by Pegau, Cathy
“Yeah. Corrections is working on it. What else?”
“Said I should have come up to the house right off, that he held no grudge.”
“Did he?”
“Hold a grudge? Sure. So do I.”
Sterling glanced at her. “You have a good reason.”
Sasha straightened and turned toward him. “He threw me out, and I never tried to come back to him. In his mind, that’s the same as me leaving. He may still have feelings for me, but he’d be happy to teach me a lesson in loyalty. If he can make money and teach me a lesson, so much the better.”
When she finished, she crossed her arms over her chest and faced the side window. He could practically see her pulse jumping in her neck.
“It won’t get that far.” Sterling was surprised how rough his voice sounded in his ears, how hard his hand gripped the yoke as the other throbbed in time with his increased heart rate. He was sending her into the lion’s den, but he’d do his damnedest to fulfill his promise.
“You didn’t see him looking at me, like he knew I’d be back some day.” Her breath fogged the plasti-glass. “You don’t know what he’s capable of, not really.”
Was she talking about getting people killed? Hell, he’d shown her evidence of Christiansen’s influence on women.
Sterling double-parked in front of Sasha’s new apartment building with the engine running, but when she moved to open the door, he engaged the all-lock.
She jerked on the ineffective lever then turned on him. “Let me out.”
“We’re not done yet,” he said, his voice soft and steady. He couldn’t let her leave upset like this, for both their sakes. “Tell me what happened at The Morrissey,” he continued, “so you can go to bed and get some sleep.”
Her lips curled into a sneer. “Your concern over my sleeping habits is commendable.” She gave the handle another useless yank. “Open the fucking door.”
They held each other’s gazes as his heart thumped in his ears. Her jaw muscles bunched as if she was chewing carbon steel, and her eyes narrowed in anger. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by him.
Ground cars sounded their horns at them for blocking the street. Snow fell, melted on the windscreen, got swept away with rhythmic thuds of the wipers.
“Open the door,” she repeated. Quieter. Back in control.
He set his jaw. He knew what she was doing. Keeping her distance. Not letting him see any weakness or vulnerability; anger made better armor than fear. Hell, he couldn’t blame her, but he wouldn’t let it jeopardize his plans. If she left furious with him now, shaken, she might back out.
He tried to tell himself that was the only reason he cared.
In an equally calm and quiet tone, he said, “Get it off your chest and let me worry about tomorrow. Tell me about the conversation you had with Christiansen.”
She stared at him for another few seconds then closed her eyes and sighed. “He’s intrigued by the idea of the mines. Wants us at his place at nineteen hundred tomorrow night.”
Sterling nodded approval. “Good. That means he believes you want to work with him.” He shifted on the seat to face her. “What else happened, Sasha? What did he do?”
Her eyes opened. “Nothing,” she said, her voice thick. “It was just hard to be in there with him, with...his people, like I said it would be.”
“And this Marco?”
In the dim light of the car, she paled again. “An ass. That’s all.”
She was lying. Not that it surprised him. Not about Marco being an ass, but about something. How was he supposed to protect her from Christiansen if she lied to him?
“Sasha.”
Her expression was blank except for the hint of dread in her eyes. “That’s it. Can I go to bed now?”
He stared at her in the dark. Her anger was gone. She looked tired now. Worn. He felt like an ass himself then, for pushing her. He wasn’t getting any further tonight, and she needed some rest.
Another few heartbeats and he released the locks. “I’ll pick you up at seventeen hundred. We’ll go over everything before heading out. Get some rest.”
“Right.” Sasha got out, letting an icy wind into the car. She slammed the door and darted between two parked cars to her building. She pressed her hand to the admit panel and went inside without looking back at him.
Sterling took his comm from his coat pocket. He called up the app Mickelson at the Corrections Department had slipped to him, ignoring the guilt that crept over him as he tapped in the equally unauthorized pass code to access the parole files. He entered Sasha’s name and Corrections ID. On the three-centi-square screen, her chip ID blinked green. She was where she belonged.
He set the app to alert him should she travel farther than one hundred meters from her current location. The comm okayed his request, and he returned it to his pocket.
Would she run because of whatever had happened at The Morrissey? She’d seemed scared enough. He’d do whatever necessary to rescue Kylie, and that meant keeping Sasha close. He couldn’t take the chance of losing her. And he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease whenever he thought of her walking away. From him.
Sterling drove the snowy streets leading to his room in the Quarter, his hands gripping the control yoke until his fingers ached. He had to accept the fact Sasha would walk away once her chip was deactivated. After all was said and done, Christiansen might be torqued enough to seek revenge, and she would be safer as far away from Nevarro as she could get.
But that was later. For now, until Sterling deemed it safe for her and for Kylie, until he could be sure Christiansen would work with him without Sasha, she stayed. He’d see to that.
* * *
Sasha forced herself not to look at Sterling as he watched her from the car and carefully closed the front door behind her. If a man opened doors for you and held your arm on slick walkways, beat another man to a bloody pulp, he was the type to make sure a girl got safely inside.
But how could that same guy who opened doors and promised to keep you safe—who looked at you with such sadness and gratitude that you wanted to tell him you’d do everything you could to help—how could that guy try to make you talk about shit you didn’t want to?
Because that’s who he is, an agent on a mission, and you are a means to his end.
They each had their own agendas. It was best to leave it at that. He was doing whatever it took to save his sister; she would do the same to start a new life. Whatever it took.
Sasha stood in the foyer of her new apartment building, where soft white walls glowed warmly under a hanging lamp. An elevator and an enclosed staircase gave her options to reach her third-floor flat. In these heels, after the evening she’d had, the elevator won. She pressed her hand to the access panel. The doors opened with a soft rattle and Sasha stepped inside. She tapped the icon for the third floor, grateful to be done for the night.
As the elevator rose, the encounter with Marco replayed in her head, sending a chill down her spine. She closed her eyes and fought the urge to spew onto the floor. Amber played games with the mind, took memories and altered reality. Maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe she’d imagined their sharing amber. Maybe she hadn’t ever been with Marco and he was just messing with her, testing her for Guy.
But when the elevator stopped and the doors opened, a sudden influx of what she knew were real memories made her stomach knot. A man’s naked hip. A tattoo of a snake coiled around a tree. She remembered brushing her lips across salty skin. Marco’s low, gravelly voice above, urging her on, his hand twisted in her hair. She crossed to his navel and downward...
Sasha’s eyes flew open. The berry-flavored Cosmo she drank surged upward. She covered her mouth and raced out of the elevator. Thankfully, her flat was close. She slapped the admit panel and shoved the door open. Set on auto, the recognition system brou
ght the lights up without verbal command. She flinched at the brightness—at the exposure—and bolted across the hall to the small kitchen area.
Hands braced on the counter, she breathed slowly and deeply to keep the puke and sobs at bay. Acid burned at the base of her throat. It felt like someone was alternately sitting on her chest and punching her in the head.
How could she have done that with Marco? It was foolish to get involved with the likes of him. Not to mention the insane risk of Guy’s wrath if he had caught them. And for what? An extra hit of amber? Had she been that bad? That far gone?
Obviously.
Why did the horrible memories seem to return a helluva lot faster than any others? Probably because there were more horrible ones associated with amber, Guy and Marco than any other kind.
Sobs still threatening, Sasha tapped the faucet to activate the water. She splashed some on her face, mentally focused on the cool liquid trickling down her neck.
Things were different now. She’d paid the price for her addiction. Paid dearly. She wasn’t that person anymore. She’d promised herself she would never touch amber again.
The image of the mortar and pestle on the table at The Morrissey, surrounded by glittering amber dust, made her shudder. Resisting the petty dealers on the street had been relatively easy, especially with her freedom hinging upon weekly urine samples. But to see it there at the club for anyone to take, within arm’s reach, had startled her. She’d forgotten how generous Guy could be with his merchandise when he felt like it. When he wanted to solidify the bonds, the hold he had with his favorites.
Sasha splashed more water on her face then used the sleeve of her dress to dry it. She stepped over her purse on the kitchen floor and made a shaky retreat to the worn couch, the too-soft cushions drawing her down as she lay on her side.
“Lights off,” she said, the words rasping in her raw throat.
The system complied and the room darkened. Outside, city lights reflected yellow-gray off low clouds, making the two windows a weak source of illumination. Snow pinged against the plasti-glass, little pellets that melted as they dribbled down the panes.
That was then. That was then. That was then.
The mantra helped reduce the convulsions in her gut to trembles. The stuttering sobs slowed, became normal breaths. Her head throbbed, but not so painfully that she would muster the energy to get up and find some med tabs.
She wasn’t that girl any longer. That girl who would trade her body for a few hours’ worth of oblivion. That girl who didn’t care what she did or what anyone did to her as long as the next hit of amber was in sight. That girl had ceased to exist four years, ten months and eight days ago. Or at least since Sasha’s release eight months ago.
She rubbed the side of her neck and examined the darkened living area of the flat. The bedroom was little more than a closet, and other than the requisite commode and sink, the lav only had a narrow shower stall. But it was her flat. Her flat. No one monitored her coming and going. No one would send out an alert if she missed curfew. There were no amber dealers waiting in the shadows between buildings, at least none as bold as the ones in her old neighborhood.
Sasha only had to check in at a parole kiosk once a month now. When this was over, she wouldn’t need to check in at all. Sterling had delivered the first half of his promise, and she appreciated the favors he’d called in to get her this much. But if she wanted to be truly free, she had to follow through to the end. Get to Guy. Save Kylie to save herself. The chip would be deactivated, almost as good as removed from her body entirely, not just set on passive. Not a constant reminder of who she’d been and what she’d done.
What she’d been and done with Marco.
The incident outside The Morrissey ran through her brain and she trembled. The ugliness on Marco’s face changing to shock and fear as Sterling’s arm came around his neck. Over Marco’s shoulder, Sterling’s blue eyes blazed, and the white scar across his forehead had stood out against red anger as he pummeled the taller man. Then rage had become concern and relief when Sterling saw her sprawled on the walkway. His expression, his blatant emotion, had made her heart race in a way no man ever had before.
Until that point, she hadn’t expected any sort of sentiment to accompany the promise of physical protection. Girls like her didn’t get saved by men like him because they actually cared.
Sasha rubbed the side of her neck again. No, that girl was gone.
And God help her if she ever came back.
* * *
At nineteen hundred the next evening, Sterling stopped in front of the five-meter-high gate that allowed access to Guy Christiansen’s sprawling home twenty minutes outside the Pandalus city limits. If anyone had questioned Christiansen’s public image as a third-party shipping entrepreneur, and how he’d made enough credits to afford a better home than some corporate executives, Sasha had never heard them.
Several spotlights illuminated the area in front of the gate and, though unseen, she knew cameras were pointed at them. Sasha had filled Sterling in on the cams and other surveillance devices, but who knew what Guy had added since she’d left?
Three hundred meters away, through the square mesh of the gate, beyond the blanket of snow covering the grounds and past perfectly spaced imported willows, Sasha caught a glimpse of the house. Almost all the windows were lit and outside lights illuminated the gleaming façade. Did Guy have a party going on?
“Did he mention other people being here?” Sterling asked as if reading her mind.
“No. When Guy wants to talk business, it’s usually done in a very private manner.” She’d been dismissed from his presence on more than one occasion when a business associate came to the house. To appease her, he’d promise her his full attention after the meeting. It had made her smile then and shudder now.
“For obvious reasons.” Sterling lowered the window on his side. Cold air and the metallic scent of impending snow blew in. “Maybe he changed his M.O. in the past few years.”
“Yeah,” Sasha replied. “Maybe.”
“Yes? Can I help you?” a feminine voice asked from a mounted speaker.
“Sasha James and Nate Hollings to see Mr. Christiansen,” Sterling answered.
They waited several moments for the gatekeeper to admit them. Sasha didn’t recall a woman ever being on Guy’s payroll for that particular job. Usually it was an enforcer wannabe, someone fresh from a mining town or a city kid trying to escape poverty. The woman behind the speaker had come across as older, more self-assured than that. Maybe things had changed with Christiansen, to a degree.
The gate panels slid apart to allow Sterling’s car through. He glanced over at her as he raised the window. “You good?”
Sasha nodded, wiping her hands along her thighs. The soft material of her heather-gray trousers kept her warm, but for some reason her legs felt numb. Her entire outfit, from the shimmery white blouse to the black leather boots, was intended to show Christiansen she was a new woman, someone he could rely upon and trust. Sterling was dressed with similar purpose, in shades of blue that emphasized the vivid color of his eyes.
Not that the latter was meant for Guy, she was sure.
Sterling maneuvered the car forward along the paved drive winding through the willows. The house, a multi-tiered, angular monstrosity Sasha had admired when Guy first brought her here, now appeared more garish than the symbol of success he meant it to be.
“Nice place,” Sterling said. They parked somewhat separate from the dozen ground cars and several high-end air cars in front of the house. “Damn. I guess he is having a party of some kind.”
Sasha paused before opening the door. “What do we do?”
The original idea had been to cultivate a relationship with Guy so Sterling could have some freedom of movement within Guy’s organization. From there, he would have sought out Kylie
and grabbed her when he felt it was feasible. The invitation to Guy’s home had been an unexpected boon. Now, Sterling had hoped to get to Kylie sooner rather than later, but a house full of people hadn’t factored into his plan.
He ran a hand over his clean-shaved cheek and stared up at the mansion. “If his people are milling about, Kylie might be there. If she sees me before I see her, getting her out could be a problem.” His unwavering gaze fell on Sasha. “If this goes to hell, we may have to run. You ready for something like that?”
“Sure,” she said with a harsh laugh. “We’ll just race across the grounds, jump the five-meter gate and run back to the city.” Was he skitzie?
Sterling grinned at her, but it was more fatalistic than amused. “If we have to. Let’s go.”
She stared at him as he got out, circled around the front of the car and opened her door. Sterling was determined to rescue Kylie, come hell or high water. Meeting with Guy meant returning to a world Sasha had sworn off years ago. But who was more dangerous to be with tonight, Sterling or Guy?
Sasha found herself taking Sterling’s arm on the path to the door. His free hand covered hers, and the warmth of his calloused palm sent pleasant tingles dancing across her skin. Holding on to him felt right, natural.
Returning to Guy made her want to heave.
How many times had she climbed these low steps, passed through that doorway? And how many times in the past four years had she vowed to never have anything to do with Guy Christiansen ever again?
Sterling removed an ID from his coat pocket and waved it over the raised panel beside the frame. Moments later, the door swung open and a tall woman in a red dress greeted them, her straight, shoulder-length blond hair stirring in the breeze. She didn’t look familiar to Sasha, but that meant little, considering her memory.
“Mr. Hollings,” the woman said, smiling at Sterling. Her brown eyes shifted to Sasha, and she nodded. There was no indication she recognized Sasha either, so perhaps she was a more recent addition to Guy’s entourage. “Miss James. Please, come in. Kenneth will take your coats. Mr. Christiansen is waiting in his office.”