Born of Fire (48 page)

Donya shot forward like she’d hit hyperdrive and left them to try and keep up.

Shahara gave a low, evil laugh.

Syn wanted to be horrified by her actions, but in truth, he found them hysterical. Especially since Donya deserved it, given her rudeness toward Shahara.

What better vengeance without stooping to her level . . .

Once inside Donya’s office, she activated the catalog kiosk that stood in the corner.

Shahara stopped by his side and draped her arm possessively over his left shoulder in the same manner Donya had used in the lobby. She folded her hands and rested her chin on top of them as she smiled prettily at Donya, who tried even harder to ignore her.

“How far back do you want to go, Syn?”

“About twenty years.”

Donya arched her brows. “Really? It must be some piece. Another Chinergov?”

“No. I don’t know the artist. It’s an ancient Derridian sculpture that was put on sale by a man named Merrin Lyche.”

“Hmm . . .” She punched in the data. “Is this it?”

He froze as he saw it, and that one crystal moment of his childhood slammed into him full force and teleported him back in time. Again, he was fourteen, standing in Lyche’s office as he heard them coming for him. And in that panicked chaos of his ragged, terrified panting while sweat trickled down his back with itchy fingers, he’d had one moment of total clarity.

They’re going to kill me.

Hide the chip. If they can’t find it, they’ll torture you for it. So long as you don’t break and tell them where it is, you’ll live.

Determined to outwit them and survive, he’d looked around until he saw the piece on a bookcase. About thirty inches tall, it was garishly hideous. The skin was
so green, the twisted facial expression so ugly, it was hard to even look at it.

Which meant no one would search it for the chip.

His body quaking from fear, he’d run to it and grabbed it so that he could hide the chip in the base. He’d barely returned it to the shelf and stepped toward the windows before the door crashed open. They’d seized him instantly and it’d taken all of his willpower not to look at the statue to make sure it went undetected. But even as a child he’d known better than that.

So he’d been dragged out . . .

Now he saw the photo of the one thing that had saved his life that day.

“That’s it.”

Donya frowned at the statue as if it pained her. “Come now, sweet. You’ve got better taste than that. What? Is this a gift for your
friend
?”

Shahara gave her a sultry smile. “Oh, if only I could be so lucky. I would love to have something like that to remind me of you.”

“Of me?”

“Both of you got back, baby. More than that, she’s got your hairstyle, too.”

Donya’s face flushed bright red as her eyes narrowed in fury.

Get control, boy. You can’t afford to blow this.

He directed a warning look at Shahara before he turned back to Donya to recapture her attention. “I really need to find this piece, no matter the cost. Do you know who has it?”

It took several minutes before Donya stopped glaring at Shahara and pulled up the information. “We’ve sold it six times. The last sale was three years ago to a private collector.”

“Any chance I can get his name?”

Donya turned the kiosk off. “You know we don’t do that, baby. Sorry. But I can make some calls to see if she’d like to sell it.”

“Please do so. See what you can arrange.”

“My usual commission?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I’ll start the calls and let you know what I find.”

Syn inclined his head to her. “Look forward to hearing from you.” As he started for the door with Shahara, Donya stopped him.

She waited until he’d turned back to her before she spoke again. “Next time you drop by, leave your friend at home.”

“Sorry, Donya. Can’t do that.” He leaned in to kiss Shahara on the cheek. “I love my hot new girlfriend and her wild ways. You really should have taken her up on the threesome. We could have had a lot of fun together.”

He left as soon as he saw Donya about to explode. Then he quickly ushered Shahara out of the office and through the building.

“Syn—”

“Shh,” he said, not hesitating in their hasty retreat.

Shahara didn’t take the hint. “But what about—”

“Shh. I’ll explain outside.”

Shahara really didn’t like being shushed, but it was obvious there was something significant going on that she was missing. So she waited until they were out on the street and Vik was circling above them.

“What’s going on, Syn? We have no information.”

He flashed her that devilish grin that made her weak
in the knees. “Not true at all.” He held up a small handheld device.

“What’s that?”

“Her entire set of secure records, including the current owner’s name and address. Let’s hear it for the filch, baby. You get me near a computer network and I can drain it dry. But I had to be in the building to get it.”

She smiled at his skill, impressed yet again. “You are awesome.”

He arched a brow at that as he discreetly took her hand and pressed it up against the bulge in his pants so that she could feel how aroused he was. “Have you any idea of the fire you started in there with what you were doing?”

She licked her lips suggestively, then clamped down hard on his balls as she let her anger at him finally show. “Have you any idea of the fire
you
started?”

Syn’s body seized as pain shredded all other emotions. He froze, trying to keep her from hurting him any more. “Careful, love. You might want that to work later.”

She twisted her hand, not so much as to incapacitate him, but more as a warning. “You’re lucky, given your little performance in there, that I don’t rip them off.”

“I only did it for you.” He held up his palm computer. “I had to have the data.”

“Uh-huh.” She tightened her hand on his balls, making him raise up on his toes. “You
ever
do something like that again and I’ll make you a permanent soprano.” She wrenched her hand away.

Syn gasped as he rubbed himself to alleviate the pain she’d caused. “That was just wrong.”

“Don’t go there. I’m
still
pissed off and you’re lucky they’re still attached given the way I feel.”

He held his hands up in surrender . . . and took two steps back from her. Out of her reach.

Eyeing her warily, he plugged the last owner’s number into his link and let it hail her.

After a few seconds, an older woman answered.

“Good afternoon. My name is Chryton Doone, and I’d like to speak with
Fria
Togg about a sculpture she purchased a couple of years ago from Berringer’s.”

“One moment, please.”

The wait this time was a little bit longer. Finally another woman picked up the phone. “Can I help you?”

“I certainly hope so. I’m on a bit of a quest to find an old Derridian sculpture of the goddess Pikra that you purchased.”

“Oh, that ugly little thing from Berringer’s that I bought to irritate my former husband? God, who would want
that
?”

His stomach hit the floor as he saw the hopeful look on Shahara’s face. Since she couldn’t hear the woman, she didn’t know that their hopes were being dashed. Damn it.

“I take it you don’t still have it.”

Shahara closed her eyes and winced.

“God, no. I couldn’t stand looking at that
thing
.”

“May I ask what happened to it?”
Please don’t tell me you trashed it
.

“Well, I tried to sell it in the divorce, but no one would touch it. There was a professor at the local university who came over one night to appraise my collection. She had such a historical curiosity over the piece that I gave it to her. I thought it ought to go to someone
who could look at it without flinching, and I was able to deduct it as a charitable contribution.”

That was at least something. With any luck the professor hadn’t looked at it too closely. “Would you happen to remember her name and how I might get in touch with her?”

“Oh, yes. Dr. Whelms. At the University of Eastern Speaks. She’s their Art History dean.”

“Thank you. I deeply appreciate it.”

“No problem. Hope the ugly thing brings you more luck than it did me.”

She had no idea. That statue would either set him free or get him killed.

He hung up and looked on Shahara, whose features were now pinched. “Ever get the feeling this is futile?”

She shook her head. “No. Because if it is, my sister is dead, and I’m not about to bury her.” She let out a tired sigh. “Gods, Syn. Couldn’t you have picked something better than a statue no one wanted?”

“Yeah. I should have known when I stashed the chip that I’d get caught by Merjack, sent to prison, escape prison, live twenty-plus years, and then need to find it again.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic about it.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but Vik cut him short.

“I have a couple of marks who look a little too interested in you.”

“Where?”

“Two o’clock.”

Syn turned and saw them instantly. “Shit.”

Shahara frowned. “What?”

“Don’t be obvious, but we have a couple of tracers on our ass.”

He used his gaze to point them out and he had to give her credit—she followed his lead without betraying them. She was good at this.

“What do we do?” she asked.

“I’m thinking.”

Her face changed instantly as she feigned laughter over nothing.

“What are you doing?”

She smiled and said in a fake happy tone, “Follow my lead.” Wrapping her arm around his, she leaned into him and acted like his silly lover as she walked him toward them.

He wasn’t really sure what she intended until she walked him past the tracers. “We have to find a place soon, Syn. I’ve got to have a taste of you.”

His cock twitched at her hungry words and his blood fired to the point where he actually forgot about the tracers.

Until she shoved him into an alley. The moment she did, she pulled out his concealed blaster and whirled.

She nailed the bastards as soon as they came in after them.

He cursed at her actions.

She scowled. “What?”

“You don’t just shoot them.”

“Why not?”

He rushed to them to verify his suspicions. As soon as he saw their earpieces, he cursed again. “They’re company.”

“Meaning what?”

He snatched the GPS locator off the lapel of the one he was standing over. “They’re tagged, and when
they go down, their techs know immediately that they’ve located their target and been incapacitated. At which point they launch backup. You’ve just unleashed a thunderstorm on us.” He tapped his ear. “Vik. Visuals.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s ugly. Run north. Now. Fast if you want to live.”

He grabbed Shahara’s hand and did what Vik told them to do. The moment he cleared the alley, he saw the fugliness Vik had described. There were three bikes and two rovers coming for them.

Shit.

Think, Syn. Think.

If only he had Nero’s powers.
You have your own, and they haven’t failed you in a long time.

Yeah, but he was sober, which put him at a significant disadvantage.

Shahara cursed herself for her stupidity. Since convicts as a rule weren’t organized, she’d never considered the possibility that their tracers would be.

Syn slowed them down to a walk.

“What are you doing?”

“We run, we stand out. Trust me.” He pulled her toward the area where the crowd was the thickest. “We’re going to have to separate—”

“No!”

“You don’t trust me?”

Shahara swallowed her fear.
He won’t betray you
. But
really
believing that was a whole other matter. She looked up into those eyes that were as dark as space. And yet for all their darkness, they weren’t empty. In them she saw the man who’d taught her so much in such a short time.

“Where do I meet you?”

“The Miner’s Inn on Fifth. It’s right off north campus. You can’t miss it. I’ll see you there in half an hour.”

She nodded.

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I will be there. But first I have to get rid of them.” He touched his ear. “Vik, keep visuals on Shahara to make sure she’s not tracked.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“A rat knows how to run through a sewer.” And with that, he faded into the crowd faster than she could blink. One moment he’d been right in front of her, and in the next, she was utterly alone.

She scanned the crowd around her, looking for other tracers. There was a certain carriage that all those trained in her profession held. Even when they tried to hide it, it stood out to those, like her, who knew what they were looking for.

Dipping her head low, she headed in the opposite direction.

Syn kept his gaze moving as he marked the ones on his ass. Eight . . .

No, nine. There was a female dressed in tan who appeared to be talking to someone.

All well-trained and all tailing him. “Come get some.” It was the one thing he always said whenever he was cornered on the street. But what they didn’t know was that on the street, he was never really cornered.

He reached under his shirt and pulled out his curlers—titanium blades that wrapped around his hand to form a spiked glove. If he pulled his blaster out and started shooting, the authorities would have him penned down in a heartbeat.

The only way out of this was to meld with the shadows and to take them out one by one.

He flinched as he felt his father’s fist slamming against his face repeatedly.
“You want me to stop hitting you? You gotta outsmart me. Think, you little bastard. What do you do when you’re out-gunned and overpowered? You outmaneuver them.”

His father’s lessons had been brutal, but they’d taught him to survive, and for that he was actually grateful.

Ducking into an alley, he tucked himself into the shadows and waited until two of the tracers went past. He leapt on the one closest to him and brought him into the alley, where he quickly kicked him down and rendered him unconscious.