Star Survivor (The Sectors SF Romance Series Book 6)

by Veronica Scott

  “A role you’ve perfected.” From his tone, it wasn’t meant as a compliment. Then he softened it. “I never for a moment considered you unintelligent.”

  Twilka took a deep breath. “To answer your original question, the fashion business may be cutthroat, but not in the literal sense. The other top designers may envy my success and wish they had my sources, but they’re hardly trying to kill me. We each occupy our own niche. So where does my assessment of rivals leave us?”

  “In a dire quandary. I would never dishonor the circumstances of our shared past, of all we endured on the Dream together, by killing you. Yet, it amused the Red Lady to assign me the contract.”

  Struck by a terrifying new concern, Twilka asked, “Will she send someone else if I’m not dead in the morning?”

  He shook his head. “No. Only one Brother is assigned a task such as this and no one here has the authority to question how I approach the mission. There’s no time limit in this case. There are a few Brothers on Temple Home with enough rank to give me orders, and the Red Lady, of course, but I answer to no one else. Certainly no one here on this world.”

  “So what do we do? I guess we could fake my death, but I might as well be dead, if I have to be in hiding the rest of my life. I won’t live on the run, in fear.” She shook her head. “The one thing the whole Nebula Dream experience taught me is how suddenly life can change, can end in the blink of an eye. I live every moment to the fullest and I refuse to give in to fear.”

  “Except of heights.” He flashed her a smile as he referenced a shared memory. “A select few know whether the contract on you was to kill or to guard. The Chief Brother here knows I received an order, but not the nature or who was named, fortunately. His ignorance will buy us time, as long as the Lady doesn’t choose to amuse herself further by checking my progress. I pray weightier matters distract her.”

  “Time to do what exactly?”

  “I have allies in the hierarchy at Temple Home. I’ll call upon those I trust most to do surreptitious digging, find out who issued this contract to the Brotherhood. Once we know the name, we can figure out what lies at the root of the requested hit, and bargain. Offer the person a high value distraction, an objective or action he or she wants more.”

  “Or I can take out a hit on them,” she said.

  He rubbed his chin and eyed her speculatively. “It wouldn’t be unheard of, but expensive.”

  “I was joking.” Mouth open, she stared at him.

  “I’m not.”

  She swallowed. “Okay, well let’s hope this is a mistake, and once you know who hates me enough to kill me, we can buy them off, distract them with something they think is sparkly. Are you going to get in touch with me when you know the name?”

  “I’m not leaving your side until this is resolved. You have a D’nvannae bodyguard.” He gave her a formal bow. “Although no other D’nvannae will be sent, the mere fact someone wants you dead speaks to the need for your protection.”

  You protecting me was all I ever wanted. Once. “Tomorrow…” She glanced at the wall chrono, noting the local time. “Today I mean, I have a series of meetings with buyers, suppliers, influential customers—I may be the best advertisement for my own lines, but there are men and women it’s essential to have wearing my clothes—crowned by my fashion show in the evening and a blowout party to celebrate.” She made a face. “All business, unfortunately. Nothing like the parties I used to attend. This week is the biggest event in the Sectors’ high fashion industry. You’ll be bored out of your mind.” She winced as a thought struck her. “There’ll be masses of press in the evening venue who will be very interested in why I suddenly have a D‘nvannae bodyguard. And if—when—the reporters connect the dots to realize you’re the Brother from the Nebula Dream…” She shook her head. “We managed to hide the fact we were together then, brief though the attachment was.” She hoped he couldn’t detect the pain triggered by the memory. “But this will be big news.”

  He slashed his hand as if fending off an opponent. “No press. The Lady pays no attention to ephemeral things like fashion,” he said with disdain, “But if there was enough publicity involving me, the fact might come to her ears. I have rivals, enemies in the hierarchy.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “As one rises higher in her favor, opportunities for further advancement become limited; there are fierce power struggles, which she relishes. Only a few men can ever enjoy the ultimate spot as a personal companion to the Lady, involved in running the Brotherhood.”

  “And that’s what you always wanted, isn’t it? I guess I should feel honored you’d risk a place at her side to save me for old times’ sake.” Yawning, she said, “Since you assure me I’m safe, I need to get a few hours of sleep. So what’s the plan? Are you going to be front and center on view, or do your invisibility trick, or what?”

  “The cloaking cannot be sustained for more than a few moments. I’ll stay in the background as much as possible. And I gave no interviews, was only recorded by the press in passing after the wreck, when my tariqna had been removed by the Lady. We should be fine.”

  “True. You do look different with the tattoo.” She ran her fingers through her hair like a comb. “Maybe the press will think it’s a publicity stunt. I’m known for crazy stuff—the media says everyone speculates what I’ll do for attention next.” Pointing her finger at him, she made her voice icy. “We’re not sharing the bed by the way—you can have the couch in the sitting room. I’ve got a breakfast strategy session with my assistant and Jord first thing, though, so we’ll be up early.”

  “You’ll explain nothing to them.”

  “You don’t get to give me orders. I appreciate your refusal to kill me, but that doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do.”

  He came close, lifting one hand to touch her hair. “You let your hair grow.”

  Twilka laughed. “I’ve changed color and style fifty times at least in the last five years. I thought you said you’ve seen my merchandise ads? This is actually close to my real hair color, as best I remember.”

  He shook his head, letting the curl drop from his fingers. “You appear different. Softer.”

  “Don’t let the hair fool you. I’m still my father’s daughter and I can cut a deal like nobody’s business.”

  “Let’s hope you can demonstrate the skill on whoever issued the contract.” He snagged a pillow and a spare blanket from the bed and left the room before she could think of a suitable retort.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Contrary to Twilka’s expectations, the day began smoothly. Lissa and Jord were shocked to find Khevan installed in Twilka’s hotel room, but she offered no explanation or even an introduction, so her employees exchanged puzzled glances and settled down to work. Despite his claim to be her bodyguard, he was in and out of the room Twilka used as a temporary office, apparently working his private communications channels, trying to find out who had ordered her death.

  Taking her cue from him, and because she couldn’t maintain a state of fight or flight indefinitely, Twilka managed to conduct her business efficiently. It was a relief to concentrate on fabrics and orders and minor problems with the big show scheduled for the evening.

  Then it was time to get dressed for the presentation. Khevan waited in the living area.

  Twilka took a deep breath and stepped out. His eyes widened and she heard him inhale sharply, but he said nothing. “Well?” She pirouetted on her sky high heels, allowing the diaphanous dress to swirl around her. “The skirt fabric is from Temple Home, the bodice is constructed from Kildar Six iridescent spider webs. I’m not allowing anyone else to buy this model—it’s a Twilka Original and exclusive. To me.” She laughed.

  “Dress and woman are exceptional,” he said with gallantry, coming to take her elbow. “Tell me again what we’re doing this evening?”

  “You never used to make pretty remarks like that. Picked up a new skill, have you?” She twisted her arm slightly to dislodge his hand. As he backe
d off, she went to the mirror to dust a final finishing coat of cosmetic over her lips. “It’s a show, of my gowns and those by nine other top designers,” she said over her shoulder. “A glittering affair. The proceeds go to a variety of charities. Ostensibly the show is for people to place orders, but of course I’ve already contracted for all this collection’s sales. The business can’t wait for the pageantry. I may book a few selected individual orders though.” She scooped up her purse and threw her personal AI inside. “We’re doing this same show in several Sector hubs, with a rotating cast of designers and it’s being beamed Sectorswide as entertainment. We—the fashion council—instituted this a few years ago. Apparently it was a custom on Old Terra at one point.” She shrugged. “The old becomes new again if you wait long enough. Then the party afterward is where the fashion community mixes and mingles, gossips and networks. And drinks or does feelgoods. The important thing is to be seen.”

  “And this is your life now?” he asked, as she exited the suite ahead of him.

  “Well at least I don’t go around killing people,” she said. “I have precious downtime in between designing new collections. Not much, but enough to visit friends, do a little sightseeing, keep my eyes out for new inspiration and fresh ideas. I occupy my time doing a mix of things and rarely party, except in connection with the business.”

  “Are you often bored?”

  Laughing at the idea, she said, “Rarely. Turns out I love the creative process. The business not so much, although there’s a certain satisfaction in negotiating a good deal, or getting my product into a new market. A girl has to keep busy. And if I’m not going to party and do feelgoods all the time, might as well be a fashion magnate. I do a bare minimum of the party and celebrity circuit to keep my Socialite cred. It’s a key part of my brand.”

  They descended the stairs in silence. Twilka refused to do the hotel gravlift—any gravlift—so she did a lot of stair climbing, often in precarious heels, like tonight. Her calves and thighs were killer as a result.

  The media was waiting as she exited the lobby to get into her groundcar. Khevan shifted into full bodyguard mode, establishing a path for her to walk unmolested. People shied away from him instinctively—no one wanted to risk annoying a D’nvannae. She heard a few shouted questions about the new security measures, but ignored them with practiced ease and a big smile, accented by waves to a few of the reporters she knew as she got into the waiting vehicle. Lissa and Jord were already inside and her assistant handed her a glass of champagne as soon as she sat down. Khevan filled the entire bench seat across from her. He really was larger than life, all hard muscle and grim determination. Five years had dimmed her memories a bit.

  Lissa stared at him, open mouthed. Jord said, “Sorry, we didn’t pour a glass for you…”

  “He’s working; didn’t you see the braid? Ignore him,” Twilka said. She and her staff clinked glasses. “Here’s to a good show. You’ve checked the venue?”

  As Lissa recited a summary of the pros and cons of the place where the exclusive fashion show was to be held, Twilka sat and sipped her drink. She would have preferred to check it out herself earlier, as she usually did, but Khevan was adamant she keep her appearances outside the hotel suite to a minimum, since he would have to accompany her, and the goal was to keep his presence low key. She realized Lissa had asked her a question, and she and Jord were staring at her expectantly.

  “Sorry, thinking about a new design. What did you say?”

  “I know you like to indulge your creative urge at all times of the day and night, boss lady, but you need to focus on the business tonight.” Jord plucked the champagne from her hand. “She said Fiona Montecouer is attending tonight’s gala and has asked for a gown to wear from the collection. A private fitting, before the show. She and her people will be meeting us there in half an hour, standard time.”

  Twilka stared at him. What’s with this attitude? Was proximity to Khevan raising Jord’s jealous hackles? She so didn’t have time for this tonight. She stifled an urge to giggle at the mental picture of Jord squaring off with Khevan. Sure he’d been an all Sectors tisba striker and had kept his six pack through assiduous training ever since retiring with an injury, but he’d be no match for a D’nvannae Brother. No one would be. “I don’t have time to pamper a demanding celebrity before the show.”

  Lissa shook her head. “We’ve been trying to get her into your clothes for three seasons now. You have to accommodate her.”

  I don’t have to do anything. The rebellious urge rose in her like hot lava. A headache began to throb and she rubbed her left temple.

  “Besides, she just had that incredible hit trideo; she’s a sure thing for the Best Actress nomination and we need her to be in a Twilka Original.” Lissa made her case.

  Khevan was watching her, face impassive. Twilka wondered what he thought of her business. Straightening, she said, “Of course you’re right, although everyone knows Liora will win for the biopic of the Angel of Fantalar.”

  “Liora doesn’t have the right image for your brand and Fiona does,” Lissa said. “She appeals to the edgy Socialite wannabees, especially since she never hides the fact she came up from some awful colony somewhere. People can’t be you, but they can sure relate to being her. Her patronage is a fusion that can boost us.”

  Pondering whether Lissa was planning to do a sneaky side deal, hire a designer, and attempt to steal a good chunk of Twilka’s clientele, she gave in. Good luck because no other celebrity designer has my connection to the wreck of the Nebula Dream and people are still fascinated by that night to remember. And by me because I survived. Fiona may be a poor kid who hit the big time, but she’s easily replaced. No one else will ever be me, lucky for them. “All right, if it’ll make you happy, Fiona can have half an hour.”

  There was no horde of press to navigate at the venue because the groundcar deposited them at a side entrance. Twilka swept inside and was immediately plunged into the chaos of preparing for a major show. Two of the models were having a catfight over who should wear the show opener, which wasn’t their decision in any event. She settled the squabble in a heartbeat, by switching the dress in question to a third girl, and stepped aside to confer with the event’s Master of Ceremonies. The entire contingent of models was staring at Khevan and trying to get his attention, some more subtly than others, but he was focused on Twilka. She could tell, although he was acting like a bodyguard, assessing the environment and all the people in it with a cold eye, watching for threats. His presence would be comforting, if it didn’t arouse all kinds of other emotions and memories she could definitely do without.

  The trideo star swept in with her entourage and her bodyguards, who seemed like untested boys next to Khevan. Twilka escorted the group to a private space at the edge of the fashion maelstrom, and dresses were brought to be tried on. In under half an hour the celebrity was satisfied, walking out in a gown Twilka decreed suited her perfectly and would land Fiona in all the “best of” trideo streams, garnering priceless publicity for the actress and for Twilka. She lingered behind for a moment, sinking into a handy chair.

  “Is it always this manic?” Khevan asked, moving behind her to rub her shoulders.

  Rolling her head from side to side in sheer relief as the muscle tension eased, she said, “Your hands work magic. Is massage normally part of the D’nvannae bodyguard service?”

  “No. But I can see you getting tense and from what you’ve said, there are hours of this event left to get through.” He lifted his hands away from her body as Lissa burst through the door with a quick knock.

  Open mouthed, she stared from one to the other. “Oh, sorry.” Obviously recalling her errand, she said hesitantly, “I hate to interrupt, but the model tore the green sheath, put her foot right through the hem, and the girl for the purple-and-gold ball gown hasn’t arrived yet…”

  “You may have to wear the dress and walk yourself,” Twilka said, rising. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Have we briefed the m
odels on how I want them to strut this year?” Lissa nodded. “Good. Let’s go see how bad the damage is. Maybe we can stitch on trim to hide the tear in the green.”

  “The seamstresses are all busy adjusting hems and taking in seams. There’s not going to be enough time…”

  “I haven’t forgotten how to use a needle.” Twilka made a little sewing motion as she walked.

  “And the girl who’s supposed to wear the finale piece hasn’t arrived yet.” Lissa had the tone of a person with a long list of problems to report. “I heard she got hired to walk in another show and might not be here for us at all.”

  “Let me see who’s in the first third of the program that can do a quick change and we’ll pick a new girl for the finale.” Twilka brushed past a pair of stylists with arms full of accessories. “What else? I know you’re not done dumping catastrophes on me.”

  Her assistant stopped dead. “How do you do that? Are you sure you don’t have psychic powers?”

  Laughing in spite of her tension, Twilka grabbed Lissa by the elbow and dragged her out of the way of a stage tech burdened down with complicated equipment. “Just a lot of experience with these productions. I’ve seen it all at least ten times over the years. Nothing surprises me.”

  “This might.” Lissa took a deep breath. “So the Evanderly people staged a living vignette? And the models had to be part of the scenery?”