Lace & Lead (novella) (7 page)

“I have things to do,” he’d commented, turning his back yet again. “My life doesn’t revolve around you.”

“I didn’t realise it was such an issue! Please!”

He’d at least stopped when she’d said that.

“I didn’t mean to act as if I didn’t care about keeping to your schedule,” she explained, hating the way she had to grovel to this man in order to go outside. “It won’t happen again.”

A large hand had brushed over his buzz cut. “Damn right, it won’t happen again.”

They’d finally gone on the walk. It hadn’t been comfortable between them but at least she’d gotten to breathe in the fresh air. He’d followed through, just like she knew he would.

So there was no reason she could think of why Peirce wouldn’t be back already. Unless something had happened to him. She ran a wet rag over her skin distractedly one last time, deeply aware it wasn’t going to remove most of the filth she was covered in. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She needed to know if he was okay.

She returned to the bedroom, digging through the clothes hanging from a plain rod until she found one of his welding jackets. Pulling it on and rolling up the cuffs so her hands were visible, she stepped back out into the living room.

The sound of tired footsteps approaching had her rushing eagerly to the door, pulling it open wide and stepping out into the hall.

The large, exhausted man didn’t even look up at her. He just grunted his acknowledgement and went into his own apartment a few doors down. Emmaline sighed with disappointment and turned to go back inside.

Only to run into the door.

“Ouch,” she grumbled, rubbing her shoulder where she’d rammed against the metal. She looked down at the key pad.

“Oh, gods...no!”

It required a palm scan. And a code. And a retinal scan.

And Peirce wasn’t here for any of those.

Emmaline bit her lower lip, wishing she had thought ahead, hadn’t just rushed out into the open. Gods, hadn’t Peirce always complained about her inability to plan ahead for situations while he was living at the estate?

Watching the sunset from the library window:
Miss Gregson, a sniper could have just taken you out through that window and your blood would ruin that first edition of
Dust to Dust: A History of Lailian Burial Rites.

Yelling as she went to greet another dog abandoned thanks to the wars:
Miss Gregson, did you ever think that an enemy combatant could have attached explosives to that mangy dog you just ran to pet?

Watching her as she tried to chop carrots to give to the horses:
Miss Gregson, please put down the knife. If I wanted you to kill yourself, I’d just hand you my gun.

She could hear him in her head right now.
Miss Gregson, did you ever think that trying a palm scan you already know will fail might set off one of the flags Mr. Stone has set?

Her hand hovered above the pad, but she didn’t put it down to touch the glass. There had to be another option. She could figure this out.

What if she left the apartment? She closed her eyes and tried to run through her mental map of the neighbourhood. She couldn’t remember everything—it had gone by too fast as they’d driven to Peirce’s—but she was pretty sure there was a restaurant of some kind just down the street.

If she got there, maybe she could wait until she saw Peirce coming back up to the apartment. And if he wasn’t coming back, she’d be away if her father sent his men to find her there.

“Okay, Emmaline,” she muttered, “prove you aren’t worthless.”

What had Peirce told her over and over all afternoon in the garage?
You know this. Just breathe and choose.

A slow, deep breath. She was terrified she’d make a mistake, but she couldn’t let fear keep her down anymore. Too much was at stake now. Her freedom was within reach.

She headed toward the elevator.

Peirce ended the comm and stepped out of the booth. The fresh air was more than welcome and he tried to unwrinkle his nose, wishing he could scour the scent of days-old urine and sweat and other bodily fluids from his memory.

“What’d he say?” Douglass asked.

“He was scared shitless,” Peirce reported. “Said he’d meet me in a few days.”

“Didn’t think we’d survive the mercs? Too bad for him the price went up.” Kai grinned.

“Always read the fine print,” Peirce confirmed with a smirk.

Arthur Gregson, the arrogant prick, hadn’t read the contract when he’d hired them. He was greedy and short-sighted and—judging by the vein that had been jumping in his forehead during the conversation—short-tempered as well. The funny thing wasn’t that the insults launched at Peirce and his men hadn’t been upsetting, but it was the man’s absolute lack of concern about his daughter’s whereabouts or welfare which had riled Peirce unexpectedly.

“How long are you going to keep her at your place?”

Douglass looked a little concerned and, to Peirce’s surprise, Kai dropped his jokey act and waited with equal gravity for an answer.

“I’m not sure,” Peirce said slowly, not liking the change in his men. He counted on his ability to read them, both in battle and out, but they weren’t giving him any signs to go off of now.

“Why not?”

Peirce shrugged, wishing he wasn’t in civilian clothes. He felt naked, totally exposed with his armour off. Years of surviving bombings and guerrilla attacks had left him wary of having his back exposed and with the way Douglass and Kai were acting, if he answered wrong he wouldn’t have either of them around to watch his back.

“Look, Emma and I get along just fine. I taught her how to work on the cruiser today.”

Douglass was giving him a strange look. Kai was chortling.

“What?” Peirce asked, exasperated.

“Emma?” Douglass raised an eyebrow.

Shit
. “Easier than saying Miss Gregson all the time,” Peirce mumbled.

“Sure.” Kai shrugged. “I prefer keeping the names to just a few syllables too. Easier to remember what to call them when I kick them out the next morning.”

It made no sense, but one second Peirce was standing there, talking with his men and the next, his knee was pushing down on Kai’s chest and his knife was out and to his throat. Fortunately, Douglass was already pulling him off.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Kai coughed as he picked himself off the ground.

Peirce knew he was being irrational, but didn’t care. He pointed the knife at Kai with a steady hand. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Geez, sir, what crawled up your ass?” Douglass patted his shoulder and looked back at Kai. “He was just joking.”

Peirce shrugged off Douglass’s hand and turned. “I’ve got to go,” he said and split before they could ask him any more awkward questions.

The Berkwan order he’d put in would be ready to pick up any time. It was about time to head back to Emma—shit
, Emmaline
...
FUCK! Miss Gregson
—but on his way to the restaurant, a window display with a simple dress caught his attention. She’d said she’d need new clothes. Hell, he knew her size for the most part…

The store was small, but clean. Obviously new, since turnover in this section of town was high. Peirce wandered the display racks, not sure what he was searching for.

“Can I help you?”

A small woman beamed up at him from behind her glasses. Her hair was nearly silver and she was so bent and arthritic that Peirce knew he’d never live with himself if he didn’t buy something and justify her getting off her stool to help him.

“No thank you, ma’am. I can find it myself.”

Finding the right women’s clothes was more difficult than locating the scrap for most of the engines he’d ever rebuilt. He settled on two dresses, another pair of pants, some shirts, a pair of
practical
boots and finally deigned to let the old woman pick out appropriate undergarments. Bag in hand and realising how late he was running, he ducked quickly into the restaurant to pick up the food.

The crowds of people heading home from work were slowing as night crept closer, the twin moons climbing into the sky. Each step around another person left Peirce more and more anxious. He should have been home almost an hour ago. He knew that the apartment was secure and Emmaline would be safe there, but something just felt…
off.

Skin crawling from unease, Peirce shouldered his way into the apartment building. He was nearly to the elevator. Soon he’d be upstairs, safe and eating decent food and watching Emmaline’s face when she got a load of her new clothes.

He heard the brush of fabric and dropped the bags to his sides, hitting a knee and steadying himself on it, drawing his knife in a fluid motion and pulling back for a swift throw, before he saw who it was.

“Peirce?” Emmaline squeaked from the darkened corner where she’d been sitting.

The air left his lungs in a
whoosh
and he immediately sheathed the weapon.
He’d almost let go.
Old habits were hard to break. Worse, he
hadn’t
hit her. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Kill first, ask questions later. Hesitation like that meant he was getting old, weak, less than capable.

He buried those thoughts and found himself focusing on Emmaline’s wan face. Fear and rage warred for superiority within him. Eventually, with tempered irritation, he was able to find his voice. “Miss Gregson, what the
fuck
are you doing down here? Didn’t you think Stone might have the ability to hack security feeds?”

She managed a tremulous smile at his statement, which confused the hell out of him.

“I knew you’d say something like that,” she finally said. “It’s why I was waiting over there instead of down at the restaurant. I didn’t see any cameras pointing that way.”

She’d found a blind spot. Smart girl. But it was no time for weakness.

“You didn’t listen to my orders.”

She looked up at him, mouth a tight line. “I got locked out of the apartment.”

Peirce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a tension headache coming on, tightening his neck and shoulders, making his eyes throb. “Grab the food.”

She did so without argument, taking up the bag and checking that the containers were all still sealed. Peirce picked up the bag of clothes, not sure how he’d explain their purchase and punched the call button for the elevator.

At least she waited until they were safely inside the metal box before continuing, “You’re never late. I wasn’t sure if something had gone wrong. So when I heard steps in the hall, I went out because I thought it was you.”

“It wasn’t,” he deadpanned but a tiny part of him was flattered to know she had been worried.

She scowled. “I know that
now
. But once I got stuck outside I figured I shouldn’t try to use the scanner. I didn’t know if it would flag me.”

Begrudgingly, Peirce nodded. “At least you’re not stupid.”

She didn’t take it as a compliment, judging by the way she tilted her head and crossed her arms.

“What I mean is that you did good.” The headache was growing. He rubbed the back of his head, wishing it would loosen him up. “And so you know next time, I keep my security off the grid.”

“Oh.”

The elevator door opened with a
ding
and they stepped out into the hall. Peirce led the way, making sure to shield her as best he could until he was sure no one was around. After clearing his security measures, he ushered her inside, taking extra time to recheck the locks.

By the time he turned back, she’d already set out the Berkwan and had settled onto his couch, tucking her feet up underneath her and perching delicately. He shook his head. She looked a helluva lot younger that way and the way her fingers nervously fluttered over everything to double-check it was in the right place only solidified his observation.

“Thanks for getting it ready,” he said.

“Um…do you want me to get the dishes?”

He grabbed the container of dreelin noodles and one of the cheap forks thrown in with the take-out, picking out the vegetable chunks and throwing them onto the container’s lid. “Don’t bother with dishes. What’s the point of buying food if you’ve still got to wash a ton of crap?”

She contemplated that for a moment, then tentatively looked through the different boxes. “What’s good?” she finally asked.

“Want something sweet or something spicy?”

He could have sworn her eyes hadn’t been on the boxes, but if she’d run them down his body like he thought, it was too fast to catch. “Spicy,” she said.

He pointed at the container of carmak beef. She took it and looked at the food tentatively.

“What?” he asked. “Is the princess afraid of eating a commoner’s food?”

If looks could kill, he’d be rotting in the grave. She took out a piece of beef and took a tentative nibble. As surprise registered on her face, he couldn’t help chuckling.

“Yeah, even we poor idiots know what we’re doing occasionally.”

“I don’t think that,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot.”

He froze, fork mid-way to his mouth. She wouldn’t look at him, but continued, “And I don’t think that not having money makes a person less worthy than someone else.”