Hunted by the Cyborg with Bonus Page 10

  Krovac ran a portable scanner over Beth. She peered at the screen, her expression unreadable.

  “Is she all right?” Carter asked.

  “Pulse and blood pressure are elevated, respiration is depressed, nerve conductivity is hypersensitive, and muscle fibers are contracting at the cellular level. Everything you would expect from a level two blaster shot. She’ll recover. Just needs time,” Krovac said without sympathy. Her patient could have been an amebic life form for the concern she displayed. Obviously the Andaluvian race’s lack of affect dominated over human compassion.

  Carter slid his arms beneath Beth’s shoulders. Nerves would be hyperresponsive to stimuli, and the slightest movement could be painful. Despite his care, when he lifted her, she moaned. He hated hurting her, but the return of her voice was a positive sign. “Easy, honey, easy. I’m sorry.” He cradled her against his chest.

  “Honey?” Vincere arched an eyebrow.

  Mikala wiped a smile from her face.

  The medtech moved to Cornelius. She adjusted the settings and scanned him. “He’s dead,” she confirmed.

  “Can you determine what killed him?” Carter asked.

  Krovac shook her head. “That would require an autopsy.”

  Vincere tapped his wrist comm. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Over his dead body. He couldn’t do anything about the loss of the weapon, but he’d be damned if he let the AOP bungle the post mortem. He accessed the encrypted wireless channel in his processor and shot a message to Brock Mann back at HQ. Who do we have close to the moon? We need a body retrieval stat. Clandestine level three.

  Full cloak mode. Roger. Cyber-1 to rendezvous in fifteen minutes, Brock replied.

  Perfect. They didn’t need a fighter craft equipped with the highest level of offensive and defensive weaponry—any Cy-Ops vessel would do—but time was critical. They had to snag the body before Vincere got to it.

  Who are we retrieving?

  Cornelius Corvalis, aide to Vincere.

  Does the secretary general know you’re taking the body?

  Negative, he replied.

  Okay. No one will see us remove it. However, he’ll suspect you were involved.

  Suspecting and proving are too different things.

  He hoped this didn’t jeopardize the secretary general’s agreement to ramp up security, but Vincere’s support wasn’t required; they’d planned to work around him anyway.

  Beth’s head lolled against his shoulder. “Everything…hurts,” she moaned.

  He ducked his head and almost kissed her forehead before he caught himself. The others watched. “You took quite a blast. It will get better. Promise,” he said.

  “She should be taken to the infirmary,” Vincere said.

  “I’m taking her back to Terra.”

  “She’ll feel more comfortable going home.” Mikala offered her diplomatic support.

  “I understand.” Vincere approached and looked at Beth. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I feel responsible. If there’s anything at all I can do to make this up to you…”

  “Not…your...f-fault…” she whispered.

  “You’re very forgiving,” he said, “but that doesn’t relieve me of the responsibility.”

  Damn straight it didn’t.

  Vincere approached Krovac. “Have Cornelius’s body moved to the morgue and prepped for transport.”

  She tapped into her PerComm. “I placed the order. They’ll be here soon. Do you need anything else?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She departed, and two orderlies entered with a hover gurney. They loaded the corpse onto the floating litter and left. Carter hated to let the body out of his sight, but he couldn’t protest without arousing suspicion. The morgue was the logical place to store a body. He hoped that was, in fact, where they were taking it. He wouldn’t put it past Vincere to have the corpse loaded onto a shuttle.

  Suspicious, much? Vincere had no reason to lie.

  Send the team to the morgue, he shot to Brock. Every space station and lunar outpost had at least a small morgue where the deceased could be placed in cryo. While insects and microorganisms didn’t exist in outer space, the body harbored its own bacteria, which began decomposition upon death.

  Mikala peered at Beth. “How are you feeling?” she asked in a low, concerned tone.

  “My entire body is buzzing,” she said. “Like when your arm falls asleep. Only the pins and needles are burning and jabbing everywhere. And when I try to move, I can’t. See?” She wiggled an index finger. “That’s all I can do.”

  Her recovery was actually pretty fast.

  Mikala nodded. “Listen—what Vincere said. I, too, feel responsible. You were caught in a photon blast intended for me. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

  It was unanimous; they all felt responsible, but Carter bore the lion’s share of the blame. He was the director, and Beth had been nearly killed right in front of him. She never should have been in such a vulnerable position. If something had happened to her… His heart contracted with the painful realization of what he’d almost lost—and how dense he’d been. It had taken a near tragedy to wake him up.

  Mikala sought his gaze. “Please don’t tell Penelope about this. She’ll worry unnecessarily.”

  The unnecessary part was arguable—Mikala had been the target—but he understood her motivation. As a parent, she sought to shield her daughter from worry. Every cyber operative with a spouse or a family faced the same: how did one remain honest in a relationship while still protecting loved ones?

  “I have to inform Brock,” he said. He’d been about to brief him when Mikala had approached. His second-in-command was her son-in-law.

  “I understand. Just…let him know my feelings regarding Penelope.”

  “Of course.”

  Cyber-1 is orbiting the moon, Brock said. The pod has landed, and they’re making their way to the morgue.

  Roger that. Listen, there’s something else… Mikala is unharmed, but she was the target of an assassination attempt. Cornelius was the shooter.

  Brock swore.

  Mikala asked you not to tell Penelope.

  I wouldn’t tell her. If it comes from anyone, it will have to come from Mikala. No doubt Brock had spared his wife the knowledge of his close calls.

  Beth, however, was hit, Carter said.

  Brock swore again. How is she?

  She’ll recover. He tightened his hold. Her arms came up and weakly hugged his neck.

  Wait a minute…he intended to shoot Mikala, but stunned Beth, and then he died?

  Doesn’t make sense, does it? If Cornelius hadn’t died, he would have been interrogated. He might have committed suicide to prevent his capture and questioning, except he hadn’t ingested anything—unless he’d already had a capsule in his mouth before attempting the assassination.

  Do you have the blaster? Brock asked. I’ll send it to forensics.

  Wish I did. Vincere has it.

  Well, that’s fucked.

  Tell me about it.

  Here’s some good news: I got word the team has recovered the body and is back on the pod and headed for Cyber-1. Full autopsy, I assume?

  Correct.

  Anything else?

  Have Swain meet me at my apartment to examine Beth. I’ll shoot him my ETA when I get closer, Carter said.

  Will do, he replied, and signed out.

  Brock hadn’t inquired why he was taking her to his private apartment. Carter wouldn’t have had an answer, other than an urgency compelling him to get her away from Luna Center, Aym-Sec, Cy-Ops—all the ugly business.

  “I’m heading back to Terra,” he announced. He caught the secretary general’s attention. “Perhaps you’d like to accompany us to the shuttle to say your goodbyes?”

  Vincere looked surprised. “I’d like that.”

  Mikala frowned, a question in her eyes, but there was no way to exp
lain. Having Vincere accompany him would delay him finding out the body had vanished and alleviate suspicion Carter had had something to do with it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Beth had expected to return to Aym-Sec, but the PeeVee passed the Galactic Trade Center and landed atop a skyscraper shrouded in mist. Not fog, she realized. A cloud. So tall, the building spired into an actual cloud.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “My private apartment.”

  “This building is your apartment?”

  He grinned, all teeth and amusement. “Not the whole thing. Just the penthouse.”

  “I assumed you lived in employee housing at Aym-Sec.”

  “I do—most of the time, but I keep a private apartment also.”

  Nerves and thoughts buzzed. The excruciating pain had dissipated, but the aftereffects continued to bite. So much had occurred in a short time, full comprehension eluded her, but she sensed that everything—that Carter—had changed.

  Serious, determined, focused—he wasn’t an easygoing, laid-back kind of guy at the best of times. Since the incident, he’d become more intense. He hadn’t let her out of his sight—had insisted on carrying her when she could walk.

  Nothing like getting shot and making a spectacle of oneself.

  “We need to talk,” he said. “I wanted it to be someplace private.”

  Her heart thudded. Though she’d been unable to blink, she’d read the fear and relief in his eyes when he’d rushed to her side as she lay paralyzed on the arena floor. He’d carried her, cradled her, comforted her.

  Professional concern and/or empathy of one human being for another no doubt had motivated his consideration, but his actions had aroused an ache all the same. Her growing infatuation had swelled to push against her heart. Embarrassed? Oh, hell yes. Carter had wiped drool from her mouth as the president and the secretary general watched. It wasn’t enough to humiliate herself—she had to do it in front of two of the most important people in the galaxy. Thank the stars she hadn’t wet herself.

  But, like a schoolgirl basking in the casual smile of a secret crush, she soaked up Carter’s attention, hoarding it to treasure later. His hands had been gentle, almost tender, when he buckled her into the shuttle after Benson and Mikala had seen them off. She’d tried to ask questions, but he’d forestalled them off, telling her to save them for later. “Relax and recover,” he’d said.

  Atop the roof, he scooped her up again and strode off the shuttle.

  Resting her head on his shoulder, she breathed in his scent. There was no romantic emotion attached to his actions, but she pretended he was sweeping her away because he cared for her. I’m the most pathetic human clone ever decanted. The longer he held her, the more fantasies she would spin. Then would come the crash of reality. Allowing him to tend to her in this way only set her up for greater heartache. She needed to stand on her own two feet—figuratively and literally.

  “I can walk now,” she said.

  “I insist,” he said.

  “So do I. I appreciate all you’ve done, but I want to walk.”

  His expression turned all mulish alpha male, and he opened his mouth, but Dr. Swain walked out of the cloud, startling her. “Moving is good for her,” he said. “Exercise will speed the return of function, and it will help me evaluate her condition.”

  Carter must have been expecting him because he didn’t appear to be the least bit surprised by his presence, but the medical advice didn’t seem to please him, either. “Whose side are you on?” he muttered.

  “The patient’s.” Swain sounded amused.

  With both men hovering as if they expected her to topple over, she walked the short distance to a vertical transport. They boarded, the glass tube whooshed them down a level then the doors opened to a penthouse apartment rivaling the luxury of the O’Shea residence. Minimalist in décor, it was much more simply appointed, but she recognized the quality of materials and construction.

  Dark-green body-conforming sensa-sofas hugged the sitting room perimeter, surrounding a massive holo projection table for comfortable viewing of entertainment and news. Still vids faded in and out on a loop over the sofa, but other walls were bare of adornment. A huge window spanning the length of the room provided a breath-catching focal point of billowing clouds. The apartment rested on top of the world.

  She floated over sound-absorbing gray floors to gawk.

  “This place is sweet.” Swain joined her by the window, but peered back at Carter. “Why do you live at Cy—Aym-Sec headquarters?”

  Carter narrowed his eyes. “Convenience.”

  She turned around. “I’ll bet on a clear day you can see for ten kilometers.”

  Carter’s mouth quirked. “Hundreds of kilometers, but no one can see in. From the outside, the glass is opaque.”

  Projectile-proof, too, she’d bet. “Who could see in this high up?”

  “Nobody on the ground, but pods, other small shuttles, and specially equipped PeeVees could buzz by the windows.”

  Who was Carter Aymes? Employee housing at Aym-Sec, though adequate and functional, couldn’t compare to this place. Convenience couldn’t be too much of a decisive factor when he could hop into his “specially equipped PeeVee” and zip from one location to another in minutes. Why would he choose bare bones utilitarian housing over luxury?

  She turned her attention to the still vids streaming over the sofa. Art-on-a-loop. Landscape scenes from different worlds were intermixed with pictures of people. A still of an older man the spitting image of Carter flashed by.

  She gestured. “Was that your father?”

  “Yes.”

  A picture of Earth from space flashed next then a purple-and-pink grassy field and lavender sky from planets she couldn’t even guess at. Then a group photo of Carter with several men, all as big as he, some larger. Before it changed, she recognized Brock Mann, Dr. Swain, and a few others she recalled passing in the halls. The men shared a similarity she couldn’t define. Not like they were blood relatives, but a resemblance all the same.

  “Are those all Aym-Sec employees?” She pointed to the wall.

  The images vanished, and the wall went blank.

  “What happened? Where did they go?”

  He and Swain exchanged a glance, and again, she could have sworn some sort of communication passed between the two of them. “The AI shut it off,” Carter said.

  Why would it do that all of a sudden? Wouldn’t someone have to tell the apartment’s artificial intelligence to do that?

  “I can tell you’re feeling better, but let’s have Dr. Swain do a scan, okay?” he suggested.

  “Should I lie down?”

  “If you’re steady on your feet, you can stand.” Swain removed a small device from a pouch slung over his shoulder.

  “I’ll stand.”

  His back to Carter, Swain swiped a finger across the screen then tapped into it. He winked at Beth. “Okay, I think I’ve got this figured out.”

  “You think?” Carter glowered.

  She giggled, appreciating the levity. Beginning at the top of her head, Swain scanned the full length of her body then had her turn around so he could do the back.

  The doctor peered at the results. “Normal. She’s as healthy as the proverbial horse. I see a slight elevation in electrical brain activity, but that’s not unusual after receiving a photon blast, and I’m confident it will return to standard parameters.”

  Nerve and muscle vibrations had ceased; the pain had vanished. She felt pretty good, but it was reassuring to have Swain second her recovery. She trusted his professional opinion, his concern. The Luna Center medtech had seemed kind of cold, disinterested. Cornelius had pulled out the weapon, and she’d been trying to run, to get out of the way, but instead, she’d tripped and fallen in front of the blast. She had a feeling everyone assumed she’d been trying to play the hero, when the opposite was true. She’d been trying to duck.

  “I
s that something you think, or are you sure?” Carter folded his arms.

  Swain winked at her again and grinned. She liked the doctor. He didn’t stir her emotions, but his charm reminded her of Benson. She liked him, too.

  It reflected positively on Carter that employees felt comfortable enough to harass him. He’d earned their respect and managed to be in charge without pulling rank. A brotherhood existed with Carter at the nucleus. The two men exchanged a few more gibes before Swain packed up his equipment. “See you back at the office?”

  “Soon. Thanks for coming out,” Carter replied with a sincerity confirming her hunch they were friends besides employer/employee.

  With the doctor’s departure, they were alone. Gentleness and tenderness vanished. Carter’s jaw tightened, and his eyes became hard and unreadable. She gulped, rubbed her hands together, and braced for “the talk.”

  “First of all, let me express how relieved I am you weren’t permanently injured.” His tone sounded more like a rebuke than an expression of concern.

  “I know—”

  “You listen. I talk.” He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “What department do you work in?”

  Was that a trick question? She wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Answer me,” he snapped.

  “You told me not to talk!” she shot back. But after a glimpse of his darkening face, she muttered, “Logistics.”

  “And that involves what, exactly?”

  “The coordination and movement of materiel and personnel.”

  “Where in your job description does it state you are to act like a bodyguard, security agent, or human shield?”

  “Other related duties?” she quipped. Humor had worked for Swain.

  It didn’t for her.

  Carter stalked toward her, stopping a mere arm’s length away. “If you ever put yourself between a target and an attacker again, I will fire your ass and ensure you never work for another security firm anywhere. Do you understand?”

  “I didn’t mean to!” she cried in her defense.

  “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes.” She sniffed back tears and stared at her feet.