“You’re not supposed to be here,” I scold the man I’ve only met once.
“I need more pieces.”
“If you didn’t notice the blue Santa the other day, he’s a zyanthan warrior who’s been hanging around looking for stolen blaster parts.”
“I can get rid of him for you.”
Sudden fear rips through me and it’s all I can do to maintain my composure to keep this brute from thinking I care about Nikkov.
“No. I don’t need a dozen Galactic Intelligence officers swarming down here looking for a missing agent. I’ll handle him. You have your instructions and your part. Now, go.”
“Give me a pulse rod.”
“If I have one, I don’t know where it is. The blasters were broken down to make them easier to get through security check points. You were told all this, including that you weren’t to show up here. Take the part I gave you and send it up the chain of command where your higher-ups will assemble the blasters. Now, get out of my warehouse.” I stand up and lean both fists against the table that separates us, strategically placing my right hand near my open purse. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Leave while you can.”
The asshole kicks the chair away and starts to leap over the table, but stops when I pull the Glock from my purse. “You’re not the first asshole to think he can intimidate me.” I cock the gun.
Surprise, surprise, he steps back. “You don’t know what you’re doing, little girl.”
“Move away from the female,” Nikkov’s deep voice echoes through the room.
The man whirls away from me and charges at Nikkov. I shove my gun into my purse and dive for cover just as the two plow into the wrapping table, sending ribbons, scissors, and presents flying in every direction.
Nikkov’s bigger than the courier by a foot, with long, sharp horns, but the thug is street-wise and probably has more weapons hidden on him than a Coalition warlord.
My stomach knots when the bully slices outward with a three-inch blade, but Nikkov’s fast on his feet, avoiding the knife. His claws strike outward, catching the guy in the face. Grabbing at the blood streaming from his cheek, he glances at me, then stumbles backward and runs from Nikkov.
That surprises me. As does the fact that Nikkov doesn’t chase him.
“He’s getting away,” I call out, not because I want Nikkov to catch him… that would ruin everything, but I can’t let Nikkov discover what I’m doing.
“I will not leave you unguarded.”
“I don’t need a guard.”
“A male just attacked you.”
“I’m fine,” I say in a shaky voice—not entirely fake—as I straighten my sweater which rode up when I dove for cover. I’m glad Nikkov arrived when he did. That asshole caught me off-guard, which has left me a little rattled.
“He just wanted money,” I add, trying to calm down. “Times are tight. And it’s my own fault for showing up alone. What are you doing here anyway? I gave everyone the morning off.”
“Saving you, apparently.”
That rankles, not because he’s right, but because I’d lost control of the situation. “I didn’t need saving.”
“The Brotherhood has infiltrated your charity project. Just as my intel revealed.”
“Brotherhood?” I laugh. Unless I can convince him this was a random and simple robbery attempt, I’ll never get rid of him. “You think that’s the first time someone’s tried to rob me? For every generous person who donates, there’s a scumbag out there just as willing to steal toys meant for children. Probably hoping to resell the toys or trade for drugs. You’re making more of this than it is, Warrior. And you still haven’t told me why you’re here. Were you planning to break into more gifts? Haven’t you seen enough by now to know my project is legit?”
“I never doubted your charity project’s legitimacy, female.”
From his stern expression, it’s becoming clear he doubtsme.
“I left the Santa uniform in the workshop. Another lead demands my attention. That’s why I’m here early, to tell you I might not be able to fulfill Santa duties tonight.”
Or he’s here early to snoop. If I were in his shoes, I sure would.
“Good timing then. Thank you for scaring off the robber.”
