Desire Disguised (25 page)

“Just let me handle it and don’t react to him. Please.”

With a nod, she agreed, and Ben turned on his heel and released her hand. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and watched as a thin, twitchy man approached them, the strained smile on his face morphing into something puerile when he stared at her. Cara grew nervous at his appraisal and wished she could stand behind Ben.

“Why, Chief Zashi, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to find you here. And in such close proximity to my person of interest.” The man leered at her, and she longed for Ben’s steadying touch. “I’m Myltin Tarl, a longtime Pearl resident. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.”

All of Cara’s years of etiquette training kicked in, and she introduced herself formally. Citizen Tarl’s hand was soft and slightly sticky, and she tucked her hand up under her arm as soon as she was done with him.

“Citizen Belasco, Citizen Cara Belasco. Such an interesting name. Where are you from?”

“Too many places to count.” She rattled off the standard response and remembered Ben’s admonition to keep quiet as soon as he glanced at her.

“Oh, of course, a well-traveled
young
woman. What is your age?” Citizen Tarl peered at her in the uncertain light of the evening, and Cara stared back. He was odd; he stared at her as if he wanted to see inside her mind.

“Never mind her age, Myltin. What did you need?” Ben’s voice cut in, more harsh and grating than she’d ever heard it before, and she glanced at him to find he was scowling. She took a breath, relieved he apparently disliked the other man as much as she was coming to.

“Well, since Citizen Cara Belasco is right here, I’d love to take the opportunity to capture a digima, for my own curiosity’s sake.”

Drawing in a quick breath, Cara shuffled a half-step behind Ben’s broad back, anxiety racing through her.

“The light isn’t good here, perhaps you’d come with me to the front of the sutlery.” The annoying man kept talking, oblivious to her discomfort as he made a jerking gesture with his hand.

“She won’t. What do you want?” Ben nearly growled this last word, and Cara’s concern immediately morphed toward him. Something besides an annoying encounter delaying their time together was happening here, and her impulse to flee, well-honed by years of running, went on alert.

“Actually, Chief Zashi, I don’t like your tone.” Citizen Tarl drew himself up and tried to stare down his nose at them. Cara glanced around to find no one else was in the vicinity. She wasn’t sure if that was an advantage or a liability.

“It’s on me to manage my tone, Myltin. If you have nothing that requires my professional intervention, I’ll excuse myself.” Ben ground out the words, and Cara found herself placing a hand on his lower back. The tension between the men had increased exponentially with each second, and she could feel Ben’s muscles tighten under her fingertips.

“I actually do, since you seem determined to ignore your duty. Although, I have a fairly good idea why now that I’ve gotten a closer look at the mysterious Belasco woman.” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head slightly to take in her contact with Ben.

“That’s enough.” Ben made as if to turn away, and the other man spoke up quickly, his voice higher pitched and excited.

“Hardly. I have nearly all the proof I need to show what these two refugees actually are. I don’t need a digima comparison now. It’s as clear as the stars in the sky.”

“What’s clear?” Ben slanted at look at the littler man from underneath his furrowed brows. Cara’s stomach sank. Could this strange person have penetrated their aliases?

“She’s obviously a La Torre. Look at her. She’s the veritable twin of the Dowager Mariyn. I can show you a state portrait. The damnable archives finally sent it to me after innumerable inquiries.” He fumbled for his device.

Cara gusted out a breath half relief and half fear. Myltin Tarl had gotten frighteningly close to the truth. Her knees wobbled, and she leaned against Ben for a second, his arm reaching around her waist to steady her automatically. The strange man noticed and raised an eyebrow but went back to manipulating something in his datpad.

“You’re wrong, Myltin. I don’t want to see it.”

“Everyone else will when I’m through. When I think of what your family did on Tellus, it makes me ill. You’re from disgusting stock, you and your brother.”

Cara shook her head once. She wasn’t a La Torre, not even close, and despite the guilt she felt whenever she thought about what her father had done to his citizenry, she knew she didn’t deserve to be punished for someone else’s crimes. Myltin Tarl’s angry pronouncements frightened her and made her worry about Mat’s safety. What if he had some conspirators circling around to the Healy house even now?

“Ben, I need to find Mat—”

“Later, Cara, we need to deal with this now.” Ben took a step away from her toward the other man and settled with his feet slightly spread, his arms hanging slightly away from his sides. Myltin Tarl bobbled his head but stood his ground. “I told you to leave this alone. They’re leaving very soon, and there’s no need to cast aspersions on them before they go.”

“But you need to arrest them, report them, prove who they are so they can be held accountable—”

“They aren’t accountable for anything.”

“No, there are still innumerable charges pending against their family. Debts to be paid. War crimes to be prosecuted—”

The other man’s voice rose in volume and pitch with every word, and Cara wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, both from his shrillness and the things he was saying. Of course there were still charges against Ignar, horrible deeds left unpunished. She and Mat had spent their lives suffering and keeping a step ahead of people with those exact same sentiments. Just because Myltin Tarl had attributed them to the wrong family didn’t make him any less of a threat.

“Spare me, Myltin,” Ben growled out as the other man let out an inarticulate cry and raised his datpad, a light streaming from its surface. Cara lost focus and blinked several times as the sudden illumination blinded her. She heard some grunts and the sound of bodies hitting each other and the ground. When she turned around, she saw something unbelievable.

Soren was on top of Myltin as the other man flailed his legs and smacked his arms in the mucky ground of the street. Her companion was silent as he squeezed his hand against the other man’s mouth as Ben leaned over them trying to separate the combatants. Cara gaped, completely shocked at what was happening in front of her. She had no idea where Soren had been or why he’d attack this unbalanced man in the middle of the street.

As Ben pulled one of Soren’s arms away, the man underneath him squealed out a horrible cry and shuddered. Her companion’s arm jerked a few times, and as Ben hauled him up, Cara saw the metallic flash of a blade and the sticky gleam of blood on Soren’s arm. Ben noticed the weapon at the same time, and he grasped Soren’s wrist and twisted hard. The older man swung his face from the man twitching and bleeding on the ground to stare at Ben from under lowered eyebrows.

“Release me.”

“Drop the knife.”

Both men growled at each other as their bodies strained. Cara shook herself from her paralyzed state and rushed closer, intent on talking to both and ending the battle.

“Stand back, Cara!” Ben shouted without lessening his hold on Soren or taking his eyes from his opponent. He kept applying pressure to Soren’s wrist which was now bent at a terrible angle. Soren let out a gasp, and his knees buckled, the knife dropping to the muddy ground where Ben kicked it away and pushed against the older man to bring him down.

“Don’t hurt him, please!”

“I’m trying not to, sweetheart,” Ben grunted as he turned Soren to lie on his stomach and brought his arms back to keep him still. Soren let out a groan, and Cara knelt next to him. His weathered face was waxy looking, and his eyes tried to focus on her face.

“Stay still.” Ben secured Soren’s wrists behind his back and left to check on the stabbed man who was eerily still a few meters away.

“Cara, where’s Mat?”

“Safe. With friends. Soren, why—”

“Listen now.” He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. “I don’t have much time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Listen. You need to know the truth now. It’s too late.” The older man’s voice rasped and quieted. His thin eyelids flickered and closed as a breath rattled out of his throat. Out of the corner of her eye Cara could see Ben inspecting Myltin Tarl’s still body as he spoke into his datpad, calling for assistance.

Cara shook her head, sensing something was very wrong with her companion. “Ben, please help.”

“No, listen.” Soren revived and peered at her, his eyes bright again. “You and Mat aren’t Ignar’s. He substituted his children for you.”

“Of course he was our father. I remember him.” Hurting and pinching, looming like a bad dream.

“No. He was your protector. Charged with keeping you quiet. Keeping you safe. We companions were his last lieutenants,” Soren’s voice rasped and weakened as his lips trembled.

“Who are we then?” A strange sense of relief filled Cara like a cool breeze. Liberated from the spectre of Ignar Restin.

“The crown princess of La Torre, holder of all the southern reaches of Tellus.” Soren’s quiet voice filled with pride as he recited the old honorifics, and Cara grew cold with a chill of dread.

“No, Soren. I won’t. We can’t.” The impossibility of it silenced her, and she shook her head. Ben crouched next to her in the mud and hovered his datpad over the bound man. He shook his head and cursed under his breath as he loosed the bindings at Soren’s wrists.

“Soren. Help is on the way. Let me roll you.” Ben’s low voice reassured her, but Soren merely closed his eyes as he shifted to his back where he moaned. Cara cried out when she saw something much shinier than mud soiling his clothing. Blood coated the front of his tunic and pooled in the ruts of the street.

Ben pulled at his clothing to inspect the wound and pressed his hand to the torn flesh of Soren’s abdomen as something metallic fell from under the clothing. It was one of her small paring knives from the kitchen.

“I should have searched him more thoroughly. Damn it.”

Before she could say something to Ben, Soren spoke up again, his voice even weaker. Cara leaned closer as the whine of vehicles approaching their location filled the air.

“Your jewels. Your sisters—” Soren tightened his throat and threw his chin up as his arms shivered. Cara touched his shoulders as Ben leaned over him and called out his name. Other people began to crowd around them, brandishing equipment and bright white bandages. Ben reported what had happened in a staccato voice. A kind-faced woman turned to her and gently eased her away.

Cara was reeling. It seemed like everything had tilted and she’d slid off the planet into some other world where nothing fit together anymore. She couldn’t be a La Torre princess. Soren had just killed a man in front of her. Why did
she
have blood and mud all over herself? Mat was safe. Ben was unhurt. What—

Someone grabbed her arm, and she instinctively pulled away with all her strength. Twisting, she saw a young woman in a security uniform reach for her again, and Cara cried out. Strong arms wrapped around her, and she collapsed against Ben’s familiar form. He shushed in her ear and walked her away from the trampled ground and the forms of the two wounded men.

“Go with Wren. She’ll help you clean up and ask some questions. I’ll find you as soon as I can get free.”

* * * *

Exhaustion dogged Ben’s steps like a shadow. His lack of energy must have been obvious to everyone at the station, because one of the patrol officers had insisted on driving him the short distance to the barracks when he left. It was so late. He wondered if Cara was asleep. He’d read her statement after Wren had stopped by his office to report she’d walked the young woman home. Whether she’d want to see him was the question.

The man who’d protected and guided Cara throughout her life was dead, and he’d been indirectly responsible. Some of the guilt he’d experienced about Soren had lifted when medical’s preliminary report indicated the man had died of a massive embolism dislodged during the struggle rather than the cuts made to his abdomen with the concealed knife. If only he’d checked him for additional weapons after restraining him, but he hadn’t had time, because Myltin was bleeding out and needed assistance. Sometimes he hated his job. All too often there was no right decision.

He reached the end of the corridor and stopped. His home was on the left, Cara’s door on the right. Thankfully, Mat was still at the Healys. He’d checked earlier and told Gina what had happened but made her promise not to mention anything to the boy until his sister decided how she wanted to handle it.

Blast it, he was going to activate her door alert once, and if she didn’t respond immediately, he’d go to bed. Not to sleep, but to lie there and replay everything that had happened that night at least four or five times, complete with alternate scenarios which would have ended better or worse for everyone involved. It seemed a cruel joke that they’d gone from confessing their feelings, almost immediately to an assault that had left two men dead and them separated for hours. Just a few minutes sooner leaving the festival, and they would have avoided Tarl altogether, and they’d now be sleeping side by side and content after celebrating their love.

He hesitated a moment before activating the sensor. His hand shook, and he clenched it in a fist as he lowered it to his side. Right, no answer, he needed to turn around and—

The door opened, and Cara stood there again in her layers of sleepwear, her hair a loose wave of gleaming brown around her pale face. How many times had he done this, come unannounced to her door to reassure himself? He shouldn’t be here, he should leave her alone, and she was leaving. His discontented thoughts left him when she flung her arms around him and pressed her soft cheek to his.

“I’m so sorry,” Cara whispered an apology into his ear, for what he had no idea.

“So am I. I’m so sorry about Soren. I wish I could have been there for you.”