The argument faded as Carver and the rest of the pastel-clad passengers entered the boarding tube.
The massive transport was packed. It took forever for Carver to arrive at his seat, his jaw clenching with every polite smile, or “excuse me,” or “sorry, ma’am,” he had to dish out as he wove his way aft.
A jolly-looking older woman, her hair done is stripes of pink and gray, occupied the seat beside his. The sight of her welcoming smile created a band of tension across his shoulders.
He gave her a short, polite bow and slid into his seat.
“Well, aren’t you a handsome young man,” she said, turning her body toward him. “Are you traveling for business or pleasure?”
“Both,” he muttered with a tight smile, already regretting his seat choice.
“Oh, what fun. Do you have family onJupiter One? I might know them.”
“My father just died,” he said to stop that conversation.
“Oh.” The woman leaned back a little, her interest in him changing. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She paused, brow wrinkling. “But you said…” Her voice trailed off, confused.
Fuck, he hated traveling by public transport. And this last assignment had left him off-balance and unsettled.
Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the headrest, and counted the seconds until departure. Hopefully the woman took his contradictory answers as being riddled with grief. Otherwise, if she started paying him too much attention, she would remember his face, and he’d have to make sure she found her way out an airlock after they docked. He really didn’t have any extra time with that seven-day limit.
The woman turned away from him, conversing with the person on her other side.
Carver expelled a slow, measured breath, laced his fingers across his stomach, and listened to the civilians around him as the last settled into their seats. A few minutes later, the ship sealed and uncoupled.
The hum of the transport rose in volume, eliminating most of the casual chatter, including the woman’s conversation. A few minutes passed, and he didn’t move or twitch, analyzing everyone around him, what they discussed and how they interacted. No one tweaked his senses, and he became certain he was the only agent on board.
He leveled his breathing, like he slept, and waited. The woman’s interest returned to him for a time, but he ignored her. She eventually settled, her posture slumping as she indulged in a nap. Carver didn’t open his eyes until a soft snore tickled the side of his neck.
Shuddering in disgust, he straightened. The woman startled, but resettled in the other direction. He gave it a few more minutes, making sure she stayed asleep before he opened his eyes and accessed his PALM.
The ultimatum order on the portfolio blinked at him, waiting for his confirmation. He wouldn’t find out anything more about the job until he’d agreed to its completion-or-death terms. After this last assignment, he needed a palate cleanser.
Or would this assignment be even worse?
Curiosity won out. He swiped his bio-signature to accept the mission.
Terabytes of data downloaded onto his PALM, nameless and encrypted files compressed one on top of another.
His heart rate picked up speed. Why would they be sending him so much information? It was usually a name, location, and preferred method of death along with an end date.
He disconnected from the grid, changed the setting on his PALM to display on his ocular implant only, and opened up the first folder in the portfolio. Files were stacked within, alphabetically sorted and dated.
Where the hell were they sending him?
The location finally flashed up on his readout along with a current weather update.
What in the ever-loving fuck?
Chapter ten
Earth
What’s your name?
The question bounced around in his head, refusing to land.
He stared at Doctor Wynn Lambdin through the spaces between the rotating shelves. Her dark eyes caught his, the color entrancing—a rich earthy tone, similar in shade to the soil she piled into the pots. A pink flush brightened the paleness of her face.
