gaian consortium 06 - zhore deception (16 page)

Besides, he did not want her to feel rushed. Her heart was pounding so hard he could feel it, like a frightened
razhar
somehow caught indoors and out of its element, wings beating to be free.

He let her go and stepped away, but gently, so she would know he did so out of consideration for her feelings, and not because he didn’t wish to continue kissing her.

“Our food will get cold,” he said then, and she smiled. Her teeth were pretty, too, even and white.

“Well,” she replied, “we can’t have that.”

It was hard not to stare at him. She wanted to keep staring…and yet she knew with every gaze she sent in his direction, the implant in her brain was capturing the image and sending it back to the station on Zhoraan’s moon where Gabriel’s operatives would begin the process of analysis.

What would they think of that kiss? Her accelerated heart rate and shaky limbs would have been recorded as well. And Gabriel would realize she certainly hadn’t reacted the same way when he’d kissed her.

Save those worries for later.
She couldn’t allow herself to be too distracted by what Gabriel and his minions might or might not do with the information she was sending back. She was already distracted enough by Zhandar.

He sat next to her at the table, calmly dishing the food he had ordered onto her plate. Or at least, he appeared calm on first inspection. If she looked a little closer, she could see the gleam in those silvery-gray eyes, the way his lips parted every time their gazes met.

Somehow she knew how difficult it had been for him to stop, to not let things go any further. Well, it wasn’t that difficult to imagine, actually, because she’d felt the same way. If he’d pressed the issue, she wouldn’t have protested. Some sane part of her mind had told her to follow his lead, however, and it seemed that, for now, he was putting off any further intimacy. Maybe the Zhore weren’t as quick to jump into bed as the Gaians. Or the Eridanis. She couldn’t speak for the Stacians’ sexual habits, because she knew next to nothing about them, except that they’d been at almost-war with the Consortium for longer than she’d been alive.

“Is the food to your liking?”

She didn’t quite startle, but she did pause, pulling her thoughts back to the here and now. “Very much so. I think you must have a connection with a better delivery service than I do.”

He smiled. It was the first time she’d seen him do so, and it was like watching the sun come up. “Perhaps. I can give you their code, although they only cater to a small area. Where is your apartment located?”

Possibly he was asking for reasons other than determining whether his delivery people would come to her building, but Trinity decided to believe otherwise. “It’s in the Azharis District.”

“Ah, well, that’s a bit out of their service area, unfortunately.” His eyes glinted, and he added, “I think you will just have to dine here with me more often if you would like continue enjoying their food.”

That would have sounded like flirting on just about any planet she’d ever heard of. “Zhandar,” she said slowly, her tone teasing, “is that an open invitation?”

Gaze traveling to her lips, he replied, “If you want it to be.”

Who would have thought the reserved and elegant Zhore would have this playful, flirtatious side to them? But then she realized she needed to stop thinking of the alien race as a single monolithic block. They couldn’t all be alike, any more than she was like Gabriel Brant or Gabriel was like her secondary-school physics instructor, the one who refused hair implants and so was as bald as an egg.

“For mushroom turnovers like this?” she responded. “Of course I want it to be an open invitation.”

Zhandar laughed again then, putting down his fork so he could reach over and grasp the bottle of
zhir
and pour her another measure. Not a lot, certainly not enough to make her even close to tipsy, but it seemed clear to Trinity that he wouldn’t mind if things got a bit…elevated…this evening.

She didn’t think she would mind, either. It would be nice to kiss him again after dinner, maybe snuggle on one of those sofas in the living room. So what if that was the sort of thing her teenaged self might have done, once upon a time? Maybe it was time to let her brain know that every first evening together didn’t have to lead to a night in bed.

Yeah, right. None of her other lovers had gotten her anywhere near as excited as Zhandar, and yet she was pretending that she’d be satisfied with a few kisses?

Her body warmed at the thought of what would happen after they were done with kissing, and so she said hastily, “What are we going to tell everyone at work?”

“The truth, of course,” he said without any hesitation. “They will be happy for us. We all grieve for those who are alone, and rejoice when anyone finds their soul match.”

Of course they would. Unlike the Gaians, it didn’t seem as if the Zhore had a petty or jealous bone in their bodies. That probably wasn’t completely accurate, but so far, she hadn’t come across anyone who wasn’t striving for the common good. And of course the good of the planet included as many of its citizens as possible having harmonious and healthy relationships.

“I am glad to hear that,” she said. “Only…can we hold off on saying anything, just for a little while?”

For the first time, his expression clouded. “Of course, if that is what you wish.”

Damn. She hadn’t meant for him to take it that way. “It’s not that — I mean, I’m happy, Zhandar. Very happy.”
And soon to be happier still.
“But since I am still so new there, I thought it might be…I don’t know…easier if we waited just a little bit.”

At once he seemed to relax, saying, “Ah, I had not thought of it that way. You have been so completely in my thoughts for the last few weeks that I had almost forgotten how recently it was that you came to Torzhaan and your current position. We can wait to say anything, and I promise I will be very circumspect when we are in the office together.”

“Thank you,” she said simply. With Zhandar, she knew no further comment would be required. He understood what she needed. More to the point, he would allow her to have it, with no argument, because he cared about her.

I don’t deserve that kind of consideration,
she thought then, and was glad that her Zhore skin couldn’t flame with embarrassment the way her own fair Gaian complexion would have in a similar situation. It was horrible that she had to lie to him like this. Maybe she knew their connection wasn’t a lie — not all of it, anyway — but the cold truth was that she’d been sent here to gather what information she could about Zhoraan and its inhabitants, and no amount of lust or love or whatever she wanted to call it would change that fact.

With a ruthlessness born of long practice, she pushed those thoughts away, making sure none of her unease and worry and self-loathing could rise far enough to the surface that Zhandar might be able to detect it. Instead, she smiled at him, and ate her dinner, and told herself she would do what had to be done.

Whatever that might be.

They did kiss again, after the dinner plates had been cleared away and the last of the
zhir
poured into their glasses. And once again Trinity felt her body flaring with heat, with need. But Zhandar stopped it there. How he found the willpower to do so, she wasn’t sure. Wherever he got the strength, however, it was enough for him to pull gently away from her, then lead her to the elevator so they could descend to the parking garage, where he’d left his car. No question of using Torzhaan’s excellent transit system to get her home; she could tell Zhandar wanted to stay close to her for as long as possible.

He did not go with her up to her apartment. Respecting her desire to keep their relationship concealed for the moment, he drove into her building’s garage, then waited as she made her way to the lifts. One last glimpse of his hooded face watching her from the interior of his car, and then the elevator doors closed in front of her.

No sooner had a sad little sigh escaped her lips than she realized she was not alone in the elevator. Another hooded Zhore stood there in the corner. Trinity didn’t often see any of her neighbors — her schedule seemed to be quite different from theirs — and so she tilted her head at the stranger, a common greeting among the Zhore, acknowledging his presence but not bothering him with unwanted conversation.

He did not incline his head in return, however. While she was still registering that particular act of rudeness, he moved toward her with lightning speed. One hand grabbed her arm, while the other came up to her neck. A sudden sharp, piercing pain, and then darkness as black as her cloak enveloped her.

“She’s waking up,” an unfamiliar male voice said, speaking in Galactic Standard.

“Good,” another voice replied, one she recognized all too well, unfortunately.

Gabriel Brant.

Trinity sat up, placing one hand against her head as she did so in a vain attempt to quell the pounding in her temples. A few blinks, and she saw that she was sitting on a hospital bed in a small room with blank gray walls. After the lush plants and natural materials of the Zhore buildings she’d been frequenting lately, the sterile chamber around her looked alien, forbidding.

Or maybe that was just because of the way Gabriel and the two men with him were looking at her. Like something under a microscope.

“What the hell, Gabriel?” she said then, glad that at least she sounded only ordinarily irritated, and not frightened or worried, which was how she actually felt.

“I might ask you the same thing.”

She glared at him, then flicked her glance toward the other two men in the room. She knew she’d never seen either of them before. They looked to be in their late thirties or early forties, nondescript, one of them even a little chubby. Their expressions were unreadable.

“Where am I?” This place was as unfamiliar as the two men who accompanied Gabriel. Trinity couldn’t begin to figure out why she was here at all. Had something happened to compromise her mission? Were they pulling her out early?

Her relief at the thought of such a prospect was outweighed by the despair that immediately followed. If she was being removed from Zhoraan, that meant she’d probably never see Zhandar again. And that was something she couldn’t bear.

“On Kelzhar.”

Of course. Zhoraan’s second moon. The satellite where off-worlders were allowed to build shops and cafés on the moon’s base, thus providing perfect cover for the operatives who’d been put there to monitor and analyze the transmissions from her implant. Those were the two men she didn’t recognize.

“What am I doing here? Has something gone wrong with my implant?”

“Yes. The transmissions were becoming garbled, so we had to replace it.”

Well, that explained something of why she was here. She wouldn’t let herself dare to hope that her last few exchanges with Zhandar hadn’t been transmitted at all, but she could see why an equipment malfunction might have forced Gabriel to haul her up here for a replacement.

There seemed to be something else, though, something that made her hackles go up. She couldn’t explain why, since she couldn’t read anything of what her handler what was thinking. All she knew was that she desperately wished she was back down on Zhoraan.

Gabriel paused, then flicked a glance over one shoulder at his two operatives. “Leave us.”

Not even a “please.” But that was how things worked in the Consortium’s shadow ops. No room for common courtesy there. No need, Trinity supposed. Everyone was used to doing as they were told.

Well, that was one thing she had in common with the two men who’d just left the room.

Once they were gone, Gabriel’s attention returned to her. For a long, long moment, he said nothing, but only sat there on the hard metal chair that had been placed next to her hospital bed. She realized then that her heavy hooded cloak had been removed and lay draped across the foot of the bed, although she still had on the close-fitting tunic and slim pants she wore underneath. Thank God for that.

Then Gabriel stood and came over to her. One hand reached out and grasped her by the chin, hard. Trinity winced, but otherwise did not move. It didn’t take a psychic to know that she’d done something that angered him. Then again, while his controls were usually very good, right then he seemed upset enough that some of his rage had begun to slip out around the edges.

Not rage, she realized then, her entire body seeming to clench.

Jealousy.

“We were getting some very interesting readings from you, Trinity,” he said. He let go of her chin, but only so he could grasp her by the arm. “Spikes in your blood pressure, heart rate…changes in your body temperature readings. But only when you let this Zhandar kiss you. Would you like to explain yourself?”

“There’s nothing to explain,” she said calmly. In a way, she knew that acting as if his anger was of no great importance would only infuriate him more, but right then, she didn’t care. “Wasn’t that my mission, to be with, if not Zhandar, some other suitable Zhore male? It turns out that he and I are compatible, though, in the way that the Zhore on Lathvin that you told me about is with his human partner. I was surprised by that, but I knew what I had to do. So I don’t know what you’re getting so upset about.”

Those anthracite-gray eyes — so different from Zhandar’s shimmering silver — narrowed. “Yes, you were given a mission. But — ”

“But what?” she broke in, pulling her arm from his grasp. To her relief, he didn’t try to grab hold of her again, but just waited there, hands now clenched into fists. “I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it?”

Right then, she could feel the anger radiating from him. Alone like this with her, he didn’t seem to care whether he was blocking it or not. “How could you enjoy it, with that alien?”

Because he’s a good man,
she thought.
Because my body sings when he touches me.

That sort of response probably wouldn’t play very well with Gabriel Brant, however. She knotted her fingers in her lap, still vaguely mesmerized by the play of light along the tiny, delicate scales of her surgically applied skin. “An alien who’s an empath, remember? I can block a little from him, but not too much, because otherwise he’ll wonder why he’s not sensing responses in me that he would have felt from any other Zhore female with whom he had a connection. You can’t lie about those sorts of things, Gabriel. I have to allow myself to respond to him, because otherwise he’ll know something’s wrong. He might begin to guess. And that would get us all in a world of trouble, wouldn’t it?”