by T C Archer
“New Mexico, Santa Fe, when I’m on Earth. I just finished a contract on a Coalition outpost out in the Minor Magellanic Cloud, so I don’t know where I’ll be next. How about you?”
Her heart squeezed. Wherever they sent her, she would be far from New Mexico. Fontana set the glass back on the table. “I’m between jobs too.” Technically, not a lie. She wouldn’t know where she was going to live when she got her next assignment.
“You can spend some time at my place until one of us has to take off.” He stuffed the last of his croissant into his mouth and finished off his mimosa. “I better go. You want to share a cab?” He waggled his brows.
Fontana laughed. “At the rate we’re going, we’ll have tourists watching for our every cab ride.” She waved him off. “You go. I’m going to finish these croissants. Beep me at my room.”
“Sure thing.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, then headed for the street.
Fontana watched as he hailed a cab, then poured himself into the backseat. He grinned at her and then was gone. Just like he would be in three days.
Chapter Twelve
In her hotel room, Fontana stared at the screen of her videophone. An hour ago, she’d been sitting with Brent in the French Quarter contemplating home. Five minutes ago, she’d been giddy with anticipation after receiving his message that he was sending a special outfit for tonight. But she’d just learned that pirates were operating in Epsilon Sector-Three, a rogue black hole near the Danert Colony where the Gold Corporation was about to collapse.
Fontana reread the coded message sent by Stephaney. Instead of information concerning the coded message she’d sent about the freighter and her conclusions that the cartel had smuggled Poincaré crystals off Rigil IV in Jenny’s coffin, Stephaney simply stated that they would discuss her private investigation when she returned to duty. For now, Fontana was booked on a transport scheduled to leave in three days at 2100 hours. So much for Santa Fe with Brent.
Jenny’s body wouldn’t arrive on Earth for another seven days. Was the Corps going to stop the cartel from intercepting the S-warp drone? Stephaney’s attitude was too reminiscent of the Coalition’s withdrawal from Rigil IV—a withdrawal that screamed we have no intention of dealing with our fuckup. Anger tightened her stomach. Dammit, would the Coalition do the right thing this time and stop the cartel from intercepting Jenny’s body?
In order to be there when the S-warp drone entered Earth’s system, Fontana would have to leave in two days. Stephaney would know within the hour if Fontana left the space station…if she left on a public transport.
If she stayed on Sagitariun two more days, that would make the Corps think she was following orders –- and give her more time with Brent. Forget his mission. She would seduce him into spending the next two days in her bed. The juncture between her legs clenched with the thought of all the possibilities of the erotic ways she would use him.
The mental picture of his mouth clamped to her pussy evaporated. Stephaney’s message said that the situation in Epsilon Sector-Three was a code eight. That was serious enough to cut Fontana’s vacation short. Yet Stephaney hadn’t ordered her to Epsilon Sector-Three immediately. Why?
Brent’s fantasy would surely be extended to three days, the same amount of time remaining before Fontana left for her new assignment. Fontana recalled how the altercation with the Bull had seemed like a situation tailored more to someone of her expertise, and her mind came to a screeching halt. Had Brent’s fantasy been amped up because he’d lied on his application, or was this her fantasy package? Complete with a fine male ass and erection-on-demand.
“Find a man,” Stephaney had said, “and reaffirm life. Let him fuck your brains out.”
A tremor rippled through Fontana, and the truth hit home with a clarity that took her breath. The colonel hadn’t taken any chances that Fontana wouldn’t retreat to Sagitariun and remain quiet like a good Corps soldier. She had ordered a fantasy package sure to keep Fontana occupied, and his name was Brent Yari.
She waited for her heart to scream the last three days weren’t a lie like your time on Rigil IV was. But a fantasy vacation for her explained why everything that had happened had been silly, stupid, and serious all at the same time—Brent being one of the serious elements.
Unexpected tears rushed to the surface. She swiped at her cheeks. What was wrong with her? So he had been nothing more than a good time. So why did she feel as if her insides had been sliced open? Because she was a fool.
Fontana rose, then paused. The sooner she left Sagitariun, the sooner Stephaney would realize she intended to be there when Jenny’s remains arrived at Earth. She should stay, give Stephaney less time to anticipate her moves. But she wasn’t Brent. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t care. She’d been right. No engineer who tuned warp drives all day had buns of steel.
Her preoccupation and upset about what had happened to Jenny had affected her judgment to the point that she hadn’t recognized the setup. This was the second mistake she’d made in a month. This time, however, she could correct her mistake.
Fontana pulled her travel case from the closet and began choosing the clothes she wanted to keep. The rest would go into the recycler. She grabbed the Ingrid Bergman hat she’d worn to Rick’s and paused. Wisdom said she should toss it into the recycler, yet she found her fingers tightening around the brim. She and Brent had spent only a few minutes at Rick’s, but the memory was as sharp as if it were only an hour ago—the feel of his large hands skimming across her ankle as he examined it, his moist mouth on hers…his cock, large, hard, and insistent, invading her. She had even switched bodies with him. That had been a thrill almost too good to believe.
The chime of her hotel door jerked her back to the present. Her heart pounding like a robot miner, she commanded, “Show visitors.”
The door cleared so she could view. A man stood outside, a brown package in hand. Fontana tossed the hat on the bed and crossed to the entrance. “Open door,” she commanded. The door opened. “Can I help you?”
“Delivery for Fontana from Brent Yari.” The man held up the package.
Fontana stilled. She’d forgotten about the outfit he was sending over. She considered refusing the package, then realized she had to act like she was still playing along.
“I’ll take it.”
The man gave her the package and pulled a small tablet from his pocket. He tapped the screen, then extended it toward her. “Please press your thumb here.” He pointed to the lower right-hand corner of the screen.
Fontana pressed her thumb against the screen. He thanked her and left. She closed the door and tossed the package on the bed alongside the hat. She wasn’t going to torture herself by opening it. She stared at it.
Or was she?
* * * *
Dammit, Fontana had known getting out of Sagitariun wouldn’t be easy. The spaceport was in sight, and the Lauren Bacall look-alike was back. How had the woman managed to follow her? Fontana had exited the cab ten blocks back and was winding her way through a maze of twists and turns that would have confused the Empire’s best navigator.
She pushed through the door on her left and stepped to the side so that she was out of view of the storefront window. She did a double take upon seeing the caged animals that filled what she realized had to be a pet store. A Manuvian Dactyl squawked in a tall, oblong cage against the wall to her right. Fontana cast the reptilian bird a glance, then carefully peeked through the glass door.
Across the street, the Bacall woman walked past at a brisk pace. She didn’t slow, didn’t act as if she’d lost Fontana. In fact, she didn’t appear to be looking for anyone. Her gaze remained straight ahead, and she continued down the walkway with a purpose that said she had a destination in mind…just as she had when Fontana had seen her outside the Roman baths.
Fontana watched until the woman was out of sight, then leaned back against the wall. Was the Bacall character part of the fantasy, the cartel, or was Fontana simply going insane? The Dactyl s
quawked again. She looked at the creature. Crystal-blue eyes stared as if to answer, Yes, any way you look at it, you’re going insane.
Fontana swung her duffel over her shoulder and pushed off the wall, turned toward the door, then paused. The Lauren Bacall was gone, but what if she’d ducked into a shop in hopes of catching Fontana after she reentered the street?
Fontana looked down the aisle. No one was in sight. Could she get lucky enough to be able to slip out the back door unnoticed? She could use a little good luck about now.
Fontana took a step forward. “Hello.”
No reply.
She started down the aisle. “Anybody home?”
Still no answer. She paused in front of a glass cage with a Fralnan python. The snakelike creature was curled up in a corner, its head resting on its body as if asleep, but she knew better. Fontana grimaced. She’d never understood the attraction to the slithering creatures. Who wanted a pet that had an appetite for human flesh? And what tourist would buy a pet while on vacation on the fantasy resort?
She continued through the store. Maybe she could slip out the back door and lose the Bacall woman once and for all. Fontana reached the end of the aisle and spotted an open door behind a small counter in the left-hand corner of the shop. She’d nearly reached the door when a man appeared in the doorway. Fontana stopped. He was dressed in a narrow waistcoat over a roomy body suit. She squinted. He looked more like a member of the Track Cartel than a pet-store owner.
“I didn’t see anyone up front,” she said as if she was a customer.
His gaze raked down her body with a male appreciation she was sure would chase away any female customers. This man was no pet store owner.
“I didn’t realize you were closed,” she tried in a new effort to make him think she didn’t understand something was wrong. “I can come back later.” Fontana started to turn.
“Don’t try it,” he said.
She froze.
“Hey, Pete, look what we got.”
Fontana tightened her grip on the duffel.
Another man appeared in the doorway behind the man. Fontana forced back a grimace. The man stood two and a half meters tall and was one hundred and fifty kilos of pure muscle. He stepped forward, and his friend moved aside. She’d wanted to get off Sagitariun without getting noticed, but these two were going to force her to get messy.
“I don’t want any trouble,” she said.
The smaller man laughed. “Hear that, Pete? She doesn’t want any trouble.”
“What’s in the duffel?” the big man asked as if making casual conversation.
“Clothes,” she said.
“Clothes?” Pete said. “What kind of clothes?”
Fontana blinked. The two men were clearly criminals of some sort, yet this guy was asking what kind of clothes she had in the duffel?
“You want it?” she asked.
He nodded, and she surprised herself by hesitating. The hat she’d worn to Rick’s and the package Brent had sent were inside. She didn’t want to lose either of them, but damn, it also didn’t make any sense fighting over mementos that would only bring her pain. She also wasn’t going to screw up making sure Jenny got home, but it angered her that she had to give up the few things that reminded her of Brent.
She tossed the duffel on the counter in front of them. “It’s all yours.”
“The clothes you’re wearing,” Pete said.
“What?”
“Those are nice clothes.”
Fontana glanced down at the vest, crew neck, and slacks she was wearing, then looked back at him. “Yeah, they’re all right.”
He pulled the bag toward him, and Fontana started to turn.
“Not so fast,” the first man said. “Pete likes your clothes.”
She grunted a strangled laugh. “So do I.”
Pete had the duffel open and had pulled out a shirt from inside.
“I’m letting Pete have everything in the duffel. I get to keep what I’m wearing,” Fontana said.
“Not if Pete wants it,” the man said.
“The two of you put together can’t take them off me,” she replied in as mild a voice as the one he’d been using.
He shrugged, and Fontana tensed when he reached around his waist.
He pulled out a palm-sized, T-7 nerve disruptor and pointed it at her. “How about the three of us?”
She had been shot with one of those a few years ago. If real, the weapon would paralyze her for an hour or more, and she’d have a hell of a headache and uncontrollable tremors for a week. She shifted her gaze to his face. “There’s not a weapon to be had on this space station.”
“Spoken like a woman who tried and failed to get a weapon on this space station.”
Fontana remembered the twentieth-century pistol Jimmy the Bull had used and the laser weapon that had damaged her hotel room door. Real weapons were obviously more prevalent on the fantasy resort than she’d first realized. Or did she simply have the misfortune to run into the only three criminals who had them?
“Why would I need a weapon?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Any woman who thinks she can stop Pete and me from doing anything we want to her is a woman who might have reason to need a weapon.”
Leave it to her to find a criminal who could reason that out. Pete pulled out the tube that held the hat from inside the duffel. Fontana had rolled it, then neatly stuffed it inside so that it wouldn’t get misshapen in the bag. He opened the tube, and the hat unrolled to full-size. Pete’s eyes widened, and he gave a quiet “Ohh,” like a boy who’d gotten his first remote-control spaceship.
He looked at Fontana. “I like this.”
“Okay, big boy,” she said. “It’s all yours.”
“I like your vest too.”
“Take it off,” the other man ordered.
Pete pulled out the package Brent had sent her and turned it in his large hands. He looked at her. “You can wear this.”
“You don’t even know what’s in it.”
He set it on the counter as if he didn’t hear her and went back to examining the hat.
The other man picked up the package. “Take off your clothes and put this on.” He tossed the package, and she caught it.
“You’re kidding.”
He shook his head.
“You’re going to take my clothes, then let me go.”
He looked offended. “We’re not murderers.”
“Of course not,” Fontana murmured. “Just thieves.” She’d rather not take off her clothes. “You want to turn around?”
“You might try to run.”
A mind reader as well as smart. “And that disrupter you have pointed at me might not be real,” she said.
He shifted the weapon and fired a shot at the wall to her left.
Okay,” Fontana said. “It’s real.” She sighed and tore open the package. The brown wrapper floated to the floor as she shook out the full-length raincoat in front of her.
“Damn,” she murmured. A mental picture flashed of Brent racing down the alley outside of Spacer Jack’s, coattails flapping against his legs. Ridiculous laughter bubbled up. She’d been foolish not to open the package before leaving.
Fontana looked at the man pointing the weapon at her. “I’m supposed to wear this?”
Pete looked up. “What is it?”
“A London Fog trench coat.”
He screwed his face up in distaste and went back to the contents of the duffel.
“Pete doesn’t like it,” the man with the weapon said.
“Of course not,” Fontana said, and thought she would laugh herself silly.
Chapter Thirteen
Fontana cast a glance over her shoulder at the man pointing the nerve disrupter at her, then stepped out the back door of the pet shop into the alley. He slammed the door shut behind her, and the lock clicked into place. Pete and his buddy thought she’d lost her mind, but she’d finally collected herself well enough to appeal to their sense of fairness
one last time—she’d figured it was useless, but the situation was so ridiculous, she couldn’t discount the possibility they might have a conscience after all. She ran her gaze down the front of the trench coat, which was buttoned to her neck. They didn’t have a conscience.
As it turned out, they were the owners of the pet store. In retrospect, that fact was the one thing that did make sense. She’d wondered who would own a pet shop on the fantasy resort, and she’d found out: two very bad businessmen who liked wearing women’s clothing. Why they didn’t have the resort make clothes for them, she couldn’t fathom. It wasn’t like her clothes would fit either man, though the smaller man would look pretty funny squeezed into her underwear.
The idea still had her fighting laughter, as much because of the ridiculousness of the situation as to ward off the pain. The last thing she wanted to think about was Brent. But here she was, wearing the coat she’d stolen when he’d streaked through Spacer Jack’s. Hell, she was even in an alley. Fontana cast a dubious glance at the door behind her. The way her luck was going, shock troopers could blow the door any minute. She snorted. Dammit, the fantasy resort had her spooked. Was every guest’s experience as strange as hers? She glanced both ways down the alley, then headed to the right toward the spaceport.
Half an hour later, Fontana stood on the promenade outside a café and shook hands with Rodin, captain of the Stardust Cruiser. He’d agreed to take her as far as Xrakor in exchange for two thousand credits. They would leave dock in forty-five minutes. His eyes shifted past her, then widened. Fontana turned. Two men approached. One man, dressed in a white turtleneck, black jacket, and pants, was clearly some sort of security officer. The other man was average-looking, in a flowery, short-sleeved shirt and shorts.
“Who’s on your ass?” Rodin hissed.
“Stephaney,” Fontana murmured.
“Who?”
Rodin’s demand was cut off by the man wearing shorts. “See,” he said in a shrill voice as they stopped in front of her. “She’s so brazen, she’s even wearing the coat!”
Fontana blinked.
“I want my coat,” he snapped.