“Your mat tat,” he answered, nodding to the bit of color he could see on the underside of her wrist.
She pressed it to her belly as if in protection, and he noticed that the lower front of her shirt was almost transparent with moisture, showing the color of her skin beneath. His sweat, from when she had so gently mopped his face. His sweat on her skin. A shaft of animal heat drove through him and he clenched his hands into fists.
“W-why?” she asked.
He lifted his eyes to hers and didn’t answer, watching dark lashes flutter over amber. Her gaze skittered away and she glanced around the room as if looking for support or escape. Then her lips compressed and she slowly turned her wrist up for his inspection.
It was beautiful work. The colors were vivid, the artwork elegant, using the curves of her flesh to dramatic effect with ocean waves of blue and green. The soft gray and lavender skin on the sea creature sparkled and looked raised, as if something was embedded in her flesh. He had the strongest urge to feel the matrilineal marking, to stroke her as she had stroked him.
“Nice,” he said in as neutral a tone as he could manage. “What is it?”
She hesitated, and he glanced up to see her studying the picture with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “We call them selkies after an Old Earth legend. They’re indigenous to my birth planet. They were hunted almost to extinction by the first settlers, so now they’re pretty elusive.”
He studied the sleek lines of the graceful creature, caught in joyful motion as it leapt from the sea. “What planet?”
“Kaska.”
He looked up at her, startled. That was more than matrilineal—that was downright Amazonian. “You’re a long way from home, farm girl.”
A spasm of longing and sorrow passed over her face before she lowered her arm and met his gaze with strange determination. “I stopped at the barn on the way over,” she said in a low voice, breaking off a hunk of the pastry. He nodded and took the bite from her fingers, careful not to touch her this time. “Stockton was there, so I couldn’t spend much time, but I noticed that there was a place over Suni’s stall where somebody could hide. That might be why she was alarming. If I could get up there and get some samples, I might be able to tell if someone hid there the night of the murder.”
He swallowed hastily. “Why not just take samples from where the bodies were and do a process of elimination?”
She shook her head, expression pained. “I wish it were that simple, but Stockton’s barn is pretty popular. Many of the smaller farms board their animals or rent his livestock. I’d probably find most of the town’s DNA there, including my own. Besides, they got rid of the floor.”
He didn’t take the last bite she offered, staring at her until she raised her gaze to his. “They got rid of the evidence?”
She nodded, her eyes wide with misery. “The blood had soaked into the wood.”
“You know what that looks like.”
She dropped her gaze, mouth taking on a pinched look. “They think they’ve caught their killer. They don’t think they need proof.”
“It’s more than that, farm girl. They’re covering, getting rid of the evidence just in case a Universal Magistrate comes calling. That ain’t likely to happen, but they’re doing it anyway. Why do you suppose that is?”
She lifted her head, looking at him with a puzzled frown as the hand with the final bit of pastry dropped to her side. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“They know it wasn’t me. They know who did it and they’re covering.”
She gasped, stepping back from him as if he’d tried to bite her. “I don’t—that’s— You’re just being paranoid! How could you know that?”
How could he explain? It was the panic hidden under the grief in their eyes when they caught him. It was how Clavis wanted her and hated her at the same time. It was how they chained him, with a hatred that went beyond horror at the murder. It was their method of execution, brutal and erasing. They removed the floor and stripped his ship. His long years’ experience with the darker side of human nature told him that these things added up to a secret. He didn’t know the details—he didn’t have to know. It was bad news and that’s all that mattered.
“You should drop what you’re doing. They’re not gonna tolerate you poking around.” And if they realized that the game was up, they might just decide a swifter execution was in order. They also might make it a double.
Confusion drew her face into such innocent lines that he could barely look at her. “I can’t just drop it. They’ll—you’re going to die.”
“Not if I can help it,” he said dryly but relented at the pained expression on her face. “Look, just let it go for today. Wait ‘til nightfall to do any more detective work. Stop being so damned obvious about it.”
She looked a little insulted but nodded and bent to pick up the jug. “Water?”
He drank deeply and took the last bite of food, watching while she packed her bag and backed away from him.
“I’ll be back later. Around dinner time,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. She turned her face up to the small window. “You should have plenty of ventilation now. I know it’s still hot, but…will you be okay until then?”
“Make it dusk,” he said on impulse and pushed away the warning voice telling him not to complicate things.
She frowned. “Can you wait that long?”
“I’ll be fine.”
She nodded, still frowning at him. Then her expression smoothed and she took a couple of backward steps toward the door. “Should I leave the water?”
“Only if you got a really long straw,” he said with a twist of his mouth.
She gave a little grimace of acknowledgement. “Right, sorry. Clavis would probably rather spit in it than help you drink.”
“More like piss in it then pass it to me.”
She ducked her head, but he could have sworn he saw her smile as she did it. He suddenly wondered what a genuine smile would look like on her face. Not that he would find out—he planned to be out of her life by tonight. He shifted and frowned.
“I’ll see you later then,” she said to the floor, turning without looking up at him.
When she reached the threshold, he said on impulse, “Sukeza bet Marish.”
She jerked around, staring at him with wide eyes as if he’d just goosed her with something sharp.
“Thank you.” He meant for more than the food and water, but she didn’t need to know that just yet. His little rescuer would learn what she’d done for him after the fact, if all went according to plan.
She flushed a lovely shade of pink and he wondered how he could have ever thought her just plain cute and ordinary. She was downright edible. “Y-you’re welcome,” she mumbled and slipped out the door.
Clavis didn’t show his face until Stryker bellowed his name several times. The big man thundered to the door, blowing like a bull in full charge. “Shaddap, you—”
“I gotta take a piss.” Stryker cut across the other man’s fury with matter-of-fact calm. “Just thought you might wanna get me to a tank so I don’t stink up the place.”
Clavis hesitated between rage and the apparently dreadful concept of human waste in his meeting room.
“Man, I’m gonna explode. If you need backup, could you hurry?”
The insult worked like a charm. “Don’t need no backup for a trussed up pig like you,” Clavis snarled, stomping forward and drawing his weapon. As he pulled out the key, he said, “Don’t even twitch.”
Stryker suppressed the urge to be sarcastic, submitting to the man’s orders while Clavis unshackled him from the wall and placed portable cuffs around his wrists. Then Clavis unwound the chain from his body, and Stryker rose to his feet, shuffling toward the door with a short chain between his ankles. Clavis followed, his rage and natural brutality pressing against the back of Stryker’s neck. Oh, yeah, it was going to feel good to take this man down. He remembered how the man had looked at Sukeza and gritted hi
s teeth. It was going to feel very good.
They made their slow way to the toilet, a clean, primitive room that was satisfyingly small. Clavis was only an arm’s length away while Stryker struggled with more effort than was necessary to undo his pants. He swore softly twice, which made the big man snicker. When he managed to free himself from his pants, he glanced over at the jailor and lifted his eyebrows. “You gonna watch?”
The man smirked. “You got stage fright?”
Stryker shrugged and went about his business, taking in his surroundings out of the corners of his eyes. It was going to be so easy. He could do it was day, and getting to his ship undetected would be impossible under that damned sun. No matter—this was a trial run, a good way to soften the fat bastard up for the real event. Clavis was already feeling secure enough not to point the weapon at Stryker while he finished and they made their way back to his makeshift prison. Meek as a lamb, Stryker moved to his spot and sat, not protesting by even a twitch as Clavis rechained and reshackled him.
“You been a good boy,” Clavis said over his shoulder when he left. “If you keep it up, maybe I’ll put a bullet in you ‘fore you burn. Make it quick, uh?” He guffawed, his braying laughter echoing in the large room beyond.
“Shit for brains,” Stryker muttered complacently under his breath, well satisfied. The man was growing more confident with every contact with his prisoner, less wary and less watchful.
With a full belly, an empty bladder, and nothing else to do, Stryker settled himself as well as he could against the wall and dozed in the bright heat. When he roused, shadows filled the room and the long light outside the widow spoke of sunset. He heard voices in the distance and tensed. Had Clavis decided to bring in more men after all? The rest of the population of this small community had shunned the town hall like the last plague all day. No visitors, not even to jeer and spit on him. With such a violent, emotional crime, that was yet another sign of something rotten in this farming town.
The voices stopped and after a moment Sukeza appeared in the doorway, bag in one hand and a lantern in the other. Her dark hair had straggled further out of its clasp, and she pushed it behind her ear with the lanterned hand while she studied him, a crease between her brows. Light and shadows danced when the lantern swung in her grip. “How are you doing?” she asked in a low voice.
“Peachy,” he drawled, voice gravelly from sleep.
He watched her wince a little at his sarcasm and regretted it. Seeing her standing there had clarified the dilemma he’d been ignoring all day. Why had he told her to come now? She would be a hindrance, a complication he couldn’t afford.
“I imagine you’re thirsty.” She moved to his side and set down her burdens. The light threw odd shadows across her face. She withdrew a container of water from the bag and rose to her feet. He accepted the offered fluid without a word, drinking deeply while he watched the light from the widow limn her face with strange lines and curves. She looked ethereal, unreal, mysterious. He wanted to touch her, just to make sure he could.
“It’s strangely quiet out there,” she said in a near whisper. “I went to visit Ronna, the twins’ mother, but she wasn’t there.”
He pulled his head back, causing water to spill before she could lift the container up. “I told you to stop poking around,” he growled.
She blinked at him, eyes wide. “I wasn’t. I was just visiting to pay my respects.”
He looked away from her, trying to contain the strange irritation he was feeling. The light beyond the windows was fading fast. It was almost time. He nearly flinched when he felt her brush the water from his chin with her cool fingers. Jerking away from her touch, he stared at her, muscles clenched. She stumbled back from him, almost tripping over the lantern.
What was wrong with him? She’d touched him earlier and he hadn’t felt branded. She was standing a few feet away, eyes wide with wariness and uncertainty. He regretted that, too, and felt the irritation surge in response. “Call Clavis,” he said abruptly. “I need to take a leak.”
She hesitated a moment then sidled over to the doorway. “Clavis?” she called into the growing darkness beyond. When he didn’t answer, she raised her voice. “Clavis?”
“What!”
“He needs to use the facilities,” she called in response.
Stryker shifted on his hard bench, nearly biting through his tongue to hold back a sarcastic comment on her prudish word for the toilet. Rolling his shoulders to ease the tension there, he wondered why he felt so much like a bear with a thorn in its paw. He should be looking forward to his freedom, not feeling like he was this close to chewing off his own arm.
Clavis took his time, which didn’t improve Stryker’s mood. He contained his irritation with an effort, though, not wanting to give the man a reason to get back on guard. The fat bastard told Sukeza to stand in a corner while he unshackled and cuffed Stryker. But as they were shuffling towards the door, she edged forward.
“Let me take a look at those bandages while you’ve got them free,” she said, reaching for him.
Stryker suppressed the urge to jerk away, saying in a compressed tone, “Look at them later. I’ve gotta go.” Then he shuffled for the door as fast as the chains between his ankles would let him. The room was oppressive, suffocating, and he needed to leave it right now. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her back away and tried not to grind his teeth. He thought again, what’s wrong with me?
Getting out of the room didn’t help. That oppressive sensation followed him all the way to the toilet. He did his pantomime with his pants again to Clavis’s crass amusement and mulled the situation over while he relieved himself. As he pretended to have problems refastening his pants, he finally succumbed to the question.
What would they do to Sukeza when he was gone?
Not my problem, the survivor in him answered with grim certainty. She came to this place of her own accord—she could leave the same way. He’d warned her not to mess in whatever was going on here. What she did with that warning was her own business. She was not his responsibility.
No? A voice in the back of his mind asked. Even though she’d defended him, helped him, tried to free him, made herself a target because of him?
Her own choice, the survivor said. I didn’t ask for it.
In response, his better self conjured an image of Sukeza’s face, absorbed as she stroked his hair. They’ll call her an accomplice and tear her to pieces.
Stryker sighed and turned to Clavis, who was laughing fit to burst by this time. “Seriously, man, could you just push the cuffs up so I can work the clasp?” he pleaded and held out his arms.
Laughter still shaking his copious form, Clavis tucked the gun under his arm, stepping closer and reaching for the cuffs.
“Kessu, you’re a fucking idiot,” Stryker snarled while he smashed his forearm into the man’s face. He caught the gun when it fell from under Clavis’s arm and used it like a bludgeon on the side of the staggering man’s head. The fat bastard fell like a stone. Blood pooled around his head, but his chest still rose and fell so Stryker hadn’t killed him. Damn.
Swiftly Stryker searched his jailor and retrieved the keys to his shackles, freeing himself within moments. Then he clipped the cuffs around one of Clavis’s meaty wrists and attached him to the stall. Heart hammering with eager anticipation, he stepped over the body on the floor and headed for freedom. In the middle of the large hall, the lantern light dragged him to a halt.
She was there, waiting for them to return. He could see her slim form pass the doorway while she paced.
He cursed softly, caught between imperatives. Taking her would make escape more difficult, and what the hell was he supposed to do with her off-world? But he knew, as surely as he knew his name, that these people would use her as a scapegoat in his place. He was fooling himself—there was no choice, really. He still wasn’t a baby killer.
With a harsh sigh, he headed for the light.
Chapter 3
Sukeza heard
a soft sound and glanced at the doorway idly, not expecting to see anyone. She would have heard the noisy chains clanking if they’d returned, so the man materializing out of the darkness came as a complete shock.
Her heart jack-rabbited in her chest, nearly leaping out from between her ribs while she backpedaled in panic. He wasn’t chained anymore and the dreadful purpose in his expression as he bore down on her washed her in terror. “No!” she tried to scream, but it came out in a whisper. “Please!”
He ignored her plea and the upraised hands warding him off, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the darkness. She struggled, but it was like fighting an avalanche. He dragged her inexorably along, out of the lantern light and into the dark. Fighting to draw in enough air to speak or scream, fighting to stay on her feet, she clawed at his hand, but he seemed impervious to her efforts. “Stop!” she managed to cry when he dragged her out of the town hall and into the open.
Light of Kaska Page 4