Let the robe do its work? Wynne walked toward the mirror at the other end of the room to see the full effect of her transformation. Reality stepped in and slapped the fantasy right out of the picture. She wasn't that exotic woman in the mirror. She was Wynne, shy, and quiet, and awkward Wynne. She couldn't be sexy and seductive. She didn't even know what that meant. She was practically a virgin for God's sake. She'd only had sex with one man for one night.
But what a night it was. She'd only felt shy and awkward for a minute. That feeling left the moment she saw the look in Tor's eyes and was replaced by something glorious and unexplainable. He saw her as no one else had ever seen her. He saw her as soft and sensual. He made her feel sexy and seductive.
She closed her eyes and touched the bracelet he'd given her. She imagined Tor was there. She felt his lips against her neck. She felt his mouth against her breast. She heard him moan as her mouth discovered him.
Her eyes snapped open in surprise. This wasn't about how she reacted to Tor. It was about how he reacted to her, the pleasant sense of power she felt when she saw the sheet covering his lap tent up with interest. She did that. She made Tor sit up and take notice.
She giggled at the joke and took a deep breath. The raw silk of the robe's panel felt rough against her breast. It reminded her of Tor's rough skinned hands. The filmy fabric whispered along her sides and hips recalling Tor's breath when he blew over the dampness left behind after he kissed those same places.
Wynne didn't understand Alamandria's motives, but she knew that this, too, was for Tor, and her job was to protect Mohawk and Ish from discovery.
With one last touch to the bracelet to keep Tor in her mind, she walked into the workroom.
Chapter 20
Because of the race's mythology, her sister was convinced that the Godan visited Earth a thousand years ago. Seeing the man looking about the room as if he was viewing a pig sty, Wynne thought Mira's estimate might be a thousand years off, give or take a few hundred. She'd seen that uniform in her high school history books, right down to the lightning bolts on his jacket collar and the jackboots on his feet. He wasn't wearing jodhpurs and the fabrics were finer than the heavy wool used on Earth, but the effect was the same.
Or maybe it was the man wearing it. He was Godan, tall, as most of the Godan she'd met were, and thin. His hair was light brown and precisely combed into place. It was cut longer on top than on the sides, making his face look longer and narrower than it already was. Everything about him was narrow; his nose, his eyes, his mouth. He stood erect at constant attention, narrow, precise, and unyielding. Even so, he might have been handsome if he shed his supercilious look.
Hitler's SS would have rejected his alien looks, but recognized his superior scorn.
He brushed the nonexistent dust from the tabletop before laying his cap upon it.
"It appears you are hiding someone." His eyes raked over Wynne as if she might be hiding that someone under her sheer robe. "Branching out into Midnight Ladies, are you?"
It didn't take a translator to figure out that one or the sneer that went with it. Though she hadn't been staring directly, Wynne lowered her eyes a bit further so he couldn't see the embarrassment in them. She could do nothing about the flush that rose to her face.
"If I was, Yatos, you still wouldn't be able to afford her."
"Adjutant Yatos," he corrected. "We are not friends, madam, and you do not know what I can afford and what I cannot."
"No, we were never friends, were we? Friends are chosen by mutual admiration and regard."
"Be careful, Alamandria. I have the power to shut you down."
"You do, and you may, but I will be open the next day."
"Don't be so sure. I could charge you with encouraging illegal behavior. The investigation could take months."
Alamandria laughed. "You'd have to charge half the businesses in Celos. To charge me falsely would only displease my clientele and their patrons. Not a wise move on your part, Adjutant Yatos."
Yatos changed tactics. "Who is she?" he asked sharply.
"She is a guest, here by the request of someone who is a friend, a longtime friend. I need not tell you who, but mark me, if you continue these insults, you will find out soon enough."
Wynne wanted to watch this verbal sparring match, but she'd been instructed to keep her head bowed and eyes cast down. It should have been easy, since the man terrified her. His coldness permeated the room. But he was a snake and she need to know when he would strike.
She compromised by keeping her head up and watching him through lowered lashes. It was a wise decision. If she hadn't seen him move, the click of those highly polished boots as he suddenly moved across the floor would have made her jump. Adjutant Yatos stood over her, intentionally violating her personal space, daring her to look up.
The bastard wanted to see her fear. Unable to intimidate Alamandria, he'd chosen Wynne for his next victim. He began to circle her, his finger running over the tops of her breasts and continuing on over her arm and across her back.
"Leave her alone, Yatos."
The adjutant ignored Alamandria's warning. He stopped at Wynne's side and whispered in her ear. "Who are you?"
"Piatchu," she answered. Her voice was deep and breathy with fear. She went on in perfect schoolbook Godan. "I am called Piatchu." And because it came out sounding hesitant, but not fearful, she rewarded herself with a little smile.
Yatos removed his finger as if he'd been burned. "You lie," he accused.
Wynne's eyes sought Alamandria's.
"Does she? I told you she belonged to an old friend."
Adjutant Yatos recovered quickly. "Yes, old and dead. They found his body days ago."
Alamandria sagged under the weight of the news. Wynne reached out to steady her.
"How? Where?" the woman whispered.
Yatos looked pleased at the pain he'd caused. "You don't know? Didn't he tell you before he delivered your guest?"
"He didn't deliver her. He sent her. We spoke by vid. I agreed to take her. His last Piatchu he called her." Alamandria's voice hitched at this last. "I didn't think he meant..." Obviously shaken by grief, the woman still managed to lie convincingly.
"His days of power were numbered anyway," Yatos said callously. "All the old guard is moving on in one way or another, making room for the new. They've been standing in the way for far too long."
"Your way, you mean."
"I won't pretend his death saddens me," he said. "Though I would have preferred he did it quietly."
"What do you mean?"
"Senator Plincoff fell from his balcony in a drunken stupor."
"No!" Her hand clutched Wynne's.
"Yes. He had dinner with Senator Riegard who swore Plincoff was drunk when they parted," he said as if daring her to contradict the testimony.
The sounds of the searchers had been subdued until then, so when a clatter and crash sounded from one of the other rooms, it was loud enough to make Wynne jump.
"What are you looking for, Adjutant Yatos? Do you really think I would be so foolish as to hide something important with my pots and pans?" Alamandria asked tiredly.
"No, but we must be thorough, mustn't we?"
The officer began walking around the room, picking things up and laying them down while the noise of the search grew louder. He seemed to ignore the two women, but Wynne knew this game. Her father used to play it when she was little.
He would prowl about the living room with his finger to his lips, warning his children to be quiet as if there was an intruder in the house. They knew he was playing a game, but they loved it. They'd sit, tense with anticipation, until Daddy would suddenly shout and scoop one of them into his arms eliciting gales of giggles. No matter how hard she tried to remain still, Wynne fell for it every time.
Yatos wasn't playing for fun.
"We search for the criminal, Tor." His voice was like a shot in the tense silence.
Wynne gave him the response he sought. She sta
rtled and almost spoke in Tor's defense. Alamandria was faster. She didn't jump, she sneered at his stupidity.
"You won't find him in my drawers or kitchen cupboards. He's much too large."
Yatos pounced. "Then you admit you know him."
Standing beside her, Wynne couldn't see the woman roll her eyes, but was sure she did. "Of course I admit it. Half of Celos knows him and the other half now claims to, though whether they'll admit it once you come knocking at their door is a question I cannot answer. What makes you think he's here?"
"When did you last see him?"
"About a year ago, I think." She waved her hand impatiently. "I can't give you a date, but the yearly rains had not started yet. It was hotter than Hadrid's Realm. He stopped by to say hello and pick up an order of gowns for a client on Passos IV. I don't know why you think he would come to Celos. There are too many here who would gladly turn him in if it meant a profit."
"So much for loyalty among thieves," Wynne thought.
"That's exactly what he would have us think and exactly why we're here." The adjutant smiled as if he'd scored a point. "We have an eye witness who saw him. We raided his lair across the way."
"And found nothing." The seamstress's voice became bitter. "You never do."
"We found plenty. Two small craft left just before we arrived. Someone told them we were coming." He said it like an accusation. "They left in a hurry. Incriminating evidence regarding the victims was left behind."
The Brides Brigade was there, so close Wynne could have touched the spacecraft they were riding in. They hadn't been sold or at the very least, hadn't been delivered to those who'd purchased them. There was still time.
"Then this is nothing more than harassment." Alamandria showed anger for the first time. "Your suspects have made their escape. You have no reason to search my home. It is only your anger at having failed that brings you here. I will lodge my objections with your superiors."
"I have every reason to search. Tor and two of his cohorts were seen in the alley after the escape."
How could anyone mistake one of their trio for Tor? It was ridiculous. Wide eyed in shock, and forgetting her instructions to keep her eyes down, Wynne's head snapped up to stare at the man. Immediately realizing her mistake, she turned to Alamandria, who covered the faux pas smoothly.
She brought Wynne's hand up and patted it consolingly. "Do not fret, Piatchu. There is no danger here. Is there, Adjutant Yatos?"
"None for those who are innocent of wrongdoing," he said evasively. He then turned to the doorway and shouted to those searching the other rooms. "You have two more rooms to search. Do it quickly."
Four men entered and began systematically pulling the room apart. Bolts of cloth fell from their racks. Spools of thread went spinning across the floor. One of them skidded past Wynne's bare feet to land by the leg of a chair. The chair was upholstered with a skirt that fell six inches above the floor. Mohawk's pack lay half exposed to anyone who looked.
Alamandria's jaws were clenched in anger at the unnecessary destruction she could do nothing to stop. Yatos was watching her with sneering satisfaction. Wynne knew she had to do something and quickly.
Not bothering to hide her look of concern, she turned to Alamandria in a swirl of fabric that fully exposed the sheer side of her robe. The adjutant's eyes were immediately on her, watching her movement instead of where she was leading her mistress or the pack, now partially concealed by her robe, on the floor. With gentle pressure, she steered Alamandria to the chair. When she bent to settle the woman into it, the front panel of the robe fell forward as she intended it to. The naked outline of her body had to be visible.
Her turn to console her hostess, Wynne made several reassuring gestures, all designed to keep the robe moving. When Wynne's body blocked the adjutant's view, the other woman took the opportunity to wink. Alamandria might not understand Wynne's purpose, but she played along, feigning distress and holding Wynne's palm affectionately to her cheek.
Wynne sank to the floor next to Alamandria's legs as gracefully as she could. She spread her skirts wide to cover her curled legs. This not only spread the gathers of the diaphanous material which increased the fabric's sheerness, it also served to cover the fact that Wynne's seat was not the floor, but the lumpy and uncomfortable pack.
Arms crossed on Alamandria's thigh to pillow her head, Wynne let the robe do its work while the room was searched. It almost worked too well. Adjutant Yatos had to continually admonish his men.
"He's obviously not hiding under the women. Keep searching."
Everything Wynne had heard about Godan men said they preferred women to be modestly dressed. Evidently that meant their women, not all women, because these men were enjoying the show. Wynne wasn't enjoying it at all. Her arms ached to cover herself, but it was imperative that the attention remain on her.
Her tension compounded with each cupboard that was emptied and searched. Mohawk and Ish were hidden someplace, but where? It was only Alamandria's steady hand stroking her head that kept Wynne from full blown panic.
When Yatos demanded the number sequence to open the lock of the trunk that sat beneath the cutting table, Wynne almost lost it. When they found the false bottom beneath the last layer of the fabric it held, she was sure they were caught.
"What need has a seamstress for such a device, Alamandria? A place to hide contraband perhaps?" Yatos asked. He sounded triumphant, though the peacekeeper searching the trunk brought nothing out.
"I often order fabrics worth a month of your pay, Yatos. My clients order jewelry to be delivered through me. I remind you once again that this is Celos. Everyone has a safety box. Only half of them are used for contraband. Finish your work and leave us alone."
Wynne thought it odd that their search of the sales room was cursory. To her knowledge, there was no place to hide, but based on the damage done to the other rooms, she expected them to at least topple the mannequins and empty the contents of the bottles and jars on the floor.
Adjutant Yatos actually clicked his heels and bowed directly to Wynne before he took his leave. He even offered her a piece of advice and what she thought might be an offer.
"If you wish to make your way in this world, you are wasting your time with the old and the ugly. You need a patron who is on the rise and will take you with him." He handed her a small metal square with the Galactic Peacekeepers logo on the front.
Wynne broke the rules again when she raised her eyes to his as she accepted the calling card. She offered him what she hoped was a sexy and seductive smile.
"In your dreams, you pansy assed feather fucker," she thought. She still didn't know what one was, but it sounded like it fit. She bowed her head graciously in thanks. Feeling cocky, she added a kiss to the calling card and, having no pockets, tucked it into her hair.
Yatos clicked his heels again, and marched from the room, a perfect pompous ass. His men scurried after him.
The two women stayed where they were until they heard the door slam. Alamandria stood first and offered her hand to Wynne to help her rise.
Wynne took the offer and once on her feet, rubbed her sore rear end. "I don't know what Mohawk has in that bag, but I'll probably carry the imprint of it for the next six months." She dug at robe, lifting it to reach the thigh of the leg she'd curled under her. "This thing has to go, too," she said of the knife and sheath. "It's like wearing a tourniquet. If Adolf Junior hadn't left when he did, I would have lost my leg to a lack of blood flow. Ow. Ow-ow." She hopped on one foot while the circulation was restored to the other.
Alamandria clasped her hands and held them to her chest, clearly pleased. "You are a natural, Piatchu. You have the instincts and intelligence every mordata cosma needs. Your features are unique. Forget that arrogant pacra. Everyone will want you. I knew it the moment you walked in my door. You found that place within you. You lured Yatos into your web with your innocent seduction." Alamandria made the same gesture she had before. She cradled Wynne's cheek with the palm o
f her hand. "I will train you, guide you, and win you a contract with the best. Only the best for Piatchu. Together, we will go far." The dreamy voice was back. The former mordata cosma had found a way to relive her life through Wynne.
Wynne hated to destroy the dream, but it would be crueler not to. "I'm not Piatchu, Alamandria. I'm plain old Wynne. I'm not meant to lead that life."
"But look how you performed. You listened to..."
"My sister's advice. To attract a guy's attention, all you have to do is show off a little tits and ass," Wynne quoted. "Your robe made that easy. Like you said, I just let it do the work, but I didn't enjoy it. Not one bit." She took the woman's hand in hers to soften the blow. "I'm so sorry about your Senator Plincoff. He must have meant a lot to you. And I'm sorry if you're disappointed in me, but your talent isn't mine."
There was a grunt followed by the sound of wood snapping. Something heavy crashed down between the walls. A two toned string of foul words came next.
"Get off me you gods damned Godan hump. You weigh a fucking ton," Mohawk griped.
"I'd be glad to, you old crotch cricket," grumbled a deeper voice. "If you'd get out of the way."
"Where the fuck would you like me to go?"
"It's coming from the wall," Wynne cried, running to the place where the voices came from. She ran her hands along it, searching for a latch or a trigger that would open it.
"The cupboard! The cupboard." Alamandria pointed to the one adjacent to the wall. "Press against the panel and push up. Hurry, before the noise carries through to the other households. We do not know what Yatos has offered them to spy."
The banging and thudding continued as Wynne followed Alamandria's instructions.
"Stop it," she called softly as she placed her hands against the wall. She was afraid to add her voice to the din. The two inside continued to ignore her.
Tor (Women of Earth Book 2) Page 19