Page 61 of Zalis
“Yes. I can’t forget his weaselly little face. Who is he?”
“Niklas Sarruset.”
“That means nothing to me. Is he famous? Important? Rich?”
“My team has encountered him before. He is slippery and clever enough to avoid prosecution.”
“That tracks.” Tension vibrated through Gemma’s body as she hooked her cane over one arm to allow both hands to operate her comm unit. “We need to call Constable Pama.”
“It will not matter.”
“What? Of course it matters.”
He did not want to tell Gemma the truth of the situation. He wanted to give her the illusion that if they reported the ringleader’s identity, he would face consequences and she could get justice. Only their vow to be honest with one another kept him from telling that sweet lie.
“Niklas Sarruset has some wealth and Tholla is a corrupt place. If Constable Pama arrests him, bribes will make the charges vanish. It has happened before.”
Gemma stared hard after the male, fury on her face. “So we don’t even try? He gets to walk away and I have to deal?”
A Mahdfel’s purpose was straightforward. They fought the Suhlik. They protected treaty allies. They lived for their families. Problems and situations that involved politics or influence were frustrating because Zalis’ first instinct was to punch the problem.
That would not workhere.
Punching required a secondary location.
As if sensing he was the focus of their discussion, the male glanced at them as he walked past. No recognition. No concern. Nothing but an empty husk of a vile being.
It was unacceptable. Zalis had a duty to Gemma, to all the abducted females, to correct the situation and give them justice. A rough justice, but justice, nonetheless.
“No,” he said, alarmed at the recklessness growing in him. “Niklas Sarruset does not get to walk away.”
GEMMA
It hurt when the weasel didn’t recognize her and that annoyed Gemma. Niklas Sarruset bought and sold people. He was literally the worst. He didn’t deserve to know her.
But that didn’t stop her from feeling forgotten and small when he looked straight at her and walked away.
“I will cause a diversion and place a tracker on him,” Zalis said.
That statement was wild enough to yank her attention away from glaring daggers at the weasel. “You carry around trackers?”
“Victory goes to the prepared.” He bent to touch his boot and removed a decorative button, or what she had presumed to be decorative. A flat brass button rested in the palm of his hand. “Small but effective. Kinetic powered with nano hooks for adherence.”
Gemma touched the tracker, surprised to find it warm. “It’s so small. I don’t have a tracker on me, do I?” She patted the black plastic buttons on her cardigan.
“Not to my knowledge.”
That wasn’t a no.
Worry about that later.
Niklas disappeared into the crowd.
“He’s getting away,” she said and followed.
Gemma wasn’t a hunter or a tracker. If Niklas gave them the slip, he’d be gone forever, and it wouldn’t be hard to give them the slip. Urgency made Gemma clumsy, bumping into others with her cane. Niklas was going to get away, and he’d never face justice—even a watered-down plea bargain kind of justice—because Gemma was too short and the crowd too dense.
“That kiosk,” Zalis said, steering them in the right direction. Height had its advantages.
