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Monica crossed the room and stopped in front of me. The teasing was gone, and hardness sat behind her eyes. “What was the last confirmed contact you had with her?”

“It was on the bridge of the Chorus when we were reading files. Then she left to brief you on what we’d found.”

“Damn! Her signal’s offline,” Tambi said. “She never goes offline.”

I pulled out my comm and checked for messages from her. Still nothing.

My bond screamed there was a problem, and I agreed.

What the fuck had happened to Cass?

Chapter 17

Cass

The back of my skull throbbed like something had bitten through it and stayed, gnawing on the bone, and making me want to puke.

I opened my eyes to a ceiling I didn’t recognize. I sat, my hand going to my stomach to dampen the churning sickness. The room was small, windowless, furnished with a chair, a low table, and nothing else.

The door was seamless, no handle, same biometric-sealed design as the entrance I’d watched Rennick walk through. Climate-controlled air moved from a vent in the upper corner.

My multi-tool was gone. My comm too. The hamstring the drone had hit screamed when I put weight on it. It was hot and stiff, suggesting a tear. I stood anyway and limp-walked the perimeter.

My first rule of ordnance disposal was to assess the situation and don’t panic. I wasn’t injured beyond bruising and maybe a muscle tear, and I wasn’t restrained. The room was too nice for a cell, which meant someone wanted a conversation with me. At least, to begin with. The cell might come later.

After checking the room, there was only one escape option. The vent grille was fastened with standard hex bolts, but I’d need something to pry it open. And I’d need my leg to stop howling its agony, so I could move without the overwhelming urge to black out.

I sat in the chair, stretched the bad leg out in front of me, and waited.

Whoever stuck me in here must have been watching, because the door opened a minute later.

The guy who walked in was Kelvane, older than Rennick by at least a generation, built broader through the chest. He had a silver fox look about him and wore a suit in a fabric that shimmered, the overlapping plates looked a cross between carbon fiber and polished beetle shell. The plates made micro-adjustments as he moved. It was most likely subtle body armor or concealing tech.

He could be higher-ranking secret services, or a money guy. TBD. And I intended to determine the fuck out of him.

“Cass Myers.” He stood across from me and set a glass of water on the table between us. “My apologies for the containment. The building drones are brutally efficient when dealing with intruders.”

I arched an eyebrow. This dude must have access to personal data if he knew my name. Not just a money guy, then. “You should review the part where they tasered me in the skull. Not friendly.”

“Noted. But neither is breaking into my building.” His smile was as fake as the breasts on display in the west quarter pleasure palace, Sunny Pussy. “Navarre Nogea.”

I sucked in a breath. I should have seen the family resemblance, but this alien’s face was granite, whereas Rennick’s always softened around me, even if he didn’t know he was doing it.

“Rennick’s uncle. Damn! Do you do this to all his friends?”

“Only the ones who stalk him. Or are you more interested in finding out about me?”

“Can’t say I am. And I’m no stalker.” I kept my attention on him. He barely moved, suggesting every shift was calculated to intimidate. “What do you do here that needs such high-level security?”

“I manage the family’s commercial operations, among other things. It’s one of many offices we have across this interplanetary system.” His frigid gaze tracked over me. Teeth, tits, ass. “And when I saw you outside, I let you in to see what you were up to. You have an impressive operational record, Miss Myers. Army EOD, distinguished service, early discharge under circumstances that were, I gather, political rather than professional. Dead Stick Salvage has built an excellent reputation since then. You’re very good at what you do.”

“I’m excellent at what I do. Are we doing the compliment round, or are we getting to the part where you tell me what you want, and what I have to do to get out of here?”

“Simple. Walk away from the Hollow Chorus contract,” he said. “Full payment, no penalties, and a bonus of twice the contracted rate. Dead Stick’s reputation stays clean, and I’ll even recommend you to others. My nephew keeps his pride. Everyone moves on.”

“That’s fucking generous.”

“It’s fucking practical.”