Warrior (28 page)

“Just get off the drugs, baby.” She wrapped both arms tighter around her sister. “You do that for me, you hear? Once you kick the crack, you'll be fine.”

“I'll try.” She stepped back, grief and guilt flooding her eyes with tears. “But what if I can't do it? I've tried so many times ....”

Jess grabbed her by her thin shoulders and met her eyes fiercely. “You can. You will. You have the strength, you hear me?” Somewhere inside her, a bubble of warmth began to expand. She caught her breath, feeling it suddenly burst free and flash from her body to Ruby's. The younger woman's eyes widened as she jerked rigid.

“Oooh,” Ruby breathed, the sound a long, fading sigh. A smile suddenly flashed across her tear-streaked face, white, confident. “You're right. I can do it, can't I?”

“You can do anything,” Jessica told her fiercely. “All you have to do is want it.”

“Yeah.” Ruby's smile became a grin. “And I want this. All the shitty things I've ever done, I want to make right. I want you to be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you,” Jess told her around the knot in her throat. “Because you're going to be amazing. And your son will be a great artist.”

Ruby's eyes widened. “I'm going to have a son?” She broke off, frowning. “Wait—how do you know this?”

Jess gave her a grin that was rapidly getting a little watery. “I've read some of my own biographies. They talked about you.” She had to swallow at the lump growing in her throat before she could continue. “You're going to meet a good man, Ruby, and you're going to fall in love. You'll have a son, and he'll be a great artist in his own right. You'll have grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. And you'll be happy.” Tears swam in her eyes as she realized she'd never get to meet any of the people who would enter her sister's life. Not the handsome husband, not the artist son.

Because she'd never see Ruby again.

Her sister reached out and cupped her cheek. “But I'll never forget.”

Jess choked and dragged her into another hard, fierce hug. For a long moment they stood wrapped around each other, knowing it would be the last time.

15

Galar rolled off the pile of fur and flesh that was
Dona Astryr, Riane, and Frieka, suppressing a curse at the vicious ache in his head. The wolf whimpered, and one of the women groaned.
Comp, scan the other Enforcers for injuries.

Well, that was something, anyway. “Hey, Dona, you conscious? ”

“Yeah, yeah. Has anybody ever told you that you weigh a ton?”

He grinned. “Sorry about that. Normally I keep my weight on my elbows.”

Dona snorted, recognizing the double entendre, and sat up herself. “Hey, Riane.” Bending, she scooped red hair out of the Warfem's face. The girl looked up at her, a little dazed. “Up and at 'em, kiddo.”

“Frieka!” She jerked upright, then swayed dizzily. Obviously ignoring her own injuries, Riane reached for her furry partner. “You're hurt!”

“Just my foreleg.” He yelped. “Don't touch it!”

“I'm not going to touch it, I'm just scanning you. Calm down, you big puppy.”

“I'm going to bite you.” The wolf considered her with pain-filled eyes. “Or I would if you hadn't put a dent in your thick ape skull. You do realize you need a regenerator more than I do?”

“I'm fine.”

“You're not fine. Would you lie back down before you fall and put another crack in your head?”

Since everyone was healthy enough to squabble, Galar returned his attention to his comp.
What's the status on the fires?

Better and better. He limped to the doorway and stuck his head outside, then winced at what he saw. The Outpost's ventilation system was hard at work drawing off the blue pall of smoke that still swirled in the corridor's air. The floor was covered in foam, with several thick humps of it that apparently marked the remnants of the 'bots. Anything not covered in white foam was charred black from multiple blasts. There were several irregular areas showing through the foam where the explosions had damaged the walls and floor.

Did we lose anybody?
he asked the comp.

He saw a tall figure round the curve of the corridor and limp toward him. It was Dyami, a thin stream of blood dripping down his face from a cut on his forehead, the red obscuring the green and gold of his tatt. The big man wore a grim expression as he scanned the damage.

“I'm going to kill that fucker Ivar,” he growled as he drew close enough. “And whoever sent that 'bot team to bust him out when I find out who it was.”

“At least they warned us they were self-destructing,” Galar sighed. “We'd have had a lot more dead if they hadn't.”

“Unfortunately, there's an ugly implication to that warning, ” Dyami told him grimly.

“Yeah?” Though he had a bad feeling he already knew what Dyami was going to say.

“By law, 'bots manufactured in the Galactic Union have to warn they're going to self-destruct, even combat models. Xeran 'bots don't. Remember the howls of outrage from the military when the Council of Legislators came up with that little gem? But it saved our butts this time.”

“And it also means somebody from the GU sent that team.” Galar scrubbed a hand over his face. “We've got another mole. Which is why they self-destructed. Whoever it was thought we might be able to trace his identity if we captured one of the 'bots intact.”

“Dona?”

He considered the question, then finally shook his head. “I don't think so. Judging by my sensor readings, she was as unpleasantly surprised by the self-destruct announcement as I was.”

“Which at least clears her, if nothing else.” Dyami fisted his hands on his hips. “Unfortunately, that still leaves me with just about every other Enforcer on the Outpost as a suspect.”

Galar lifted a brow. “Including me?”

“Fuck, no. Jessica would be dead by now if you were the mole. You're too damn good to screw something like that up.”

“Thank you,” Galar said with elaborate sarcasm.

Dyami flashed him a toothy grin. “You're welcome.”

“I just wish I shared your confidence. If I
was
that good, I'd know where Jess had . . .” He broke off, realization dawning. “Oh, shit.”

The Chief Enforcer lifted his dark brows. “I gather you just figured it out.”

“Her sister. Jess was devastated when I told her she couldn't tell Ruby she was still alive. If she suddenly figured out how to transport herself, you can bet she'd head right for her little sister.”

“This is the drug addict, right?” Dyami sighed. “Perfect. Go get her before somebody really does kill her.”

Galar nodded and turned to lope up the corridor, passing Chogan, her medtechs, and a procession of regenerator tubes. He'd need his T-suit for this.

Ruby sat on
the couch where she'd been when all this started, torn between joy and sorrow. Joy that she hadn't gotten her sister killed after all—she'd just
known
Billy Dean had ordered Jess's murder to get revenge on her.

But almost as strong as that joy was grief that she'd never see Jess again. She kept thinking of every rotten thing she'd ever said, every cutting little comment born of her jealousy of her brilliant sister. The sister who had never been an addict, never been a punching bag for every abusive bastard in the county. Never whored for the money to buy crack.

Well,
she told herself.
I'll never do that again either.

It wasn't the first time she'd promised herself she was done with self-destruction. Hell, there'd been times she'd made that promise every day.
This is the last time. Tomorrow I'll start over.

Now she actually believed it.

The boom of displacing air and the blinding flash of light tore a startled scream from her throat. She bounded off the couch, her heart pounding with shock as she blinked away the purple flashes from her vision.
Jess is back!

But the figure who stood warily scanning her shabby living room was not a woman. He was tall, blond, broad-shouldered—and as handsome as any movie actor she'd ever seen.

Ruby took one look at him and thought,
Jess's cop.

He frowned at her. “Where is Jessica?”

Ruby swallowed. Damn, he was gorgeous. No wonder her big sister was willing to turn her back on her career and all that money to be with him. “She . . . just left.”

He frowned, studying her intently. “Did she say where she was going?”

Ruby hesitated nervously. What if this wasn't the cop? What if it was the guy who'd tried to kill her? Jess had said the cop had killed him, but . . .

“Look, she's in danger,” the big man said impatiently. “There are killers after her. I need to find her before she gets hurt.”

Ruby had her flaws, but she also had a well-developed people sense. This man, she knew, meant exactly what he said. “She went back to her apartment to the time right after she was . . . attacked.”

“What?” He stared at her. “Why?”

“She said she needs the painting she left there. I don't have it, so . . .” She shrugged.

He frowned. Even that looked good on his angular face. “What does she need the painting for?”

“She thinks her roommate left a message in it.”

“In the painting?” He cocked his head, considering the idea. “Yes, I suppose it's possible. Thank you.” He hesitated, giving her a narrow-eyed look.

Ruby knew what he wanted. She sighed. “I won't tell anyone either of you were ever here.”

A smile flashed over his face, one so dazzling she found herself staring. “Thanks.”

The crack of the sonic boom rattled every dish in her cupboard. When Ruby blinked away the purple flashes, he was gone.

“Damn, Jess,” she muttered. “Some girls have all the luck.”

Both palms braced
on the carpeted floor, Jessica blinked away purple afterimages and fought her rioting stomach. She felt as if she'd been turned inside out.

When she identified the wet substance saturating the carpeting under her hands, she damned near lost the battle. With a cry of revulsion, she jerked back on her knees, staring down at the blood.

Her blood.

Gut twisting, Jess stared around the shambles of her former living room. The Enforcers had evidently left the lights on after they'd rescued her. The easel lay on its side beside the painting she'd been working on. Tubes of paint were scattered around it, along with the can of turpentine she'd emptied on the Xeran. The scorch mark where she'd burned him was gone now—apparently Galar's friends had cleaned it up. Probably in order to leave no evidence that wasn't part of the historical record.

She turned her attention to the painting again, rising cautiously to her feet.

What if she was wrong? What if Charlotte hadn't left her a message in the painting? Or what if she had, and it proved to be something Jess didn't want to know?

Ignoring her pounding heart, she walked across the living room, bent, and picked up the painting. It looked no different than it had the last time she'd worked on it, a subjective eternity ago.

An odd realization penetrated her consciousness: the paint was still wet. Of course. From the painting's standpoint, it had been only a couple of hours since she'd stopped work. Never mind that, to her, it had been days.

Dizzying thought, that.

Jess drew in a deep breath, steadied her courage, and touched the still-tacky paint with a finger. And waited.

Nothing happened. She wrestled her impatience back under control. Waited some more.

Nothing. The refrigerator hummed in the next room, a familiar sound, oddly homey in a room that smelled so disturbingly of fresh blood.

“I knew you'd come,” Charlotte whispered.

Jess dropped the painting with a clatter and whirled.

Her friend stood behind her, looking as solid and real as she had the night she'd disappeared.

With some half-formed thought of keeping her from getting away, Jess grabbed for her arm, but her fingers swiped right through Charlotte's wrist as if she were a ghost. “What the hell—?”

“This is a recording, Jess. I'm not really here.”

“Figures,” she grumbled, one hand to her chest with its thundering heartbeat.

“By now you know what I did to you. I want to tell you I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you. Sorry for drawing you into my war with my former superiors. . . .”

“So I was right—you are Xer.”

“Sorry you'll be hurt by Marcin,” the image continued.

“You knew what was going to happen?” Jess demanded hotly. “Why the hell didn't you warn me?”

“You're probably wondering why I didn't warn you, but I couldn't. There are things going on I can't explain. We both have our tests, and this is part of mine. We have to prove ourselves worthy.”

“What tests?” Jess muttered in frustration, knowing even as she asked the question that the recording wouldn't answer. “Worthy of what? And who do we have to prove it to?”