“A sinking ship.”
“Sinking?” She looked puzzled, and a touch impatient. Lucie watched the woman’s brows come together, the same way hers did, with a touch of fascination.
“It’s ancient Terran. Ships that sailed on seawater oceans would sink occasionally, and the rats would abandon them the same as humans would.” Santiago shrugged.
“Cute. Well, that’s what you’re doing to my revenue sources. You appear, and they all scurry out of reach.”
“My condolences.” He sipped the wine once more.
Blake Bloodworth pulled the second, unused glass toward her. “May I? It’s been a very long day. My target took the trench tour and never came back up. It took me five hours to establish that she had a submersible on stand-by that attached to a public lock, so she could slip into it.” She reached for the bottle. “Damn submersible has no pressure shields, so she’ll be three weeks decompressing and watching the fish on the way up.No onecan reach her, not even you.” She raised the glass.
“I don’t drink with criminals.”
“Fine. I can drink alone.” She pushed the bottle back to his side of the table, then took a large mouthful of the wine and sat back.
“Who was your target?” Santiago asked. He held up his hand. “I’m personally curious. Professionally, they’re not my problem. I’m on Nicia for just one person.”
“If I tell you, youwillbe professionally curious, and that will make sure Inevercatch up with her. Really, Santiago, you’re a repellent. A powerful one.”
“Good,” Santiago said shortly. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me to stop chasing you?”
“You’ve gotta have bigger catches than me to chase,” Blake said, with a small smile. “I haven’t killed anyone.” She considered. “Yet.”
“It’s that possibility that makes you dangerous, Bloodworth.”
Blake leaned forward. “I’m cleaning up the crumbs of society that people like you can’t evensee.”
“You’re underestimating the intelligence that reaches me,” Santiago said mildly.
“I’m not,” Blake said flatly. She looked around for eavesdroppers. Then, “My target, today? Mira Greyson Lawrence.”
Santiago’s eyes narrowed. “The philanthropist? You’re supposed to be one. Isn’t it professionally discourteous to go after one of your own?” He refilled his wine and took a deep mouthful. Lucie could see that the knuckles on his fingers were white with pressure.
“I give more to charity in a month than she does in a year,” Blake said, her tone bland. “Mira Lawrence is an unfeeling capitalist. The food she sends to refugee camps is mealy or worm-ridden because she buys remaindered food and has the recycle classification chiseled off the certificates. The flour is cut with sawdust. Drugs are swapped out for water and corn paste and sold off to bidders elsewhere. Oh, she has scams upon schemes. Victims and refugees are better off without her ‘help’.”
“Youclaim. The woman has won awards.”
“I claim, yes. I have incontrovertible proof, Santiago. Only none of it would be accepted by any court anywhere. But I can do something about it. So I do. The only difference between you and me, Santiago, is that I don’t have someone telling me where to go.”
“We have nothing in common,” Santiago shot back, looking disgusted.
Blake smiled, the corner of her mouth turning up, and her green eyes dancing. She took another sip of the wine. “You’re taller than I expected.”
“You’re exactly what I expected.”
“Young, vigorous and sexy as hell?” Blake laughed.
“A criminal.” He shook his head, then dug his finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes.
“Do criminals have a look?” Her tone was curious.
“You’re furtive, even when you think you’re being open.”
She considered that. “I like tall men.”
“I like petite blondes.”
“Liar,” she said softly.
