Stark Surrender (9 page)

Inside her apartment, which had just room for a sagging bed, a lav, an old divan and a tiny kitchen area with a table for two, he dropped his bag on the floor, and headed straight for the bed, leaving on his leather jacket as the room was none too warm.

As he collapsed onto the rickety bed it creaked alarmingly under him, but it would do for the night.

“How d’you want me?”

He forced his eyes open. The blonde stood in the center of the room, still wearing her pimp’s long duster. Her gaze was full of dull resignation.

“You can share the bed if you like,” he told her. “But that’s all.”

“Right,” she muttered.

He yawned and scrubbed one hand over his gritty face, grimacing at the smell on his hands, but too tired to get up and clean them.

“Listen, I don’t fuck women who don’t want me, and you don’t. So relax.” Also, he was too exhausted to even think about sex.

Under her astonished gaze, he reached under the pillow, pulled out the thin blanket she’d left folded there, and tossed it to her. “Sleep beside me, or wherever you choose. I don’t care.”

She eyed him nervously, then moved to the grimy divan, and curled up, the blanket over the duster.

“Vince owes me a lot of credit,” she said. “I saw you take his com.”

“We’ll discuss it in the morning,” he muttered. “Now for God’s sake, woman, be quiet.”

Chapter Nine

The next morning Liss woke with a start as the door of her apartment opened with a creak. Oh, God, she’d left it unlocked ... or the creeper across the passageway had finally figured out how to break past her locks.

But when she peered cautiously over the edge of her blanket, blade in her hand, she saw a tall, broad-shouldered man in dark leathers, dropping take-out boxes on her rickety table beside a carafe of something that smelled tantalizingly of better times. Relief made her sag like an empty garment. Her protector was back—alone, not with customers who’d want to use her.

“Hungry?” he asked, without looking at her. He was still chewing as if he’d started eating on the way up here.

She was hungry enough to do whatever he wanted in exchange for the roll he was pulling from one of his boxes. And sex wouldn’t be so bad with him. He was fairly clean, and while the flat coldness of his gaze last night while he confronted Vince and his lover had terrified her almost as much as Vince had, this man had remained calm through the whole confrontation, instead of working up a fury he then took out on her, as Vince liked to do.

This man was a killer, and had no qualms about taking what he wanted from his victims. But then all the males she knew on these streets, and most of the females too, would have done the same. And they wouldn’t have rescued her, either.

“Yeah,” she said, rising from her nest. “I’m hungry.” She shrugged off Vince’s duster and grabbed her cheap robe from a hook on the wall, belting it on over her dress for warmth. With the ease of long habit she adjusted the robe to best display her cleavage, and fluffed her hair with her fingers.

She perched on the chair across from him, watching with awe as he poured her a recyclable cup of steaming dark brew. She picked it up and inhaled the scent. “Real coffee.”

He nodded, his mouth full, and pushed the rolls closer to her. They were warm and fragrant, and the first bite had dried pieces of fruitgel in it, along with sugar and spice. The bits of gel were hard and stuck to her teeth, and the bread was gluey, but she ate hungrily without stopping. Finally she licked her fingers, then slurped her coffee, picking the fruit from her teeth with a fingernail in between drinks.

“Have another,” he said, “Vegesausage too, and fruit chews.”

She didn’t like vegesausage, although she’d eaten it when she was hungry enough, but the gummy brown fruit sticks were okay, even if they were hells to get out of her teeth.

“Where did you get all this?” she asked, more to hear his deep, beautiful voice than anything.

“A bakery a few blocks away,” he said, sitting back in his chair. It creaked ominously, and he moved back, wedging the back of the chair against the wall.

Liss examined him curiously over her coffee. In the cool light of another cloudy New Seattle morning through her grimy window, he was quite a specimen, especially in these slums. He was big and strong, with the clear skin and glossy hair that revealed a life of good nutrition and health. He was handsome too, if a woman liked the hard-as-cerametal type. His hair was sleep-tousled, but even she could see that it had been expertly barbered, and his hands looked powerful, but his nails were neatly trimmed.

His leathers weren’t new, but they were soft, supple and tailored to his tall, lean frame. All in all, he was a virile male in his prime. And a dangerous one. He’d taken out both Vince and Rat with a swift, cold efficiency.

Maybe he was down here in the streets because he’d made a lot of credit as a contract killer, and then lost it when a hit went wrong, or he’d spent it all on partying and illegals. If he was a drug or drink addict, though, he hadn’t been for long. He didn’t have the half-starved look, and his pupils weren’t dilated.

Something was wrong with him, though. He held himself carefully, and there were shadows like bruises under his eyes, a tight set to his sculpted mouth. He’d lifted his hand to rub his temples more than once. Also, he hadn’t eaten much more than she had, and he was a big man.

He was either hiding from someone, or he’d fallen on hard times and found himself down here with the other detritus of society. Wasn’t her problem, unless he expected her to support him.

“So what do they call you?” she asked.

His gaze met hers, and she caught her breath at the flat, cold power in his icy gray gaze. Shit, he was scary.

“Call me Lode.”

Liss looked down quickly. She’d bet her new leather duster that wasn’t his real name, either. But hells, in this neighborhood most beings went by street names they thought sounded tough. Most probably didn’t even remember their real ones.

“So I’m working for you now, huh?” she asked.

His dark brows shot together, and she shrank back in her chair, fear sweat prickling her skin. She shouldn’t have asked. “Sorry. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I’m not a pimp,” he said flatly, “nor do I have plans to become one.”

“Um, why do you need me, then?” He didn’t want to fuck her or sell her. She tried to imagine what other use he might have for her ... maybe as a lookout or a shill. Dangerous, but light years better than letting drunken, stinking strangers pound into her body.

He rubbed his temple again. “You’ll be my informant. If you want, pretend to be my mistress.”

Liss stared at him. “Uh ... pretend to be?”

“That’s right. You know these streets, the inhabitants, the gangs, the places that are safe and those that aren’t. That’s what I need from you. I’ll feed, clothe and shelter you, and you’ll be at my side when I ask, and keep quiet about me when you’re not.”

“And you don’t want no sex?”

“No sex. If I rethink, we’ll discuss. For now, as far as anyone here knows, I’m a loner, a criminal who’s decided to relocate.”

She studied him carefully. She then eased her chair back from the table, should he take exception to her next words. “Ain’t that pretty much the truth?”

Instead of answering her, he stared into his own coffee cup, then drained it and set it down amongst the remains of their breakfast.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” he asked.

But his tone said that this time he didn’t want and wouldn’t welcome an answer from her.

She shrugged. This was her life, at the beck and call of men who decided what they wanted from her and took it.

Lode was a stone cold killer, but he didn’t seem to want to harm her. So for now, this was at least a respite from whoring. He seemed to truly mean the no-sex part, because his gaze held distance, not lust. And he didn’t need her to bring in credit, because he had his own.

She’d take the gig and get what she could out of it.

* * *

New Seattle, The LodeStar Scraper

Kiri stood propped against the frame of the floor to ceiling windows in Logan’s scraper-top penthouse, staring sightlessly at the dark, heavy clouds outside, all that was visible of the cityscape. Raindrops pelted the window, leaving dirty streaks of smog particulate and acidic rain on the reinforced glass.

A cruiser screamed past, lights flashing as it leapt up through the clouds. From her vantage point, it seemed to just miss a lumbering transport. A police craft shot after the cruiser, blue lights lasering through the mist. New Seattle air traffic as usual.

And far below, she knew, teemed the mass of humanity and humanoids that crowded the streets and buildings. After the clean, dry spaciousness of Frontiera, she hated this wet, dirty, noisy city. She’d been forced to leave here after never knowing anything else, but now she’d be happiest returning to Frontiera and never coming back to Earth II again.

However, Joran, Creed and Bronc were all convinced Logan had returned here. Now they all prayed they would find him, well and whole. If Tal Darkrunner or one of the other millions of criminals in this hellhole didn’t get to him first.

Kiri lifted her mug of coffee and took another drink, hoping it would jolt her from the heavy weight of exhaustion pulling at her.

She’d napped for much of the voyage, with the help of mild organic gesics that Lady Ellianne had shared, but somehow she was still as tired as if she’d spent the entire journey clutching the arms of her seat in terror, instead of lying back under a cashmere throw, cradled in comfort.

Behind her, Bronc Berenson, Joran and Ellianne, who preferred to be called Zaë, sat on Logan’s leather divans along with Creed and Taara, Rak and Opal. Some sipped water, others the fresh coffee Natan, Stark’s houseman and chef, had just brought them. Kai leaned against the wall near the window, arms crossed, gaze watchful.

They’d gathered here for one of the chef’s gourmet breakfasts, while they discussed schemes to find Logan.

“At least Darkrunner has apparently taken our bait,” Bronc said. “He took off this morning. So that’s one risk to Logan out of the way. And thanks to Kiri’s idea, we’ll have a spy on board soon.”

Joran rose to pace to the windows near Kiri. He addressed her as well as the others, compassion in his gaze.

“Glad he’s out of the way, but much as I hate to say it, I think Darkrunner may be the lesser of evils here. I’ve looked into a few of his rivals. Compared to them, he’s an angel—if a dark one. There’s talk of a new gang moving into the city.”

“Yeah, but Darkrunner’s the one who has reason to dislike Logan,” Bronc said.

Kiri had been able to eat only a few bites of breakfast. Now she was glad, as mingled shame and anger burned in her middle. It was her fault Tal hated Logan. When she chose Logan over him, the gang leader had gotten his revenge by spiriting her away.

It had worked, too, driving a wedge between her and Logan that had never healed ... and then Logan had struck the killing blow by turning to another woman.

And now Logan had disappeared, for reasons as yet unknown. If only Tal was the one who’d vanished. Not that she’d take Logan back, but at least she’d know he was safe.

“If planting a spy with Darkrunner works out, it takes care of one problem,” Rak said dubiously. “But it leaves us with a quazillion other ones. Finding Mr. Stark in this city—if he’s here—is gonna be like looking for one particular star in the galaxy.”

Kiri’s stomach knotted again, because he was right. There were millions of beings crowded into the streets below and layered in the scrapers towering above.

But Creed spoke up, his deep voice quiet but firm. “We can do it. Look at all of us—we know Logan better than anyone. We know where he came from, how his mind works, what makes him react. And we’ve got the best surveillance tech in the galaxy available—Logan loves it, buys it for Bronc, who knows how to use it.’

‘We can get more help too. I have Zhen brethren on planet who can be relied on to keep this quiet. I’ll call them in. Bronc will suss out who can be trusted at LodeStar HQ to keep their mouths shut.”

Taara nodded, her pretty face alight. “Creed’s right. With him, and Joran and the rest of us, we can do it. We have to.”

“I agree with Rak. We’re gonna need a little more help,” Bronc said. “I have contacts in the IBI. If its okay with you, I’ll link them now, see what we can arrange.”

“I’ll come with you,” Joran said. “High Sheriff of Frontiera ought to have some pull.”

“I don’t know.” Creed said. “I hear he’s a rascal with black holes in his past.”

His older brother mimed exaggerated astonishment. “Creed, did you just make a joke?”

Taara and Zaë laughed, and Creed raised his brows. “I can joke.”

“First time since I met you. But keep practicing on Taara—maybe one day you’ll even be funny.”

“He’s funny,” Taara said indignantly. Creed gave her a sweet look, Joran winked at her over his brother’s shoulder.

Kiri turned to look out the window again. She hoped their plans worked. Because how would she go on in a galaxy that had no Logan in it?

Kai moved closer, his shoulder brushing hers in silent support.

“Miracles happen,” Zaë said on her other side, touching her arm. “Kai and I are proof of that.”

Kiri gave Zaë a grateful look, and her brother a smile. This was true.