Nexus: Ziva Payvan Book 2

by EJ Fisch

  Tugging the helmet down over her head, Ziva opened the door and stepped out onto the street. It was a relatively peaceful neighborhood, with little foot traffic but moderately busy streets. She waited for a lull between two groundcars then jogged across, using the cover of the helmet visor to keep an eye out for approaching HSP vehicles. Seeing none, she focused her attention on the door of the house, probing the locking mechanism with her mind just as she’d tried to do at the relay station. To her surprise, it was already open. Without faltering, she hopped up the two short steps and let herself in as if it were her own home.

  The interior was darker than she had expected; the windows were almost fully tinted and there was no other source of light that Ziva could immediately see. She removed the helmet and stood there blinking for several seconds, then took a step further inside.

  While she had only been in this place on one other occasion, Ziva remembered it well enough to realize something drastic had happened since then. The simple, well-kept bachelor pad had been transformed into a place that would have been better suited to a mob world like Niio or the slums on Chaiavis. Empty liquor bottles and other trash littered the kitchen table as well as the living room’s center table, and the air was thick as if someone had recently been smoking govino. Other than a bizarre insect attempting to drag a piece of rotten food across the floor, there was no sign of life.

  Ziva set her helmet down on the center table and gazed at the sofa where she had sat the last time she was there. The data pads she had read were gathering dust on the shelf from which she had once taken them. She made her way into the kitchen, which was in the worst shape by far. Soiled dishes and utensils, as well as more foul food, joined the liquor bottles on the counter and in the sink. Water dripped from the leaky faucet with a steady clink clink clink. Ziva went to the cooler and found it to be nearly empty except for a couple of unopened drinks and some containers of unidentifiable leftovers. She could feel the corners of her mouth turning further and further downward the more she discovered, and she hadn’t even been down the hall.

  Ziva froze. The floor had creaked somewhere in the house, ever so slightly. She held her breath and listened, picking up the sound of feet – probably bare – moving cautiously across the carpet in the hallway. She was not alone.

  In one deft movement, she drew her pistol and reached the archway that led back into the living room. The footsteps stopped, their owner having no doubt heard her. She raised the pistol over her head and exhaled slowly through her nose; the person on the other side of the wall did the same.

  Ziva jumped out into the hallway at the exact moment the man came at her. The first thing she saw was his pistol leveled at her head and she immediately went for it as he lunged toward hers. She struggled against his muscular arm, angling his weapon upward just as it discharged. Ziva flung his arms across each other and pivoted, catching him hard in the face with the back of her head before leaping backward, sending him staggering back against the wall. She whirled, pinning him there with one hand closed around his throat and the other pressing her pistol to his forehead. He held his hands up in surrender and let his gun fall to the floor.

  “I must say that wasn’t much of a welcome,” she said.

  Aroska Tarbic turned his head away from the barrel of her pistol, squinting at her in the dim light. “Ziva?” he muttered. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She released him and took a step back. “I’ve been good, thanks for asking, but I don’t think I can say the same about you.” She took a moment to survey the mess around her again. “What happened here?”

  He recovered his pistol and went to set it on the dining table. The first thing that came to Ziva’s mind was that he looked like one of the Solaris junkies he’d worked with during his stint in the SCU. Dark circles enveloped his drooping eyes, and he had an all-around greasy look to him as if he hadn’t bathed in at least a few days. His shaggy black hair was loose from the neat ponytail Ziva remembered him wearing, and a very unshaven face completed his ragged appearance. A stale scent hung about him, confirming her suspicion that he’d been smoking.

  “Can’t a man have a few drinks?” he retorted.

  Ziva crossed her arms. “I think there’s a little more to it than that.”

  “I doubt you came here to criticize my personal habits. What do you want?”

  “It seems I’m in a bit of trouble.”

  “Oh? I wouldn’t know – viewscreen’s been down for two weeks.”

  Ziva filled him in on the basics, which at this point consisted of being wanted for murder and escaping. Aroska appeared to be listening for the most part, but he was clearly hung over, still smashed, maybe high, or perhaps a vicious combination of the three. She’d caught a glimpse of his peculiar drinking and drug habits before, but this was extreme; she couldn’t even begin to fathom what had caused the severe change in lifestyle. Strangely enough, the two of them had neither seen nor spoken to each other since he had come to her home nearly two months earlier to inform her that Emeri Arion had revoked the order to terminate her life.

  “Now, tell me what’s going on with you,” she said again when she had finished.

  “It’s not your problem.”

  “It is my problem if you’re going to be helping me.”

  He scoffed. “Who said anything about helping you?” He was quiet for a moment, realizing he had been rather harsh, and tried again. “Why come to me?”

  “Aroska, you know I’m not one to ask for help, and you know you’re probably one of the last people I would ever ask for help. The fact that I’m here now asking has to tell you something.”

  He shook his head. “You of all people should have more than enough resources for a time like this. What can I do that no one else can?”

  As Ziva searched for a place to even begin, the stench and grittiness of her skin and clothing suddenly overtook her. “You can start by letting me use your shower.”

  -22-

  Tarbic Residence

  Noro, Haphez

  Ziva slid the lavatory door shut and made sure the lock was securely engaged. Slipping out of her newly acquired boots, she stepped into the shower fully clothed. One by one, she peeled the filthy garments off and watched the muddy water swirl down the drain. She took the time to scrub and rinse each item before throwing them over the shower wall to dry.

  The warm shower felt heavenly compared to the chilly rain she’d grown accustomed to over the past day and night, and for a moment Ziva closed her eyes. Never in a million years had she imagined she’d ever be present in Aroska Tarbic’s home again, much less bathing of all things. Even seeing him again seemed odd – they’d parted on what had seemed like pleasant terms but had both allowed each other to fade into the background. She thought back to the moment she had offered him a special ops position as the two of them stood in her home. In all reality she didn’t know what she would have done if he’d accepted – the suggestion had been more of a filler for a conversation that had been growing rather…delicate.

  Life had virtually returned to normal after that day. She’d endured two weeks of unpaid disciplinary probation during which she’d been able to rest and allow her wounds to heal. The fall of Dakiti and Dane Bothum had crippled Solaris to the point that HSP’s clean-up crews hadn’t had much work to do when it came to permanently disbanding the radical group. Ziva had seen Aroska’s name listed on agency bulletins as a primary contributor to the effort, and there’d been a short internal investigation into his relationship with the treacherous Saun Zaid, but nothing more. The only other thing she knew was that he was still receiving a paycheck from HSP.

  She couldn’t help but feel that his newly discovered alcohol and drug problems were somehow her fault, but she dismissed the thought as foolish and continued picking leaves and twigs out of her hair. She wasn’t about to let anyone blame her for anything else at this point.

  While exploring her scalp, Ziva’s fingers encountered the gash she had sustained when the a
ircar crashed. The hair around it was caked with dried blood, which she carefully began to rinse away. The wound stung when the water contacted it, as did the rest of the small scrapes and cuts that were the result of broken glass and hours of climbing and crawling through the forest. On the bright side, the warm water helped alleviate some of the discomfort in her shoulder, and the caura she’d injected the previous night seemed to be doing its job on her ribs. She scrubbed at the tender area gently, unable to differentiate between the dirt and the bruising. Mud and gunk had found its way into every possible nook and cranny, so she spent another couple of minutes doing a thorough rinse before allowing herself a few moments to just stand still under the scalding water.

  Had HSP really thought it would be so easy to take her down, or was she missing something? It would benefit her to know what they knew, what direction the investigation was headed. Contacting Skeet or Zinni was out of the question; hell, contacting anybody was out of the question! She needed someone she could send in to gather the facts, someone who wouldn’t be recognized as her emissary. A sudden thought struck her.

  Wishing she didn’t have to return to reality, Ziva reluctantly shut the water off and stepped out. Steam swirled around her as she dried quickly and pulled on the clothes Aroska had put out for her, a set of loose-fitting loungewear that had apparently belonged to a former girlfriend. She wondered briefly if the garments had belonged to Saun, though she doubted he would have kept them if that were the case. Regardless of whose they were, she was grateful for something clean and dry to wear. Aside from her undergarments, the only item of her own that she took was the therapeutic knee sleeve she’d been forced to wear since Aroska himself had shot her. She wrung it out and pulled it on.

  When she ventured out into the hall, Ziva was pleasantly surprised to find that the windows had been brightened and some of the old bottles had been cleared away. The rug still felt grimy under her bare feet, but she was pleased to already be seeing improvements.

  She found Aroska in the kitchen, scrubbing weeks’ worth of slime from the table. The trash compactor was standing open, full to the brim with the old bottles and dishes that had probably been ruined by the spoiled food. The only item that occupied the counter now was a small tray that held a stick of govino. A fine column of smoke rose from the end that glowed orange.

  Ziva took another few moments to study the man as she took up a position against the wall where she’d stood the first time they’d officially talked. Aroska continued cleaning, aware he was under observation but apparently not caring. He was still a large man, but he had lost a noticeable amount of weight, no doubt due to this depression he seemed to have fallen into. When combined with the changes in his hair and face, he was hardly the same person she had come to know two months earlier.

  Presently he finished cleaning and tossed the cloth into the sink. He pulled out one of the dining chairs and motioned for Ziva to take a seat before sliding around to the other side of the table. “I suppose we have a lot to talk about.”

  Ziva took the chair and watched as Aroska transferred the little tray over to the table. He lifted the half-smoked govino stick to his lips and took a long drag from it, holding the smoke in his mouth for a moment before turning slightly and exhaling it through his nose. He gazed at her through the cloud of smoke, waiting for her to begin.

  First things first – she held out her hand. “Let me see that.”

  Aroska glanced quizzically from her hand to the govino stick then handed it over, placing it between her middle and forefinger. For a moment Ziva was tempted to take a puff herself, but instead she flipped it over and snuffed it out on the table before snapping the remainder of the stick in half.

  Tarbic’s only reaction was a wag of his head as he leaned back in the chair and drummed his fingers on the table. “You have to make this as difficult as possible, don’t you?”

  Ziva shrugged and drew one leg up against her, casually wrapping her arms around her knee. “I think you’ll find that when someone chooses to make my life miserable, I can’t help but return the favor to anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby.”

  “That’s an interesting strategy when it comes to asking someone for help.”

  “Put yourself in my shoes, Aroska. How would you feel if the one person you could ask for help was too strung out and screwed up to do anything?”

  “Why me, then?” he demanded.

  “For starters, you know my secret.”

  Aroska sighed and hung his head, combing his fingers through his stringy hair. After a moment he placed his hands on the table and eyed her with bloodshot eyes. “Start from the beginning,” he said.

  -23-

  Tarbic Residence

  Noro, Haphez

  Aroska listened patiently to Ziva’s story in its entirety, though he struggled to keep his mind from wandering. He forced himself to pay attention by watching her mouth move as she spoke. It was amazing that so much had happened in the past forty hours. He’d been telling the truth when he said his viewscreen wasn’t working – Tachi’s death, Ziva’s escape, it was all news to him. When he got to thinking about it, he wasn’t sure how much he would have cared about any of it if Ziva herself wasn’t sitting there in front of him now.

  He studied her intently as she continued regaling him with the events of the past two days. He had to laugh to himself – the borrowed clothes fit her rather awkwardly, but she seemed comfortable enough and she certainly smelled better than she had when she’d first come in. He would see to it that, if anything, the rest of her belongings received a proper cleansing before she left.

  “She gave me a few credits to get by on until I can make it off the planet,” she was saying, speaking of Jada and her experience in her step-father’s palace the night before. “I came straight here after leaving there early this morning.”

  There had always been something fascinating about Ziva’s face that Aroska couldn’t put his finger on. It wasn’t just her eyes, the feature that had so effectively captured his attention the first time he’d caught sight of her. Despite the fact that her countenance often appeared to be carved out of stone, she was still one of the most striking women he knew. She had a rather narrow jaw and high, sharp cheekbones, but the wisdom and experience spoken by her eyes counteracted the severity of her other features. Her hair had taken on a wavy form while damp, and it hung loose like a black frame around her pale face, giving her a very innocent air that was totally foreign to him. He realized he hardly noticed her scar anymore.

  He was suddenly aware she had stopped talking, and he looked up find her staring him down through slightly narrowed eyes. Her jaw was set and she looked altogether unhappy, but at the same time Aroska could tell her mind was elsewhere. Judging by her appearance and body language, the woman was exhausted and trying hard not to show it. Despite the fact that he’d only known her for a short time, the way she shut others out and tried to do everything herself still drove him mad. The behavior posed too many unnecessary risks for his taste.

  “Are you going to do this or not?” she demanded.

  “That depends.”

  Ziva scowled. “On what?”

  “On whether or not you killed Tachi,” he replied. “So, did you do it?”

  She shook her head in disgust and made no move to respond. For a moment Aroska couldn’t tell if she was looking at him, but he concluded that she was looking past him at nothing in particular while the wheels inside her head spun. Ziva gnawed at the inside of her bottom lip, her eyes once again narrowed slightly.

  Her hesitation made Aroska’s stomach flop over and he suddenly felt very wary. “Ziva?”

  “No,” she snapped, her eyes shifting back over to meet his. “The galaxy knows I would have liked to.” She shook her head again.

  Aroska lifted an eyebrow. “Sounds like there’s an interesting story there.”

  “Later.”

  He sighed and placed a hand on the little ashtray, wishing desperately for his govino stick as he spu
n it in a slow circle and listened to it scrape against the surface of the table. “I’m still not sure I understand what exactly you want me to do.”

  Ziva let her leg down and scooted her chair in, leaning forward a bit with her hands folded. “I have a plan,” she said, “and I doubt you’re going to like it.”

  Aroska wanted to laugh out loud, but he resorted to a short snicker and nodded slowly. As much as he was tempted to refuse, there was something in her eyes that went to work on him, just as it had when his hand had been the only thing keeping her from plunging over a cliff to her death. He wondered briefly if she always got people to do her bidding just by looking at them.

  “Let’s hear it, then,” he said with a shrug.

  “You want to know why I came to you. It’s because you’re my only resource. Trying to contact anyone on the inside – Skeet, Zinni, even Adin and his team – would be suicide on my part, not to mention the other party would probably be imprisoned or fired at the least. What I need is someone I can send inside, someone who can get close enough to Dasaro to monitor the progress of the investigation. It has to be someone they wouldn’t suspect.”

  Now Aroska did laugh. “You want me to be your mole inside HSP.”

  Ziva nodded but said nothing, keeping her hands folded in front of her mouth as her crimson gaze continued to bore into him.

  “You’re crazy,” he said. “That’s insane. I don’t work for HSP anymore.”

  “You were still on the payroll last time I checked. What do they have you out on? Medical leave? Psych leave?”