His gaze dropped to her chest and lingered. "How'd it go with Leon?"
Kama gave him a cold stare and tugged her zipper up. "Fine, once we got on the subject of his son. Now you run along and finish your babysitting assignment. I'll go see if I can find something relaxing to do, wrestle a crocodile or something. Oh, and the files started to arrive."
McTavish frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "I wish you'd thought of your trap before I had Greg upload that bot."
"Yeah, I know. I wish I had, too." She opened the hatch. "If it makes you feel any better, I can guarantee that the only security service that's ever come close to catching me won't be on the case this time."
She gave him a wink, laughed at his consternation, and strode off down the corridor. She didn't relish returning to hydroponics, but they couldn't afford to have Levine discovered now.
While she waited with the body for the search to end, she reviewed the new files. She started with Amaya's. The woman had exchanged a lot of mail with art dealers and auction houses. Most notable by its absence was any correspondence with Levine or with anyone else on the station.
Kama did a quick search of the thousands of files in her download and found no mention of the station in any of them. Maybe Amaya was as paranoid as her husband and kept her incriminating evidence off the EcoMech network. If that was the case, she'd have to chase it down elsewhere. Not a job to be done in an hour or two while body-watching. She'd just started on Leon's files when McTavish arrived.
"Leon's gone back to the yacht. When the cruisers arrive this afternoon, he'll begin the search again using his security people," he said. "Time to make our announcement to our suspects. It's noon now. Should we tell them it'll take two hours to prepare the equipment, and then we'll begin the search?"
"Make it an hour. I'd like to have the killer in custody well before the mercs arrive." Kama watched him closely. "Once we have the killer, then what?"
"Depends on what the killer knows about your contract. Making someone disappear for seven days and then reappear to be handed over to EA isn't easy."
"Five days. We've pulled the schedule in."
McTavish walked his ball in and out through his fingers. "I assume you have a suggestion?"
"An Oasis ship is waiting nearby. They'll pick up our prisoner and transport to Earth, but they'll have engine trouble along the way that will delay their arrival." Kama waited, holding her breath.
McTavish frowned. "Please understand that I trust you. But your boss, Ganguly, has a reputation that makes me uncomfortable. How do I know the killer will make it to Earth alive?"
Kama scuffed a boot toe on the deck. She shared McTavish's concerns, but she couldn't tell him that. "With Goldman involved, this is going to be a high profile case. I think Samir will find it more expedient to deliver the prisoner intact than to cover some kind of transport accident."
"Leon won't want the killer transported by Oasis. He'll send his cruisers after the ship." McTavish pocketed the ball. "In Samir's situation, I know what I would do with the prisoner if I thought I was in danger of being boarded."
"I can guarantee that the cruisers won't catch our ship," Kama said.
McTavish bowed his head, studying her boot as she moved it back and forth. "I can think of half a dozen ways they can do it. I don't want to expose Oasis' contract, but this killer has to be brought to justice in a court of law. I see the odds of that happening with the killer in either Leon's or Oasis' hands as zilch."
She really could guarantee the cruisers wouldn't catch the Oasis ship, but she'd revealed enough Oasis secrets to him already. "What's the alternative?"
"I contacted EA yesterday. A ship's on the way. It should arrive the same time as the cruisers. The commander's a friend of mine. He'll be parked here three or four days doing his investigation, and he'll keep his prisoner in solitary. That's the longest delay he could agree to."
His eyes met hers, and his uncertainty mirrored her own. He'd withheld this from her when they'd talked in Levine's quarters. On the other hand, he could have waited to tell her until after they'd apprehended the killer. She trusted him, but not EA. The killer had to be Oasis' prize, no matter what it took.
Chapter 17
"Hey, Mr. McTavish!"
Swede jogged toward Rafe, who eyed Kama, wondering what she was thinking. She hadn't agreed to turn the killer over to EA, and that concerned him.
"Mr. McTavish, we got an urgent message from the EcoMech ship," the big blond miner said. "Someone named 'Amaya' contacted us. She says you need to get over there right away. Your nephew's been hurt. I can take you now."
Rafe's throat constricted. "What happened? How badly is Greg injured?"
Swede gave an apologetic shrug. "Sorry. The com tech took the message."
He needed to get to the ship, see to Greg. But would Kama wait to set their plan in motion with the EA ship bearing down on the station? He didn't think so. If he left now, she could face a killer alone. He couldn't let her do that. What if something happened to her? His hands spasmed into fists.
Kama stroked his cheek, a gleam in her eye that confirmed his suspicions about her intended actions. "Go take care of your nephew. I can hold the fort. Family first."
Rafe's concern for her vied with his worry about Greg. What could have happened to the boy? Was it his fault? He squeezed her shoulder, not happy to leave her behind, and hurried after the miner.
Swede had the runabout powered up and off the station in record time. Rafe barely noticed his queasy stomach. The fifteen-minute journey and docking procedure seemed to take far longer. Before they'd settled, he'd thrown off the seat harness and started for the door. He passed through the airlock into the main companionway.
Amaya, standing by the lounge door, beckoned to him. It crossed his mind that Greg should be in his cabin since the ship didn't have an infirmary. Why would he be in the lounge? Behind her, Gabe slipped stealthily into the room, like a cat burglar sneaking in a second-story window.
When he'd nearly reached her, Amaya disappeared inside. He followed her, and she closed the door behind him. The place was as dim as ever, and it took his eyes a minute to adjust. Amaya moved unsteadily to stand near Leon's favorite corner chair, where Leon slumped, a bourbon glass on the side table as always. He didn't see Greg. Was his nephew dead, and she hadn't wanted to tell him over the com?
His chest seized, and he hurried toward Leon. The CEOs head drooped, hands slack in his lap. Rafe's off-hand dueling dagger protruded from the man's chest. A trail of blood ran down his shirt front, across his trousers, and onto the fabric of the chair. Rafe stared, not believing his eyes.
"You thought you were so clever. You thought you could murder my sister and get away with it because you are a McTavish." Amaya's voice carried to him, barely above a whisper.
Rafe tore his eyes from Leon to look at Amaya, a deadly zip gun in her grasp. She steadied herself against a chair with her other hand but still swayed as though a stiff breeze buffeted her.
"A pity I never thought to blackmail Leon into relinquishing the CEO position to me. I could have replaced him much sooner, ensuring the company remained strong and viable while waiting for Gabe to take his rightful place at the helm. Do you know what the blackmailer had on my husband?" she asked.
Rafe coughed, found his voice. "No, Leon wouldn't tell me."
"Oh, well, he had many indiscretions, but they will pass with him. Gabe's future is all that matters." Amaya chuckled. "I'll be rid of Leon, and you'll take the blame. As the new CEO of EcoMech, I can ensure the investigation doesn't include any forensic evidence that disputes my version of the facts, just as Aaron Goldman covered for you in the death of my sister. How ironic that only today you thought I didn't have killer instincts."
Some warped, sad part of Rafe agreed with her—he should pay a price for Youko's death. But he also thought about Kama, alone, facing a killer. He couldn't die without helping her. He had to think of something, had to survive long enough to tell some
one about the danger she faced.
Amaya extended the zip gun, shaking badly. Rafe was one step too far away to disarm her before she fired. In a blur, Gabe flashed from behind a couch and shoved his mother aside. Amaya toppled against the chair she'd used for support, rolled onto the seat, and bounced to the floor. The zip gun slid off into darkness. Gabe stared down at her, horrified.
Rafe moved in quickly, prepared to restrain her. Her eyes rolled back in her head, she convulsed once, and then she lay motionless. He couldn't find a pulse.
She shouldn't be dead. She hadn't hit her head on the way down, or even fallen hard. What was wrong with her? He started CPR, desperate to save her. Fear doubled his strength as he pumped her chest.
"Mother?" Gabe said.
Rafe nearly told him to go for help, then he reconsidered. She'd murdered Leon. How much harder would it be on Gabe to see his mother go through a protracted trial and on to a death sentence? Maybe it was better if it ended here. He stopped the CPR and checked again for a pulse. Nothing.
He stood and put an arm around the boy, his own heart pounding. "I'm sorry, Gabe."
"I killed her," Gabe whispered. "I shouldn't have knocked her down. I'm a murderer, just like her."
"That's not true."
Rafe tried to hug Gabe, turn him away from the sight of his dead parents, but the boy fought like a tiger. He ran across the lounge and plunged into the corridor screaming, "I killed her!"
Rafe ran after him. Gabe made it to his cabin and locked the door. He raised his hand to pound, but motion in the corridor caught his eye.
Benson and two crew members came into the corridor from the dining room, drawn by the commotion. Rafe thought about the scene in the lounge: Amaya dead on the floor and Leon with the dagger in him. The captain wouldn't let him off the ship without conducting a thorough investigation. He didn't have time to answer questions.
With a creeping sense of déjà vu for turning his back on another death room, he walked away down the corridor toward the airlock. The hairs on the back of his neck crawled with a will of their own. Every step he took felt wrong. He couldn't run away again, but he had to. Greg's door opened, and the boy emerged into the corridor.
"Walk with me," Rafe ordered, taking him by the arm and marching him toward the airlock. "Don't look back. I have to get to the station to help Kama."
"Can I come?"
"No, you have to stay here. Stay with Gabe. Don't leave him. Leon and Amaya are dead."
Greg's head jerked toward him. "What? How?"
"Captain Benson may think that I did it. As soon as I know Kama is safe, I'll turn myself in. But for now, Gabe needs you, understand?"
"Mr. McTavish," Benson called. The captain's footsteps sped up behind them.
Rafe gave Benson a wave and stepped through the airlock. He transferred into the runabout and nodded to Swede, who began undocking.
"How's the nephew?" Swede asked.
"False alarm," Rafe replied. "Let's get back."
They'd cleared the yacht and were well on their way back to the station when the radio crackled.
"Station runabout, this is Captain Benson. Return Mr. McTavish to the ship at once."
Swede glanced at him, pointed to the radio. "What's that about?"
"Probably Goldman wants to ride my ass about something. You know these corporate types, always bossing people around." How much would Benson be willing to say over an open channel? Rafe hoped not much.
Swede wiggled a finger up and down on the transmit button. "EcoMech ship, this is Runabout 1. You're breaking up. Repeat, you're breaking up." Swede grinned and flicked the radio off.
"Guess that'll show 'em."
Rafe prayed there wouldn't be armed escorts waiting for him when they reached the station. He knew Benson would send his own people as quickly as he could scramble them.
They were on final approach to the runabout bay when an alarm went off. Red lights flashed across the control console. Swede flipped on a display. It looked like a snowstorm.
"Holy shit! Where'd all that come from?" he muttered. His hands played over the controls, silencing the alarm.
"What's wrong?" Rafe asked.
"It looks like a serious meteor shower passing through, but we haven't had warning of one. Must be something wrong with the sensors."
Swede piloted them into the bay. Rafe skipped out the door and into chaos. Alarms wailed, and the emergency lights flashed. The corridors were deserted, and he said a quick prayer of thanks.
"What the hell's going on?" Swede said. He jogged away.
Rafe hurried the opposite direction, hoping he could remember how to get to hydroponics. No point bothering to take the long way around. There was no one to see him. He made a wrong turn, doubled back, and found his destination.
Dusky light left the bay barely visible. Only a few weak safety lights illuminated the recycling vats, and none shone on the long table of shadowy foliage now in night cycle. The foul smell of the place overwhelmed him; a rotting odor mingled with the scent of the vegetation.
Someone was growing herbs. He identified rosemary, probably fresh cut by Miss Patty. He heard the bubbling of the vat fluid, the intermittent hiss and click of valves opening and closing, the dripping of condensation all around, water trickling away through the floor collectors. He couldn't see Kama. Sweat formed on his brow, and he edged forward. Was he too late?
As he neared the vat holding Levine's body, he smelled basil and then a faint trace of lavender. Behind him, a muffled clang echoed through the room. He slipped between tanks into shadow. Light blazed into the bay as the hatchway opened, and footsteps squeaked on the deck.
"Uncle Rafe?" came Greg's voice. "Are you down here?"
Rafe watched the lanky silhouette tiptoe into the dark bay. The boy was alone. Rafe sprinted forward, clapped a hand across Greg's mouth, and shoved the hatchway closed with the other, uncertain whether the killer was somewhere in the bay.
Yanking his nephew into the shadows, he whispered furiously in his ear. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Helping you," he whispered back, voice choked with fear. "Captain Benson sent a bunch of guys to look for you. I told them I knew where you'd be so they brought me along, but I led them to the other end of the station and gave them the slip."
Rafe grabbed his arm and twisted it to see the boy's nanocom. It glowed faintly, displaying the date and time along with a list of waiting messages.
"They can track your nanocom's location. Get out of here now. Lead them somewhere else."
He steered the boy back to the hatch, but before they reached it, the latch mechanism whirred. He shoved Greg deep into the shadows near the wall and backtracked down the bay toward the vat holding Levine's body. A footstep boomed on the deck, and light flooded around him before he could hide.
"Stop right there, Mr. McTavish," Cookie called.
Cookie and his assistant edged toward him between the tables of vegetation and the recycling vats, weapons pointed and ready. And not precise, civilized stunners either. The crewmen carried combat shotguns; twenty shells each in semi-automatic disc magazines, and two muzzles that looked like the Black Hole of Calcutta as they pointed unwaveringly at Rafe’s chest.
Low-velocity buckshot wouldn’t poke holes in the station hull, but he tried not to imagine the pretty patterns his guts would make on the bulkhead if either pulled the trigger.
"Cookie, I can't come with you right now. I'm trying to catch a killer. I promise, I'll turn myself in as soon as this is over.”
Cookie’s aim didn’t waver, but his fellow wiped a sweaty palm on his pants before returning it to the blue steel of his shotgun barrel. "Let’s do this nice and easy, Mr. McTavish,” Cookie said.
Rafe kept both hands open and away from his sides. He wrinkled his nose and backed slowly away, closer to the lavender and rot of the tanks. Somewhere back there Kama lurked with her stunner, his only hope of remaining free. The two crewmen followed, keeping their distance.
&n
bsp; "Are you alone?” Cookie asked, eyes scanning the bay.
"I sent Greg away. This is nothing to do with him."
"We gotta take you in, Mr. McTavish," Cookie said. "You know I like you, but we’ll take your body back if we have to."
Rafe glanced to either side and kept backtracking. What range would a stunner have in this humidity? His back smacked up against one of the plant tables, the warm wet surface slippery under his touch. Far enough?
"Can’t let you take my body anywhere, Cookie. I’m liable to need it."
"We can figure this out," Cookie promised. "On your knees, hands behind your head."
She better be watching… Rafe thought, and lowered himself slowly onto his knees.
Cookie jerked his head at his compatriot, then slung his shotgun across his broad back and fished out a plastic quick-tie.
"Keep me covered," the big crewman instructed his assistant. "Now, Mr. McTavish, don’t go giving us any trouble."
Rafe flexed his fingers. When Kama took the second guy, he’d move on Cookie. Any moment now…
Nothing happened. No stunner flash, no thud of a falling body, no wavering of the shotgun barrel. Just Cookie’s meaty hand grabbing his wrist. In that moment, he realized that Kama wouldn't help. She wanted the killer for Oasis, and she'd sacrifice him if necessary. A shrapnel mine detonated inside his chest, shredding his budding love to pieces.
Then the silence was broken.
"CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!!!!"
Greg came hurtling out of the shadows, arms outspread and head down, shrieking like a banshee. With a crunch, the lanky teenager’s head cannoned into the small of the assistant’s back and bounced off. The assistant looked in amazement as the boy tottered with unfocussed eyes, then toppled like a sapling cut off at the roots.
Body armor, Rafe thought. Ouch. But he had no time for sympathy. He swung a vicious uppercut into Cookie’s groin and flung himself backward under the plant table.
"Shit! Get him!" came a pained roar from Cookie.
On hands and knees, Rafe scurried up the bay closer to the vat with Levine's body and the faint smell of lavender, threading his way through a jungle of pipes. A shotgun roared, and buckshot rattled against the metalwork a few feet away like gravel flung at glass. Rafe rolled to one side and ducked into a dark crevice under an overhanging table.
Calculated Risk Page 21