-bar was incredibly tempting, but she put that off until later, too. A reward to go with the crying she planned to do.

  She’d only been sitting for an hour when there was a knock on the door.

  Swallowing, she checked her phone, but there were no messages. Miranda normally messaged before coming to see her, even when they were just in their offices, across a hallway from one another. She was overly polite like that. Maybe it was the police. They’d be coming to speak to her soon.

  Or maybe it was another assassin, coming to finish the job.

  She stood up and brandished the pen in her hand, looking through the peep hole in the door.

  A burly man stood on the other side. It wasn’t someone she recognized, and the police normally traveled in pairs. She hoped someone that gorgeous hadn’t decided to throw their lives away assassinating people for a side who advocated the right to torture people. His jaw and cheekbones were strong and angular, his hair arranged in loose black curls on top of his head. His eyes were intense as he watched the door. She was somehow sure he was staring right at her even though there was a thick slab of metal in between them.

  She put the pen down in favor of the knife she always carried in her purse, and then took a deep breath. Assassins didn’t knock on the door, she decided. They didn’t stand on the other side with their arms crossed, no gun in either hand. The other one had been wearing a mask, had lilac eyes. He didn’t.

  But she still opened the door with the knife behind her back, more than ready to plunge it into whatever part of him she could if he made a move.

  “Cassandra Maxwell?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Vikram Pallan of Suytov Planet Security. I’ve been assigned as your bodyguard for the rest of the conference, at the request of the Director of the Universal Rights Foundation.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. She should have realized earlier. He was the same species as the bodyguards who’d been flanking the Agalaxian Prince when he’d disembarked earlier that day. They looked mostly human, but there were some subtle differences that told her he had some genes from elsewhere. The first was the sheer size of him. He wasn’t so tall it was unnatural, but he was almost seven feet tall. It wasn’t strange as a one-off occurrence, but the bodyguards she’d seen earlier had been huge like that, too, and it wasn’t a coincidence. The other thing was his skin. She hadn’t been able to tell from a distance when she’d seen the bodyguards with Prince Qugrom, but it was more leathery than that of a human. More toughened. His race clearly had human ancestry, but when humans had found his planet they’d mated with something else there, and he was the result. No doubt there were more changes in his genetic make-up beyond just appearances.

  “Nice to meet you.” Sheepishly, she pulled the knife from behind her back and set it on the table. “Could I see some ID?” she asked. “Sorry. I’m feeling a bit distrustful of everyone right now.”

  He pulled out his phone and handed it to her, the ID on screen so she could scan it with her own and verify it as IU-recognized. “Normally this part would be more professional, but we’ve been a bit overrun the past few hours.”

  “No worries.” When it was all verified, she stepped to the side and allowed him into the room, closing the door behind them. He seemed to fill up all the space in what she’d thought was a huge room when she first entered. He wasn’t just tall, he was built like a tank. And he carried an armory, too. On his belt were countless knives, and two guns. She felt safer already. “I can’t say I’ve ever had a bodyguard before. You’ll have to explain to me exactly how this is going to work.”

  �
��There’s nothing to it. I’ll just be keeping you safe in the background. You don’t have to pay any attention to me.”

  “Where are you staying?” Her room was quite small. She had a couch but it wouldn’t have been very comfortable for someone of his size. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of him sleeping too far away, either, though. When she was asleep and defenseless, that was surely the best time to strike.

  “I’ve been assigned a room on the corridor. I’ll never be too far away if you need me during the night.”

  She held her tongue on a comment that if someone broke in with a gun, she doubted down the corridor would be enough to stop someone capping her in the head. “Great.”

  He retrieved something from his pocket and handed it to her. “This is a panic button. It sends a message straight to my phone telling me if you’re in danger. You should keep it on you at all times, and press it if you think something is wrong.”

  She took the small button from him, fingers brushing against his as she did. He was warmer than she’d expected, hot even at the tips of his fingers. “Okay, that’s actually great. It really does make me feel better.”

  “That’s what I’m here to do.”

  And she intended to put him to good use. She’d look much more legitimate with a bodyguard following her around like all the other top diplomats at the event, and she’d feel more comfortable negotiating with the people she had dirt on with someone that strong standing beside her.

  Even if she was unconvinced that he’d be able to stop an assassin with a loaded gun shooting her dead before he could even get close enough to react, she could put him to other uses while he was here. “I have to go and make my speech to the press soon. I hope that’s all right.”

  “You just need to go about your day as you would be doing and I’ll always be behind you, making sure nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I’d appreciate a schedule of what you’ve got planned for the day in the morning, but if you can’t get it to me it’s not essential.”