Runner: The Fringe, Book 3 (31 page)

“You play it very well. For a brief time, I almost did believe it, especially when you were so cutting to me.”

“I’m so—”

She shushed him with a quick kiss. “I know. It was all an act. I understand now what you were trying to do. You were trying to make me hate you so Roberts wouldn’t suspect anything. That’s why you fondled me so aggressively on that gauntlet. Who would ever suspect that a man who behaved like that was actually hopelessly in love?”

All night, Foster just held her, waking occasionally to touch her face. Sometimes she would wake, meet his sleepy gaze with hers, touch him back, then they would fall into sleep with gentle kisses and murmured words and loving grins.

Morning came, and reluctantly he left his lovely lady sleeping in his bed. Dressing hastily, he threw a meal together for Roberts, then made his way to the cell room.

Victoria had finally exhausted herself into sleep. Foster shoved the tray under the cell door. She woke up screaming obscenities at him. Foster ignored it. When he did, she picked up the tray.

“You throw it and you won’t get anything else for twenty-four hours.”

Considering him, she hesitated.

“It’s up to you how pleasant or unpleasant your captivity is. You can throw it and feel real good for about ten seconds. Then go hungry for twenty-four hours. I’ll bring you another then. Throw that one, and we go forty-eight hours. Get the pattern?”

Gritting her teeth, she tossed the tray to the table. “You won’t get away with this.”

“Got news for you, I already have.”

“They’ll come looking for me.”

“Think they’re going to look for you here? I’m thinking no. They’ll track your ship to Corona. From there the trail will run cold. Just how important do you think you are to them?”

“I’m a hero.” Victoria looked ever so smug despite her broken nails, battered face and now thoroughly disheveled red suit.

“That so? Doesn’t really matter, because you ain’t ever going back.”

“Going to keep me prisoner the rest of my life?”

“Me? No. But I know someone who will. Someone who’s just dying to meet you.”

Victoria narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

“A man you’ve gone out of your way to screw with almost as much as Jynx.”

Roberts’s face fell to fear. “You wouldn’t.”

“Let me think—yes, I would.” Foster shot her a grin. “Michael will be honored to keep you imprisoned the rest of your life. I don’t think he’ll make it all that pleasant for you, either.”

“I could make it worth your while to let me go.” Victoria pressed to the bars and gave him a pathetic come-hither gaze.

Foster burst into streams of laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding. You couldn’t pick up a skank in a WAG bar at the moment, Vic.” Mascara tracked the trail of her tears, and when she’d tried to wipe them away, she’d mashed raccoon eyes to her face. Worse, growing purple bruises marked both eyes, cheeks and her lips.

“You wanted me once.”

“A lifetime ago, but that man is dead and gone. I could be drugged out of my mind and still not want you.” Foster shook his head. “You clean up something spectacular, Vic. Thing is, that’s
all
you got going for you. There’s nothing under that fancy shell.”

“You fool. Jynx is using you. I can’t believe a man like you fell for her poor-pathetic-me routine.”

“Vic, I fell for Jynx, not a routine. Jynx isn’t a player, not like you, and not like me either, for that matter. Thing is, I’m done playing.” Foster cast Victoria a sad frown. “You? You’ll never stop playing. That means the hell of your life is just getting started.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jynx adjusted her drab gray jumpsuit with nervous fingers. Never in her life would she have imagined setting foot on the only independent world in the known universe. Had she imagined the occasion of alighting on Windmere, she would have pictured herself wearing anything but an IWOG prisoner jumpsuit of worn gray enotex.

Braless, pantyless and barefoot, she felt like an abandoned child as she went to plead her case to Michael “Overlord” Parker. He was the most hated, vilified and despised fugitive of the IWOG, but also the most powerful man in the Void. Roberts’s media smear campaign on her paled beside the years of muckraking her potential savior had undergone.

The last two days aboard the
Damn You
flashed in her mind and filled her with a curious unease. Foster caressed her and made love to her with murmured words and soothing touches, but not the whole of his body. His lack of a deeper, more profound physical expression bothered her. When she reassured him that sex would not harm her unborn child, he said he knew that, but he still refused all of her advances. He kept the animal at bay no matter what she said or did.

“Do I look okay?” she asked as they walked toward Michael’s office.

“You look fabulous.” Foster pinched her fanny.

She jumped, but the contingent of guards continued to simply escort them. There were two men behind and one man and one woman in front. They were dressed somewhat uniformly with dark pants, heavy boots, pocket-riddled vests, and long rifles slung over their backs. Dull plastimetal bracelets encircled their wrists. Other than that, they retained their individuality, unlike IWOG officers. The woman in front had shaved her head but for a fringe of jet-black hair around the crown that she fashioned into a braided tail. The man beside her had long hair on the top and short hair on the sides. One of the men behind them had a tattoo that twined up his neck and covered part of his face.

“Relax. Michael isn’t a monster. Take all those tales you’ve heard and toss them out. He just wants to meet you before he agrees to help us.” Foster walked along as placidly as a man on a stroll in the park.

“How can you be so calm? What if he doesn’t like me? Then he won’t help us, and who else can we turn to when he has the cylinders, the instructions—”

Foster spun her around and kissed her hard to shut her mouth. He peered down at her with summer-sky blue eyes. “Well, I’ll be damned if you haven’t picked up my habit of babbling when you’re nervous.” Chucking her chin, he added, “Get some of that swaggering arrogance of me in your attitude. Michael will love that.”

Nakedly honest, she said, “I’ve been trying to get you into me for the last two days. Swaggering arrogance and all.”

Foster bit his bottom lip as he grinned. “Now isn’t the time for
that
discussion.”

Silently, she walked beside Foster as they followed the fore-guard into the huge structure of Michael’s base. Foster had to give up his weapon belt, which he did without a care, along with his shoes.

For her benefit and anyone within earshot, he bellowed, “Jynx isn’t wearing a bra or panties, so don’t bother asking for them. For the record, neither am I.”

Feeling her face go shockingly hot, she wanted to sink right into the floor. On the heels of embarrassment—most of the eyes around her were male—she felt an insane laugh burble up. Why deny the truth when it was so painfully obvious? Her voluptuous body couldn’t possible hide
anything
in the form-fitting jumpsuit.

Without a word, the guards scanned them, slapped plastimetal bracelets on their wrists, then escorted them deeper into the cavernous hallways of Overlord’s lair.

As she walked along, her braless nipples swelled against the rubbing fabric of her jumpsuit, and her obviously naked butt kept catching the jumpsuit’s back seam, right in her fanny crack.

It didn’t help when Foster kept slipping his finger along the seam, from her lower back down, to help it along.

Round about the third time of trying to casually pluck it out, Jynx spun, slapped his hand and hissed, “Stop it!”

That’s when she noticed Foster had a prominent bulge in the front of his tight faded jeans. Flashing her a leer, he shoved his hand into his pocket, gave her a quick glance of what could only be her lace panties, then made a point of adjusting himself as he tucked in his T-shirt. With a suggestive twist of his index finger and thumb, he deliberately popped the top button of his jeans. One hard yank would expose him instantly.

So shockingly excited by his display, Jynx barely had a moment to drink in his enticing promise before one of the guards cleared his throat from a respectful distance.

Foster looked deep into her eyes. “Later.”

Jynx turned and continued to follow the guards down the seemingly endless series of hallways. Their boots echoed against marble floors and wainscoted walls over twenty feet tall. Barefoot, Jynx and Foster didn’t make a sound as they kept pace with the falling thud of the guards’ boots. Unlike IWOG officers, these guards didn’t march them ruthlessly from point A to point B. They escorted them, allowing them some privacy as they also provided security.

The hall opened to a vast foyer where they were scanned again; then they were finally swept into a massive room.

Rich marble, well-oiled wood, gigantic paintings, banks of sensors, and more guards than she could count filled the space, but nothing commanded her attention like the man in the middle of it all. Dwarfing the immense room stood a man taller than Foster by at least half a foot. Casually, he leaned against a huge mahogany desk. A red silk shirt ran to tight black leather pants that displayed him perfectly. He was semi-hard, bulging and damn proud of it. Close-cropped brown hair caught the light above him and caused his eyes to twinkle when he smiled with perfect white teeth. Despite the welcoming grin, Michael “Overlord” Parker was every inch a dangerous man. Some of her terror drained away when she noticed Michael was barefoot and weaponless just like she and Foster.

Adrenaline surged when Michael pushed away from the desk and walked toward them. Hypnotized by his presence, she simply stared at him while her entire body shook.

“Nash.” Michael offered his hand and Foster clasped it. The two men exchanged pleasantries as Jynx tried to control her pounding heart. Never in her life had she dreamed she’d find herself in a room with two living legends. Overlord, the most despised villain in the IWOG worlds, and Never-Fail Nash, now the most celebrated triple-platinum Runner in the universe. Jynx felt as insignificant as a fly on the wall until she realized she was now even more notorious than both of them combined.

Michael turned his intense gaze on her, and Jynx instinctively stepped back. Wicked knowing eyes pinned her in a way she found profoundly disturbing and oddly erotic.

Foster wrapped her up in his arms, hugging her from behind as he pressed her back against the strength of his chest. He kissed the top of her head. “This is Jynx Brennan. She’s shy.”

“She’s terrified.” Michael continued to peer down at her with cunning curiosity. “And beautiful.” When he stepped closer, his eyes seemed even more penetrating. “Devastatingly intelligent as well.” Closing his eyes on a deep indrawn breath, he added, “A very intriguing combination in a woman.” Michael had a voice like honey-drenched velvet, seductive and sticky.

Jynx gulped.

“Can she speak?” Michael lifted his gaze to Foster. “Or have IWOG tales of my nasty nature rendered her mute?”

Challenged, Jynx offered, “Having suffered them myself, I don’t put much credence into IWOG tales anymore.” Jynx hugged Foster’s arms protectively around her, drawing strength from him. If he didn’t hold her, she doubted she’d be able to speak a word. As it was, her voice came out with a slight tremble but still boldly determined because Foster backed her up, both literally and figuratively.

“Ah.” Michael smiled, dipping his gaze to pin her again. “You
can
speak.” He considered her for a long moment. “Indeed. IWOG tales bend the way of the wind, do they not? You are no more a monster than I am.”

“No.” Jynx lift her chin, emboldened by Foster’s support. “Will you help us?”

Up the corner of Michael’s mouth went in a quirky half grin. “Direct. To the point. I find I like you more and more.”

Michael drew another step closer, and Jynx smelled lemon zest and pine. Helplessly, she found herself very much attracted to Michael Parker for the same reasons she found Foster so compelling. Michael exuded dangerous power. Intrinsically, erotically male. He couldn’t help it any more than Foster could. Both of them were walking erotic nightmares. Jynx felt the attraction, acknowledged it, but she still wanted only Foster in her bed. She couldn’t wait to yank on the tab of his jeans that at this very moment dug into her lower back.

“Don’t get to liking her too much,” Foster said, his voice cutting. Drawing her body to his, Foster hugged her with a fierce possessive passion that Jynx melded to. Oh dear saints, he pressed the full length of his erection right between her—

“Staking your claim?” Michael lifted his intense gaze to Foster, and Jynx felt her heart kick up into a running pace. If the two of them fought, she didn’t know who would emerge the victor.

“He doesn’t have to,” Jynx declared.

Michael looked to her once again. “Indeed?”

“I belong to him and no other.” Casting him her most truculent chin, Jynx continued, “We’ve come for your help. No more than that. If you help us, you help yourself. Refuse us, and I would only ask you return what Foster has given to you so we may seek help elsewhere.”

A sad smile crossed Michael’s face. “What binds you to him?”

For some reason, she thought the answer to his question could make or break Michael’s willingness to help them. But she answered him the way she always did, honestly and straight from her heart. “Love.”

Something that looked like jealousy flared in Michael’s eyes. “Tell me why you love him.”

Automatically Jynx answered, “Because I trust him. We’ve been to hell and back. I would die for him. I would kill for him.”

Michael gazed calmly at her, then at Foster, then back into her eyes. He stepped close and took a deep breath of her. For the life of her, she swore he was tasting her. “Yes, I believe you would die and kill for those you love. You are a formidable opponent, Jynx Brennan. I would not challenge you.” Michael stepped back.

“What am I?” Foster clipped. “Chopped liver?”

“You are a worthy opponent.” Formally, Michael bowed to Foster. “But not like she is.”