Born of Fire (19 page)

Syn’s gaze turned deadly. “Why don’t you ask him?”

The lizard being took out a comlink and pressed a number sequence. After several seconds a gruff voice answered.

“I hate to disturb you,
Frion
. But I have a human here who says he’s Syn, as in
the
original.”

“Syn, huh?” It was obvious the man was older by his shaking voice. “Then ask him what his birth name is.”

The lizard looked at Syn.

Shahara also turned a questioning brow. Now she would find out what C.I. stood for.

“Sheridan Wade,” he said with an odd note in his voice.

Sheridan Wade? Just how many names did he have? But that one made sense given who his father had been.

“That’s my boy!” the voice said excitedly. “Send him up.”

The lizard turned back to them. “My pardon,
Frion
Syn,” it said before pushing the control for the lift. He stepped back to clear the door. “Digger is in flat 554.”

Syn said nothing, but Shahara could sense a strong, indecipherable emotion from him.

They stepped inside and the doors closed behind them. The lift cruised up the air channel with a smoothness belied by its ramshackle appearance.

Syn released her hand and went to stand in a rear corner.

“Just what
is
your name anyway?”

“Does it really matter? I’m a man without family, name, or country. I’ll answer to just about anything as long as it’s not degrading or insulting.”

“That’s not what I asked. I want to know what the C.I. stands for.”

He looked up with a smart-aleck grin. “Created In.”

“Created In Syn,” she repeated. “Cute name. Your mother must have really hated you.”

His smile died. “With a passion,” he said with such sincerity that it gave her pause.

Before she could say anything more, the lift stopped and he left her without so much as a backward glance.

Promising herself that she’d force him to tell her, she went after him.

The rundown hallway was deserted except for the
lines of graffiti that were scribbled everywhere. At least the apartment was close by.

This was not encouraging.

As Syn reached up to knock, the door swung open.

Tall and extremely lean, the man was probably around sixty-five. Though wrinkles obscured his features, which were also covered my a full beard, something about his demeanor told her that he’d probably been quite handsome in his youth. He had a thick head of white hair and eyes so blue they practically glowed.

And when he looked at Syn, it was like a father greeting his long-missing son. “Well, I’ll be crimped and shanked, it really is you. I thought someone else was screwing with me.” He pulled Syn into a tight hug.

Syn cursed. “Careful, old man.” He quickly extracted himself. “Don’t break my ribs . . . any worse.”

“Break your ribs?” He looked Syn up and down. “Good Lord, boy. What happened to you?”

“I went drinking and fell off the stool . . . what do you think happened?”

Digger snorted. “Still the same sarcastic asshole you ever were. But you’re here, so that tells me just how bad it is. God knows you wouldn’t come here by choice and I damn sure don’t blame you for that. You running from the pinches?” Pinches was an old slang term used for the enforcers.

“I’m a Wade. What do you think?”

He nodded. “You know you’re always welcome here.” He opened the door wider and finally took notice of Shahara. “And who might you be, beautiful?”

“Someone who’s allergic to archaic playboys and who’s young enough to be your granddaughter,” Syn answered. “Call her Shahara, but watch out. She’s responsible for about half of my injuries.”

A charming smile curved Digger’s lips. “Well, I’ll keep my hands to myself, but make no promises about where my eyes might wander. Now come on in, you two, before someone shoots you in the hallway just for being there.”

At least the inside of the small apartment was a lot cleaner than anything they’d found on the outside. Pieces of electrical equipment were strewn about, but the underlying areas were basically clean.

Digger rushed to the threadbare sofa to clean off paper and wires.

Syn leaned against the wall with one arm wrapped around his ribs. His breathing was labored and he was starting to sweat profusely again. “Dig, you have any Prinapin?”

“Wouldn’t be caught dead without it at my age. ’Cause dead I’d be if I needed it and didn’t have it.”

Shahara lifted her brow at the mention of the illegal drug. A potent healer, it was banned due to the number of physical defects and mutations it could leave behind. Not to mention about half the people who took it didn’t wake up again. “Are you really crazy enough to take that?”

Syn shrugged. “We can’t afford for me to be on my back any longer than necessary.”

Still, she admired and was repulsed by his courage. “All right, but if you grow another head, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Digger laughed so hard, he started coughing.

“Ha, ha,” Syn said with a lopsided grin. “C’mon, Dig. Give me a bed and the drugs before I fall down.”

“To the back, boy, and you,” he said to Shahara with a charming smile, “just make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

Running her hands down the front of her battlesuit, Shahara took a seat on the old green sofa. A spring squeaked in protest.

As she sat there waiting for Digger to return, she glanced around the room, trying to get a feel for who this man was and how he fit into Syn’s life.

From the things in his apartment, she’d peg him as some sort of electrician or technician, but if he lived here on Rook, he must be doing something else, something very illegal, with his electronics.

And as she sat there, she spied an old-style photo on the desk by the window. Getting up, she went to it and saw Digger holding Syn. His sister Talia stood beside them, her young head hung low. Even though she couldn’t be any older than nine or ten, she already looked defeated by life. Syn looked as defiant as always. The same angry fire burned in his eyes that he still had.

Clean-shaven in the photo, Digger was every bit as handsome as she’d suspected. And the love on his face as he looked at Syn was heartbreaking. It reminded her of the way her father would look at them until the day he’d died of simple pneumonia.

She swallowed against the pain of that memory. Though her father hadn’t always been the best morally, he’d loved them all and they’d never doubted that one fact.

It brought tears to her eyes. She didn’t mean to be so hard on her father. She still loved him. But he’d made all their lives difficult while he chased after shifting rainbows. Yet underneath that, she knew how lucky she’d been. While they hadn’t always been fed or even had a roof over their heads, they always had love.

And each other.

Unlike Syn. How awful it must have been for him.

Looking around the room, her eyes became heavy.

How long had it been since she’d slept?

She couldn’t remember. But then sleep had never been her friend. She’d fought against it all her life. First, because she was afraid her mother would die while she slept, then because she was afraid that someone would hurt her siblings.

She should be probably afraid of Digger. She didn’t know him at all, yet something inside her told her that Syn wouldn’t let harm befall her. He trusted Digger.

Yawning, she put the photo back and returned to the sofa.

I’ll just close my eyes for a sec
. . .

And before that thought finished, she was fast asleep.

Syn tossed two pills into his mouth and swallowed while he leaned wearily against the wall.

Digger curled his lip in disgust as he finished covering the double-sized bed with fresh sheets. “I don’t know how you can swallow that shit without water. I’d be choking all over the place.”

“Necessity is the mother of invention.”

Digger snorted. “I wish you’d come up with a fresh saying, but at least it’s not as annoying as that old no-good-deed-goes-unpunished crap.” Digger smirked as he pulled a blanket out of the storage drawer beneath his bed. Covering the bed with it, he turned to Syn. “I know it ain’t as fancy as that place you’ve got now, but it’s clean.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” Compared to some of the slime holes where he and Digger had slept in the past, this was a mansion. “My only requirement is that it’s dry and nothing crawls around and bites my ass.”

Digger motioned for him to lie down. “Well, you don’t have to worry about any of that.”

Slowly, Syn removed his clothes, then obliged. He let out a long sigh as he finally lay down. It hurt like hell, but it was infinitely better than standing.

“It’s good to see you again.” Digger fussed with his pillows like a spinsterish aunt.

Syn didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to say. He owed Digger a debt that could never be repaid, but he’d never wanted to see the old man again.

Digger belonged to the past. A past he would sell his soul to forget.

But it didn’t change the fact that he did love the old bastard even when he didn’t want to. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around these last few years.”

Digger snorted. “Don’t you dare get soft on me, boy. I wouldn’t want you to come around my old sorry self either. I never wanted you to live like this. You know that.”

Syn nodded.

“Now what can I get for you while you heal?”

“The two of us need gear.”

“Full infiltration?”

“The best. I know you can hack my accounts and pay for it. Take whatever you need. Just make sure to hide your IPs. Make them think we’re on Gondara . . . that should piss off the old bitch.”

“All right. Anything else?”

“Yeah, give Shahara some food. She’s too damned skinny. And for the sake of the gods, buy me some boots that fit.” Syn draped an arm over his eyes to shield them from the glare of the overhead lights. “I wear the same size
he
did.”

Digger started to leave, then paused. “I heard them
Rits were after you again. There’s been some talk around here about certain people who are making bets on bringing you in dead.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll leave as soon as I can. Don’t worry, I’d never bring trouble to your door.”

Digger stiffened as if that offended him. “You know better than that. I owe you, Sheridan.”

“Don’t call me that.” It made his skin crawl to hear it.

Only Nykyrian got away with using that name anymore. Ironically though, even he seemed to know not to use it. Syn had never told him it bothered him. Somehow Nykyrian just knew it did and only used it when he wanted to make a point, get his attention, or annoy him.

But then, as an assassin Nyk was good at intrinsically knowing what pissed people off.

“Sorry, old habits die hard.”

Syn looked over at Digger and grimaced. “Yeah, and so do gutter rats.”

Digger’s gaze turned hard, reproachful. “I done told you all your life, boy, you ain’t no gutter rat.”

Syn withheld the contradiction. There was no denying the truth. Shit was shit, no matter how much sanitizer and perfume you put on it.

Digger sighed. “You stay here as long as you need to. I won’t let anyone in.”

Syn offered him a smile. “Thanks.”

Shahara came awake ready to fight. She snapped upright, her lip curled, her hand going to her blaster. Looking around, it took her several minutes before she recognized her surroundings.

“You’re all right, sweet.” Digger rose slowly from the stuffed arm chair a few feet away. “No one here will hurt you.”

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake up like that. It’s just habit when I’m not in my own place.” She pushed back the blue blanket that covered her. A smile curled her lips at the kindness of him covering her while she slept. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head to her. “No problem. I do the same thing when I wake up.” He disappeared for a moment before returning with a warm plate of vegetables and a huge steak. “Why don’t you try some of this? I ain’t the best cook around, but it ain’t killed no one yet. Well . . . just that one rat what came in and took some. But that was more from the blaster shot I gave him for being a thief than from him eating the food . . . I think.”

She laughed. “I assure you it can’t be any worse than mine. I can’t cook for anything. Even my brother cooks better. Sad really.”

He laughed.

While she took a few bites, Digger brought her a bottle of water. “That there’s the best in the whole Ichidian Universe. It comes from a spring on Laquata.”

She lifted a brow. Laquata spring water was a rare luxury indeed. She’d never even thought to have a sip of it, never mind a whole bottle. Rumors said that it held magical healing properties. Not that she believed that. It was most likely a myth made up by the owners to help sell it to gullible fools.

Still, it tasted good.

He scratched his chest and resumed his seat. “I know what you’re thinking. However, I’m not quite out of my prime yet. I still can do my business and not get caught. Though I must say I came mighty close to getting caught with that shipment of water. But it was definitely worth it.”

Shahara swallowed fast—she was drinking contraband? Why was she even surprised?

Not like your brother doesn’t do it. Or your father for that matter either. Half your wardrobe as a kid fell off the back of someone’s transport.

Shut up and drink it.

Setting it aside, she wiped at her chin, then changed the subject. “How long have you known Syn?”

His eyes turned gentle. “I’ve known him since the day they brought him into this world. I was even the first one not in a medical uniform who held him.”

Now that was interesting. “Really? Before his mother or father?”

He nodded. “His mama had a hard delivery with him. She was too weak, and his father . . . He couldn’t make it.” There was a note in his voice that made her suspicious but she didn’t pursue it. “I was the one who took her to the hospital and stayed with her while she struggled.” He sighed. “I’d give anything to have had a son like Sheridan. But he’s as close to one as I ever got. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. He was even named after me.”