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In choir, in another life, I’d performed before audiences, but the shower had always been my favorite place to sing.
“Where do you go when home isn’t home anymore? When all that is certain cannot be?” I appreciated the irony—or maybe the accuracy—of one of my favorite songs. Home wasn’t an address, but a feeling of safety and centeredness indicating wherever you were was exactly where you needed to be. On Earth, I owned a condo, but I hadn’t had a home in a long time.
Recent topsy-turvy events had cast my life into greater uncertainty. As a rule, I questioned everything, but now I doubted my doubts! I didn’t know what to believe anymore. Lathering my hands, I washed my body, wincing as the soap stung the cuts and abrasions. If not for Bane’s jacket, and the way he’d shielded me with his body, I would have suffered more than minor cuts and scrapes.
The sand in the park and beyond the dump had been powdery soft, caressing. In the storm, it had been sharp and cutting. The alien had a violent side. It might be outmatched by humans seeking to claim its territory, but it wasn’t completely defenseless. The alien wouldn’t give up without a fight.
I’d witnessed a different side of Bane, too. Or maybe I’d seen the same side in a new way. His stony, forbidding, emotionless demeanor had offered rock-solid support and calm in the midst of danger and chaos. His composure and clear head had kept us safe. The storm reports had not prepared me for being caught in one. The wind and sand vortexes had picked up the RTC and smacked it around like a badminton shuttlecock.
With action rather than words, he’d taken charge of the situation and offered comfort. He’d held me in the RTC, given me his coat, and carried me through the whiteout—then fixed it so we had a room. Perhaps I should have rebelled, insisted on standing on my own two feet, but it had felt good to lean on somebody for a change—to lean on him. In the middle of a crisis, I’d instinctively trusted him.
Once, he’d scared me to death, but, forced to rely on him, I’d lost my fear of him.
Common sense and past experience cautioned me to remember who he worked for. I was mere collateral, and, in his mission to serve the president, I could become collateral damage. I shouldn’t relax my guard because he’d acted nice during one particular day.
Remember who he is. What he’s done. What he’s willing to do.
I knew what other enforcers were capable of. And Bane had a rep for being the worst of all of them. Other enforcers feared him.
But could this be a case of guilt by association?
Everyone assumed I was as corrupt as the president I worked for. I would have to be, wouldn’t I? Principles had been tarnished, ethics compromised, but I’d tap-danced as fast and hard as I could to avoid breaking any laws. I’d searched and searched for an exit ramp.
Was Bane trapped, too? Did he desperately wish for a way out like I did?
If he wanted out, he’d get out. Fact. The truth resonated clear down to my bones. A man like him would have secret resources.
Could he get me out? I recalled the times he’d told me he could help me. I’d figured it was a trick to entrap me, but what if he’d been sincere? Had he sensed I sought to escape and been tossing me a lifeline? Had I rejected the very help I’d longed for?
Until today, I wouldn’t have thought so, but the concern he’d shown caused me to wonder.
What if I asked him for help?
If I trusted him in error, consequences would be fatal. I squeezed a dollop of lemon-scented shampoo into my palm and washed the gritty residue from my hair. I’d brushed off as much sand as I could over the vac so the alien would be returned to the outside.
The necessity of that small act revealed the wrongness of humans living on Sajave. Our species were on a collision course. Even if we intended no malice, we would negatively impact the alien life-form. I rinsed my hair and shied away from wondering how many little aliens I was flushing down the drain and how many might be trampled and killed when MORE built its massive playground for the rich and entitled in violation of international law. What about that, Tempest?
It could be argued I was more culpable than MORE, Sew Solutions, or Jodane because I knew the sand was a sentient, intelligent being, yet I was still scrambling to enable MORE to build its elite playground. Even if no death resulted to the alien, what right did we have to claim their planet?
None. Absolutely none.
I’d been in the shower so long, my fingers and toes had become pruney. Bane would return with food soon—if he hadn’t already. My stomach fluttered, and I felt a little kick to my heart. We’d never eaten a meal together.
I stepped out of the shower and toweled off. I put on clean red underwear and donned a gray kimono-style robe to wear while I dried my hair and pondered the big-picture conundrum.
Sajave Sands Resort and Spa only exacerbated an existing problem. Colonization had to cease. Humans had to leave. How could I stop the progression, even if I dared to take a stand? The ruthless political machine would flatten me like an armored land drone rolling over an insect. Jodane had so much personally, financially, and politically invested in the proposed resort, she could not allow it to fail. She would kill to protect the project. Anyone in her way would meet a certain and sudden demise.
It explained why Breeze had brought in C-Force for protection. Geo-Tech’s security was almost as tight as the president’s. Maybe I could team up with Breeze and Gayle Chambers?
Except they wouldn’t trust me because I worked for Jodane—guilt by association again. If I walked in their shoes, I wouldn’t trust me, either. Furthermore, I would be a threat instead of an asset. The instant I tendered my resignation, I’d draw a huge target on my back. Breeze and Gayle could be caught in the crossfire.
Bane had followed me to Sajave. Of course, he’d be the enforcer Jodane would give the assignment to.
He wouldn’t do that.
Wouldn’t he? How do I know?
The man who comforted and protected me in the storm wouldn’t kill me.
Of course, he would! Don’t be a moron. A leopard doesn’t change its spots.
Had I read too much into today’s behavior? I rubbed my lids. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. Would he really kill me if ordered to do so?
The mirror showed I had a lot more silver threaded through my hair. Stress did turn hair gray. At this rate, if I managed to stay alive until the end of Jodane’s second term, I’d end up more salt and pepper than brunette. My mouth looked tight and my eyes guarded—my resting desperation face. Not good for poker or surviving in the Jodane administration. Was this what people saw? What Bane saw?
I haven’t been faking it as well as I thought.
As I slid open the bathroom door, a savory aroma caused my stomach to growl. He had returned with food. I tightened the belt of my robe and followed my nose to peer into the sitting room. He stood at the bar fixing a drink. “You’re out.” He treated me to one of his rare smiles, and my stupid stomach fluttered.
Hunger pangs, that’s all.
“And, you’re back.” I smelled food, but I didn’t see any. He’d set the table, though, and poured us some water.
“It’s in the food reheater.” He motioned to a unit I hadn’t noticed. “The restaurant was packed. But the way station cantina stocked a small selection of frozen prepared meals. I picked out something I thought you’d like. The meals will be ready in a few minutes.” He handed me the drink he’d mixed. “Here’s your scotch and soda.”
“I need to get dressed.” But I accepted the drink and took a sip. “Perfect.”
“You look fine,” he said. “Well covered.” His gaze glanced off me, and, although he didn’t leer, I’d swear he’d checked me out. I was about to insist on changing when he said, “Besides, I’d like to jump in the shower before we eat.”
“Of course!” I agreed. Having borne the brunt of the storm, he was even sandier than I had been. Almost seemed dustier now than right after our arrival. A powdering of sand had turned his dark hair gray. “Maybe brush your head and shake off over the vac before getting in the shower,” I suggested.
“Why?”
So we don’t wash more aliens down the drain. I wracked my brain for a better, more plausible excuse, but before I could come up with something, he shrugged.
“All right. If it will make you happy.” It was the kind of concession a man would make to his woman. The ersatz intimacy caused a lump to form in my throat. What was wrong with me?
Bane padded across the thick carpet and closed the bedroom door. Tears pricked my eyes. I dashed them away and took a big gulp of courage from my perfectly mixed scotch and soda.
I checked the time on the reheater. The food had less than four minutes. I moved into the sitting area and sank into an armchair. I wasn’t a courageous woman. I was an average person who’d had ordinary expectations from life until I saw a shot to grab the brass ring. But the brass ring turned out to be a manacle that snapped around my wrist and shackled me to the carousel.
Fear and worry shadowed my every move. Each day took great effort to face. I didn’t know how much longer I could tolerate the stress before I cracked and did something stupid and reckless, like message Jodane and tell her to go fuck herself and then march up to Quint Stroud and spill every dirty secret I knew.
The reheater dinged. I extracted the steaming-hot meals and carried them to the table. He’d chosen a savory beef entrée with mashed potatoes and gravy and the yummiest-looking meat-and-cheese lasagna. I didn’t know which one he’d selected for me.
The bedroom door opened, and he emerged dressed more casually than I’d ever seen him. He never wore ties, favoring collarless, button-up dark shirts under his jackets, but he always managed to appear impeccably tailored. I took a drink of my scotch and studied him over the rim of the glass. Tonight, he’d dispensed with work attire for faded denim and a short-sleeved dove-gray tee outlining every muscle of his broad chest and rippling abs. Bronzed arms showed no injuries at all from the sandstorm, although his jacket sleeves had been shredded. I dragged my gaze away from his bulging biceps and focused on his bare feet before raising my gaze to his face.
His hair, darkened from water, made his aquamarine eyes appear paler by contrast.
I took another drink. Off-duty, casual Bane seemed more lethal than on-duty Bane. My feelings jumbled up, leaving me confused and disoriented. Who was the real Bane? The dangerous cyborg enforcer? The calm, dauntless protector? The disturbingly attractive masculine man?
I clutched the lapels of my robe. A slinky kimono offered little in the way of armor.
“Um, that was fast,” I said. Approximately four minutes by the reheater timer.
“Habit. I’m on call round the clock. My job requires a response at a moment’s notice, so I’ve pared personal tasks to a minimum amount of time.” His mouth quirked in one of those rare, devastating smiles. “That was actually a long shower for me.”
And probably the longest personal comment he’d ever shared. Longest? The only one. I knew nothing about his personal life or habits. Whether due to his taciturn personality or the secretive nature of his job, his conversation obscured rather than revealed.
“Uh, well, I’ll get dressed, and we can eat.” I fled for the bedroom.
He grabbed my hand before I could dash around him. “Stay. Eat while the food is hot.”
Now that was typical conversation—a command issued with no extraneous words. Except the glint in his ice-blue stare almost looked like a request. And the heat traveling up my arm and throughout my body at the clasp of his hand around mine was definitely atypical.
“Well, since you asked so nicely...”
He released my hand, but the sensation of his touch lingered.
“Which dinner is mine?” I moved to the table.
He surprised me yet again by pulling out my chair. “I thought you might prefer the lasagna, but you can have either one. I’ll eat whichever one you don’t want.” He glanced at my near-empty scotch glass. I’d downed it rather quickly. I should slow down. “Would you like another drink?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Not drunk. Maybe relaxed.”
“A short one, then.” Two wouldn’t hurt. I’d drink this one slowly.
He fixed me another drink and poured himself two fingers of scotch from the bar. After taking a sip, he seated himself across from me.
“The booze in minibars is incredibly expensive. I can’t imagine what the cost of the alcohol in an open bar like this would be.” The spirits were in decanters, so I had no way to identity what brand we were drinking, but it tasted expensive. The highball glasses were crystal.
“Liquor is included with the suite. You’re drinking the president’s scotch.” And he winked conspiratorially like we’d broken into a parent’s liquor cabinet.
“Well, then.” I raised my glass, and we clinked, and then I dug into my lasagna. Beef, sausage, and cheese were layered between sheets of pasta and drenched in a rich marinara sauce. “This is delicious—much better than I expected from a frozen meal. How’s your beef?”
“Tender. Excellent,” he said.
“You picked two good choices.”
“There isn’t anything I could have picked that wouldn’t be good, excepting for personal preference. Frozen meals shipped to Sajave have to be high quality. Cargo ships are much slower than passenger spacecraft, so it takes weeks, even months for supplies to arrive. Hence, fresh food is a rare and expensive commodity. As you’ve noticed, it can be a hardship to live here. Crappy food would be the last straw.”
“Interesting. So, if we halted the supply of gourmet meals and substituted thirty-year-old military surplus rations no one wanted to eat the first time, the colonists would return to Earth?”
He chuckled. “I doubt it’s that simple. But they wouldn’t be happy.”
“You know a lot about Sajave,” I observed.
“About the food anyway.” He downplayed his knowledge with a shrug and forked some mashed potatoes into his mouth.
No, it was more than that. He was aware of food quality and delivery, cargo ship schedules, and the standing reservation at way stations and hotels. He’d seemed very familiar with the dilemma posed by so-called green energy.
Was he aware the sand was an intelligent alien species? He’d acquiesced to my request to brush it off before showering. Or had he been humoring me? Or had he complied at all? Maybe he’d lied about doing it.
But if he did know about the sand, why would he care? It wouldn’t change his orders. He would still serve the political-elitist power that would trample an alien life regardless.
Like me?
Not like me. I sought to get off the spinning terror-go-round. Halt the development of Sajave. Repatriate the expats. Save the sand! Yes. I wished to save the alien. The decision settled over me. The potential consequences terrified me, but this was the first decision I’d felt good about since getting involved with Jodane.
The sand is a living, intelligent alien being! I needed to shout the truth, or at least whisper it to somebody who cared.
That person wasn’t Bane. We are not allies. Anything I said to him would go straight to the president. Questioning the ethics of building on Sajave would be viewed as treason.
I had to remember that. Stranded at a way station in a sandstorm, both of us barefoot at the dining table, sharing a meal, chatting like two normal people, might seem like a rapport, but the camaraderie was temporary and false. I swirled the ice in my second drink. Nor was alcohol helping with discernment.
“What are you pondering so fiercely?” he asked.
“Nothing.” I shifted on the chair, and my bare feet touched his. How contrary and crazy was it to desire to stroke the top of his foot? “Sorry.” I tucked my feet under my chair.
“Your face is expressive.” He paused. “Not around the White House—you’re pretty good at masking at work,” he amended to my relief but then ruined it by saying, “but outside, when you think you’re alone or when you get comfortable, your face is...revealing.”
Shit. How much had I betrayed? I covered my angst with a coolly-spoken comment. “Your face isn’t. You’re like stone all the time.”
He stared at some point over my shoulder. “It’s an asset in the job.”
“Must be nice,” I replied and glanced at my plate. I hadn’t finished the lasagna, but I’d lost my appetite.
“Not always,” he responded. “Not when you don’t feel emotion at all.”
My head shot up.
“It’s called cybernetic affect suppression,” he said. “It’s a rare complication that can occur during the transformation to cyborg. All emotions—joy, sadness, anger, fear—are dampened or erased. Sometimes they come back. Sometimes they don’t.”
“That happened to you?” I pressed a hand to my throat. “That’s terrible.” It explained a lot, like how he could perform the president’s dirty work angst-free.
He gave a bark of joyless laughter. “The silver lining is that I don’t get emotional over not being emotional.”
Maybe his admission should have scared me—perhaps he meant to frighten me. Maybe deep down he retained a shred of conscience, and he wished to warn me. Hadn’t he told me numerous times I should fear him? If one couldn’t experience joy or sadness, then how could one have empathy or sympathy for anyone? He could be the cold-blooded killer everyone believed him to be.
Except, I didn’t fear him. I ached for him and what he’d lost. I realized worry, fear, and terror weren’t the worst things a person could experience. Not reacting emotionally was.
I sensed his silver lining wasn’t so silvery, that the lack of affect bothered him. It would be like being aware of having a hole inside and not being able to fill it. Maybe he experienced more emotion than he knew. He’d let down his guard with me, and he’d never seemed more attractive than he did in this moment.
“I don’t know why I said that.” He pushed his plate away, and I could see him folding up into himself. He squeezed his hands into fists on the table.
I reached over and covered his fist. “Because you needed to.”
His face was expressionless, except for the nerve pulsing in his cheek. Under my hand, his fist tightened and hardened, and then relaxed, and then he threaded his fingers through mine, caressing my knuckles with his thumb.
My heart thudded like crazy—all kinds of emotions swirled through me. I was a vortex of emotion. Bane bowed his head, studying our joined hands like he’d never held hands before.
He raised his head then. “Maybe I did.” And the naked yearning in his gaze shot right to the core of me.
