Caught in Amber

by Pegau, Cathy

  “I know.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head. “And you’ll counter that how? With a note from my parole agent attesting to the sincerity of my backslide?”

  “You’ll tell him what he wants to hear, Sasha.” He shifted on the bed, their knees less than a hand-span apart as he leaned closer. The flowery scent of her shampoo reminded him just how close they were. And how much closer they could be with the slightest shift of his body. “What he needs to hear from you.”

  “Which is?”

  “That you were wrong to leave him.” She stiffened but said nothing, maybe too incensed to speak, so he continued. “You were wrong—you couldn’t make it on the outside without him. Your stint at the NCRC told you that much and more, and now you want to make it up to him.”

  “And if he doesn’t believe me?” Her voice was quiet with worry. The soft puffs of her breath he felt on his cheek made his gut quiver.

  Swallowing hard, Sterling shrugged and sat back, feigning a casual manner he didn’t feel in the least. “Your part is done, and I try something else.”

  “That’s it? I can walk away?” She sounded doubtful.

  “Your Level Two status stays. I swear to that.”

  “But if I can get you in, you’ll get the chip deactivated.”

  He nodded, unable to speak the lie. If he left any room for doubt, she would never agree to work with him.

  Sterling cleared his throat and swallowed the lump that nearly choked him. His job often had him bending the truth, if not outright lying. Why was it so difficult this time? His original plan to make her a simple deal of parole status upgrade had become a promise for something he wasn’t sure he could keep, and he felt guilty for lying to her.

  “If Guy throws me out first thing,” she said, “I’m no worse off than I am now. Except he remembers I’m alive.”

  “Trust me, he remembers now.”

  Fear darkened her face and Sasha dropped her gaze to her feet. She took two deep breaths, as if gathering her strength. When she looked at him again, the fear was tempered by something else. Determination? Anger? Disgust? “And if he believes me? If he believes I want to work with him, to...be with him?”

  Her voice was low, a rough whisper of dread. They both knew what going back to Christiansen, going back into that world, could do to her. Could she resist the opportunity to return to that lifestyle, even if it negated every struggle she’d been through for the past eight years?

  Sterling surrounded one of her hands with both of his. Her skin, cool at first, warmed quickly. He thought she’d pull away, but instead her fist relaxed. He felt the heat of her palm against his fingers as he slid his hand into hers. They fit well together, and he couldn’t help stroking the back of her fingers with his thumb. Her eyes widened, the dark pupils expanding to leave a ring of stormy gray iris.

  “I promise to keep you safe. I won’t let him hurt you. We’ll get you away from him. Data wipe, relocation. Whatever you need.”

  “You can’t make that promise,” she said, her voice still no louder than a whisper. “I know what he’s capable of. Those pictures...” She shuddered but held his gaze, challenging him. “What do you have to protect me and your sister from that?”

  The answer was easy and came to him without hesitation. He emphasized the words by tightening his grip on her hands. She grasped his harder, as if knowing what was to come. “My life. I’ll protect you with my life.”

  Doubt flickered then receded from her eyes. She trusted that he’d protect her. Trusted that he’d help her get her life back. No matter what happened, if he and Sasha lived through this, he was going to get the chip deactivated for her.

  “Okay,” she said softly.

  Left hand still in hers, Sterling raised his right hand, cupped her jaw and brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheek.

  Sasha didn’t move.

  Relief and gratitude thickened his voice. “Thank you,” he said.

  She closed her eyes, brows drawn together. For the briefest moment, she pressed her cheek against his palm. Warmth seeped into his skin, and Sterling stifled a groan. He could lean forward and kiss her. How would she taste? What would her mouth—her body—feel like against his?

  He moved toward her, his breath stirring strands of hair near her cheek. The bed creaked.

  Tension shimmered through her and her eyes snapped open. He jerked back. Sasha turned away from his touch, snatching her hand from his. Her face flushed, as if she’d read his thoughts.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He dug his fingers into his palms, bringing an iota of sense back with the pain. It was bad enough to use her to get to Christiansen, but to even consider using her for himself made him worse than the criminal who had his sister.

  He lowered his hands to his lap. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “Just because I agreed to help doesn’t mean I agreed to—to—” Flustered, her cheeks darkened. Was she mortified by what he’d done? Embarrassed she’d let him? She stood and sidestepped toward the door, nearly knocking him back on the bed. Her clenched hands stuck out of the heavy wool sleeves of her coat. “Doesn’t mean you can assume anything.”

  “I don’t.” He rose, slowly, determined not to make another stupid move. “It won’t happen again.” A small voice in the back of his head cursed that notion, but it was for the best. He couldn’t let himself get involved with her.

  “No, it won’t.” Arms wrapped around her middle again, the flint of determination was back in her eyes, this time directed toward him, not Christiansen. “I have to get back. Just give me the details and call a taxi, please.”

  * * *

  The air taxi’s lifters whined as it rose from the curb in front of the NCRC rooming house then whooshed away to its next fare. Sasha stood on the walkway for several moments. She shivered in the chilled night air, but her cheek still felt warm and tingly where Sterling’s thumb had brushed across her skin. How long had it been since anyone had touched her with such gentleness and meant it? When had anyone ever offered his life to keep her safe?

  Never, because it wasn’t real, was it? It was never real.

  Sasha shook her head as she approached the three icy steps leading to the front door of the Corrections-run building, knocking fanciful thoughts aside.

  “Hey, baby,” called a voice from her left. “Want a little something to warm ya up?”

  No, that life hadn’t been real. This was.

  A figure hunched in the shadows two doors down. She didn’t know the man—didn’t want to know him—but he waited there almost every night. Asked her the same question once or twice a week. She never acknowledged him and always pretended she hadn’t heard him. Sometimes Daniel, one of the other residents, wandered over and returned to the house glassy-eyed and grinning. She made it a point to avoid Daniel. He wasn’t chipped against amber use but should have been.

  Sasha pulled her coat closer and hurried up the steps as fast as she could without slipping. Five centis of snow had accumulated since she and Sterling left the club, and it was still coming down. Built-in thermals throughout the city kept the streets and walkways clear for the most part, but icy patches made walking dicey.

  Pellets of ice stung her cheeks as Sasha palmed the access panel beside the scarred door. The reader activated with a soft whirr and she swore she felt the side of her neck heat as the invisible beam scanned her.

  “James, Sasha,” said the monotone electronic voice. “NCRC number 347-95-95. Access granted.” Mechanisms in the door and frame clicked, releasing the lock.

  When she’d first arrived at the rooming house, Sasha had wondered why the system confirmed a resident’s identity aloud. Couldn’t it just let you in or not? Jules set her straight on that account. According to the dancer, it was the Corrections Department’s way of reminding you what a piece of sh
it you were. That they owned you. Sasha wasn’t sure if that was true, but for the past eight months, every time she returned to the house, she had to agree that it worked. Score one for Corrections.

  Snow swirled against her ankles as she entered the foyer. She closed the door and stood with her back against the cool metal. Stairs on the left led up to four stories of rooms, mostly occupied. The counselor’s flat was on the right, and the hallway in front of her ended in a commons/dining room and kitchen. There was no sign of anyone. The odor of stuffed peppers hung in the air.

  Despite the lack of complete freedom, she was safe here. Monitored, her every move noted, but safe. No one who didn’t belong could enter the building. The other residents, while not particularly model citizens of Nevarro, were no threat. Nothing inside could hurt her. Still, she hated it.

  Funny thing was, the outside bothered her just as much. Temptations like amber. People like the man in the shadows and Guy Christiansen.

  And Nathan Sterling.

  He’d done and said things to make her think he cared, but she knew they were just to get her to help him. Just as Guy had plied her with gifts to keep her at his side. Offer people what they wanted to hear, what they wanted most, and they’d do almost anything for it. That’s how the world worked. It had taken her a long time and some bouts of shaking and puking to learn there was a catch to every promise. But she’d learned.

  Sterling’s touch had meant nothing. The softening of his usually piercing blue eyes was a reaction to her accession, not true feelings. Not for her. He’d been grateful that she’d agreed to help, caught up in the anticipation that he could save his sister. That was all. As much as she might want it to, she couldn’t let it mean anything.

  Sasha scrubbed her cold hands over her face, erasing the lingering sensation of his touch. She couldn’t indulge in fantasies anymore; that’s what had landed her in rehab in the first place.

  She rubbed the side of her neck. Oh, to not have the government know every corner she turned. To not have to piss into a specimen tube in a parole kiosk that smelled of bad aim and vomit and despair. If everything went as planned, she’d be able to relocate. Start over.

  Corrections could always order the chip back online if they discovered it had been deactivated for no good reason or if she screwed up. But she’d proven these last eight months that she could behave and had no intention of backsliding.

  She took a deep breath. Even if it was just to get her help, Sterling had promised to keep her safe. She believed he would. She had to believe it, because if Guy learned she was only there to take Kylie away from him, she was dead.

  Sasha ran up the steps, not stopping until she reached her flat.

  Chapter Four

  Sasha sat in Sterling’s battered ground car as they headed to Guy Christiansen’s favorite club and wondered if she’d lost her mind when she’d agreed to help him. The anxiety of seeing Guy again manifested itself in tossing and turning the night before and a barrage of nausea throughout the day.

  Maybe if I throw up, he’ll call it off. She noted the way Sterling’s brow furrowed as he frowned at traffic, the thin scar across his forehead blending in with lines of concentration. Or irritation. No, probably not.

  His determination and dedication were admirable, even if they made her want to puke at the moment.

  She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the earthy, male scent infusing the interior of the car. She tugged the hem of her midnight-blue dress toward her knees, but the stretchy material snapped back up her leg to keep its original mid-thigh length. When was the last time someone had seen her from the thighs down? Or the thighs up, for that matter?

  Her face heated. She glanced at Sterling, but his attention was on the traffic as he drove through the snowy city. She flipped her coat over her bare legs, pressing her hands into her lap.

  Most of her clothes from her time with Guy were gone, but she had a few items in her closet that made her feel like a normal person. A quick shopping trip this afternoon courtesy of Sterling had increased her wardrobe, particularly in the young professional-look department. Though this dress was meant for a completely different effect.

  They turned left onto a main artery, bringing them within a block of The Morrissey. Glittering storefronts and advert boards, street lamps and headlights gave the area a festive sparkle, but she wasn’t in a party mood. Not by a long shot.

  “You remember the safe word?” His deep, steady voice calmed her somewhat.

  “Grapefruit. Very subtle,” she said as he slowed the car and pulled over. She fingered the tiny transmitter/receiver patch adhered behind her right ear; the gold hoop dangling from her lobe brushed her hand. “Are you sure this thing will work? Guy might have jammers.”

  “Stop playing with it,” Sterling said. “If you don’t hear me, you’ll have about ten minutes to get to him and get out before I come in.”

  Sasha shook her head. “He’ll have someone at the door screening patrons. What if they don’t let you in?”

  He grinned, but his eyes remained solemn. “You’ll hear a big ruckus and get the hint.”

  She wiped sweaty palms across her thighs and stared at the door of The Morrissey, building the nerve to get out of the car. A young couple emerged from the club and walked toward them. Well-dressed and in a hurry, the girl clutched the guy’s arm. She paid little attention to her footing as she flicked glances toward his hand in his coat pocket. The guy moved like he had a rod up his ass, his eyes darting around, full of guilt, then to the front every few steps.

  New “friends” of the drug dealer, no doubt, and Guy had given them a party favor. New, because only a beginner would act that way when holding a dose of amber in public.

  Sasha sighed as the couple passed the car. How many of those get-togethers had she wasted there herself, half dazed and hanging on Guy like he was a lifeline? Too many to remember. Too many she couldn’t remember. And some she didn’t want to.

  “You okay?”

  Sterling’s voice jerked her back to the here and now. Sasha turned to him, the forced smile on her face awkward. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  His blue eyes held hers, as if he saw past the false smile. “I’m right here if you need me,” he said, his voice quiet but reassuring.

  The subdued light of the car interior softened the intensity in his eyes and the seriousness of his features, like when he smiled. Her throat seemed to thicken and all she could do was nod.

  Something flickered across his face. Concern? Doubt? Something else? It was gone too quickly for Sasha to tell. He glanced at the palm-sized receiver on the seat between them, concealing whatever it might have been, and tapped a button. “Green lights across the board.” His tone was cool and professional now. “Ready when you are.”

  That would be never.

  Sighing with resignation, she got out of the car. On the ice-rimmed walk, Sasha checked her footing in the six-centi heels as she closed the car door. A frigid gust of wind swirled around her ankles and up her legs, making her shiver. Funny that she’d miss the confines of a Revivalist’s longer skirt and tights.

  Smoothing her coat, she took the first wobbly steps toward The Morrissey. By the time she reached the door she managed to achieve a decent facsimile of the hip-swaying strut perfected while with Guy. A short dress and strappy heels made her look the part again, but now she needed to have the attitude. If Guy smelled fear she’d be done.

  “Here goes,” she muttered as she grabbed the door handle.

  “Loud and clear.” Sterling’s voice hummed in her skull.

  She opened the door and stepped into the warm interior of The Morrissey. As the door eased closed behind her, Sasha let her eyes adjust to the light bathing the entry before moving farther inside. It forced anyone coming in to pause as they regained their bearings and also let the hired muscle, usually sitting
at the bar to the left, see if they were a threat.

  Only the bartender and a tall, broad man occupied the dark-paneled front room. Music thumped from behind solid double doors to the right.

  The man heaved himself off a stool and came forward, blocking her from the arched hall that led to the private area toward the back of the club. “Whatcha lookin’ for, sweetheart?”

  Amber often damaged a user’s memory, but Sasha recognized the high tenor that didn’t match the man’s bulk and smiled. “Hi, Jake.”

  “Sasha?” He cocked his head as he entered the circle of light near the door. Like all of Christiansen’s male employees, he wore an expensive dark suit and shiny black shoes.

  She nodded. “In the flesh.”

  Jake set his large hands on his hips. He shook his head and gave a low whistle as he looked her over. Jake had never made any inappropriate remarks or gestures when she was with Guy—he wasn’t stupid—but Sasha tensed, feeling almost naked under the scrutiny. “You’re lookin’ good. It’s been, what, four years?”

  “Almost five,” she said, mentally adding the ten months and eight days to the tally.

  “Right. Didn’t see you much before the trial.” The big man brought his gaze up to her face, his cheeks reddening. “How was it inside?”

  Sasha felt heat blossom on her own cheeks. “Shitty.” She grinned at him. “Just like you’d figure.”

  Jake let out a bark of a laugh then grew sober in the silence between them. “So, ah, what brings you here?”

  She tilted her head to glance beyond him, down the hall that led to Guy. “Is he busy?”

  “He’s not expecting you, is he?” Jake crossed his arms over his wide chest, not quite frowning but all business now. “You know how Guy can be.”

  Paranoid and manipulative. But instead of saying that, she smiled up at the bodyguard. “Yeah, I know, but I have something to talk to him about. Can you let me by, or at least go ask if he’ll see me?”

  It was a long shot that she’d get past the door. She’d told Sterling as much, but she had to try. Anything to bring her closer to losing the chip.