Page 10 of Throwing Fire

“No.” I don’t. I should, but I don’t. “He could have ignored my call when the sensor tripped. He could have called in sick. If he’d had any idea of what was going down, he could have come up with a dozen excuses not to follow me down that hallway. Instead, he had my back the whole way. And he had every opportunity to take me down before I took out Mara.”

“Surely that puts him in the clear,” Kez offers.

“Yeah, in my book.” I nod over her shoulder at the interrogation that’s still going on in Myhre’s office. “Don’t think she feels the same way.”

Kez snorts. “She’s enjoying herself. I swear she has a taxidermy butterfly collection at home.”

“Ouch, kitten.” I kiss the back of her head. “I think we should put Mike outta his misery.” In the viewie, he’s continuing to sweat: little beads dotting his upper lip. And Exeter’s jaw is still twitching. “His boss is playin’ it frosty, but I bet he’s had enough, too.”

“Call off your kemwar,” Kez agrees, referring to one of Kuseros’s native predators.

I release Kez reluctantly, and step around her to reach the touchpad. “Ree’s more your kemwar than mine, top-dog.”

Kez snorts. “She doesn’t listen to a thing I say.”

I’m not sure that’s true. What is true is that Myhre avoids Kez like she’s got Irrothian plague. In the formal chain of command, Myhre reports directly to Chiara. But in reality, she pretty much does her own thing and ducks any situation where she even has to be the same room as either my kitten or Baby Tyng. Since Myhre was fanatically devoted to Chi’s father – and remains fanatically devoted to his company – I can only figure her antipathy stems from resentment of our coup.

I type in a plex to Myhre. Her head tips very slightly as she reads it. Then she says, “Gentlemen, thank you very much for your time today. Michael, would you please report to SecChief Snow tomorrow at sixteen hundred? Bradley and Hithen will take Miz Tyng’s detail in the meanwhile.”

Exeter’s out of his chair before she has a chance to draw another breath. He holds his hand out to her across her desk. “Thank you, Miz Hata.”

They shake; Exeter all but drags Mike out of Myhre’s office.

“He might have something to hide,” Kez observes.

“Maybe,” I allow. “Or maybe he had enough of Myhre’s questionsan hour ago and doesn’t enjoy havin’ his man raked over the coals. You only caught the tail end of it. It was not pretty.”

“I could tell from the little I saw. If Mike doesn’t know anything, who does? Any idea who was paying her?”

“Not yet, but the kemwar’s next job is crackin’ Mara’s credit account and tracing whatever up-front she received back to source.” As I say it, I tap a plex into the ship interface. Myhre’s response flashes back: preliminary report, 90 minutes.

I show the message to Kez. She rolls her eyes, being as familiar with Myhre’s preliminary reports as I am. “That’s something to look forward to.”

I chuckle and draw her back into my arms. “Guess I’m driving, huh?”

She frowns faintly as she looks up at me. She loves flying and resents the loss of any opportunity. “Why’s that?”

“Cause you’ll be busy on the vloop,” I say, nodding at her outfit.

She’s paired the lethally-heeled boots with black tights that show off the very fine musculature of her thighs, and a red dress that’s barely long enough to earn the name. The dress is sleeveless, falls loose over the shallow curves of her breasts and hips, and is patterned with grey-and-black floral shapes that shift as I watch. Holosilk. Sexy.

She arches an eyebrow. “You’d do better on the vloop than I will. Guys always go for more.”

I chuckle. My kitten gives as good as she gets.

“Particularly in see-through,” she continues.

She runs her hand up the front of my shirt, which is see-through. I dressed up, too. We didn’t talk about this in advance, but Kez and I are in sync on a lot of levels. Looking the part lets the rats know how seriously we take the invitation into their territory, and how important they are to us.

“Like it?” I ask.

“Absolutely,” she says. “I liked it when I designed it, and I like it now that I see it on you.”

I back up a step and turn around in the narrow space between the co-pilot’s chair and console, so she can get the full effect. Clothes have never been my thing. I wear fatigues most of the time because I got used to wearing them in SAWL. Living with Kez and her crew for the last few weeks has given me a new appreciation for clothes. Kez’s crowd, ex-street rats all, care so much about clothes that Kez, who hordes each credit like it’s her last, splashed out on a fabricator. I’ve never even seen one before, much less owned one. I know they cost as much as my old ship. Kez has showed me how to design things on the fabricator, which prints the design in any fiber, including genSkin. But I don’t have any talent for it.

Kez, on the other hand, could have a nice second career as a clothing designer, if she decided to give up running.

The shirt she’s made for me is like smoke thrown over my skin. Strips of black genSkin define the collar, shoulders, cuffs and hem. Because Kez knows how much I like to be armed, the cuffs are wide enough to hide a pair of punch knives in hidden sheaths. The rest is soft black fabric so sheer that my body is on full display, muscles, scars and all. When I first saw the shirt, I wasn’t sure if it said ‘fuck me’ or ‘fuck off,’ which is typical of Kez’s designs. Sexy, but always with an edge. I’ve paired the shirt with leather pants and my trike boots, to take the outfit into the realm of ‘fuck off.’

---