Chapter Five
Korsan had definitely overstated the disabilities.
On a rooftop across from the gym, Michaela watched Ruyn pummel the heavy bag like he had a personal grudge against it.
The man moved like a glistening, oiled, muscular machine.
Naked from the waist up, his skin gleamed like polished oxidized copper.
He had a hell of a powerful punch, and the stamina to deliver it over and over.
Even in recovery from a critical injury, he was obviously capable of defending himself. He hadn’t been able to fight off four men, but who in the galaxy could? Nobody.
She accepted she didn’t have a man’s physical strength but had considered that training and cunning compensated for the lack of brawn.
Until now. For the first time, she questioned her ability and the necessity of her presence.
What can I do for him he can’t do for himself and do better? No wonder he mocked me.
She stewed in self-doubt until her natural confidence reasserted itself. I still offer value.
While she lacked his powerful strength, she was a trained fighter. Had she been with him when the attack occurred, with her assistance, they might have been able to fight off the four men.
Besides, she brought another set of watchful eyes. Focused on identifying potential trouble, she would have spotted the attackers and avoided the situation.
Most importantly, she could figure out who had attacked him and why.
I have to watch that drone footage.
The graphic description of Ruyn’s injuries in the dossier had given her a false impression.
Although aware of his twenty-year military career, she hadn’t expected him to have a warrior’s physique or to project such power and aggression.
The man was badass. Held against him, she’d been aware of his muscularity. His erection. What was that about?
Pay attention! She jerked her focus back to the gym. An over-starched official had interrupted the workout session. A brief exchange of words ensued, and then Ruyn quit sparring and disappeared from sight. The bag ascended into the ceiling.
I guess he’s done. She lowered the binoculars. Better get down there. Her instructions had been clear. “Until we know who attacked him and why, don’t let him out of your sight.”
She hurried to the booster and descended to the street.
Ruyn probably assumed he’d only have to deal with her at the office.
But she’d been tasked with twenty-four-hour surveillance, requiring close proximity and eyes-on if possible.
When he’d left the office, she’d followed him to the gym.
After determining he planned to stay for a while, she’d scooted up to the roof across the way to be less conspicuous.
Many people strode to and fro at ground level, but there were very few humans, and she’d drawn some stares.
Her humanness would be a problem for which she might have to find a workaround.
On the other hand, being conspicuous might be an advantage.
Because of the attention she garnered, sticking to him like glue might deter would-be assailants.
She could figure out the best approach later.
For now, she’d walk him home. She didn’t expect an assault on a very public street in broad daylight—the attack had occurred at night in a secluded alley—but she reminded herself of rule number two: Assume all situations are dangerous and remain vigilant.
Ironically, rule number three advised: Do not assume. Investigate, test, and verify the facts. But until she could get the facts, all she had to go on were tried-and mostly true assumptions.
It made her nervous to have him disappear into a locker room where she couldn’t see him, but she couldn’t barge in there.
Finally, he emerged in fresh clothing and started down the street.
She tailed him, keeping him in sight while trying to stay out of sight. He walked with a more pronounced limp now. Physical therapy had given his legs quite a workout, and although sparring worked his upper body, it had required standing the entire time.
He hadn’t gone far, less than a couple of building lengths, when he stiffened and cocked his head.
Crap. He’s made me.
She’d been careful to stay back far enough so her reflection didn’t appear in the windows. Still, he’d sensed her. He’s sharp. He’d probably become more vigilant since the ambush.
Again, she wondered at the motivation behind the brutal attack. Knowing why someone had been targeted made finding out who much easier. Ruyn hadn’t known his attackers. So, there was no personal grudge involved. He hadn’t been robbed.
Crime in general and violence in particular were lower on Luturna than other planets because of zero-tolerance.
Magistrates gave no free pass for minor or first offenses.
No cashless bail. Unfortunately, because people felt safe, they relaxed their vigilance, and that worked against them when crime did occur.
But, no matter how stringent the law and dedicated the police and prosecution, the crime rate would never be zero.
There would always be a small segment of a population who broke the law and were willing to use violence to achieve their criminal aims.
At least Luturna didn’t have to deal with the Prellims. The galactic cartel had caused a lot of misery on other planets but had yet to gain a toehold on this one.
Without breaking his stride, Ruyn beckoned her forward. “Are you going to follow me all the way home?” Even with a limp, he strode at a fast clip.
She closed the distance to march abreast of him. “Yes.” Night and day, I’m your shadow.
“Some might call that stalking.”
“Others would call it guarding.”
He smirked. The too-familiar mocking grin, coming from him, stung. But she stiffened her spine and suppressed her self-doubt.
“Tell me about yourself,” he surprised her by saying.
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything you consider relevant, but don’t prattle. Give me a high-level overview. Bullet points only.”
“Elite Infantry Division of the Army. Proficiency in several martial arts. Security strategist. Bodyguard,” she said crisply.
She had ten years total in the Army, two in special forces.
As a civilian, she’d logged two years as a security strategist for a private agency before hooking up with GAL Friday as a bodyguard.
She hated that he had her doubting her qualifications now.
She’d served her country and accomplished a lot for someone thirty-two-years old.
“Why GAL Friday? The employment is temporary, right? Or is that the point? Do you find it hard to stick to anything?”
She refused to take the bait. “I wished to broaden my horizons.” I’m training on someone else’s dime before I start my own agency. “I wanted to boldly go where no woman has gone before.”
He didn’t crack a smile. Not even a sliver.
“I guess you’ve never seen old vids of Star Trek.”
“No, what is that?”
“It’s an old science fiction series. Emphasis on the fiction.” None of the old sci-fi vids captured the realities of life on other planets, what aliens were like, or traveling in space. But she loved the old vids.
“I’m too much of a realist to waste time with make-believe.”
“That’s the point. It’s an escape from reality.”
“Huh.” He seemed to be considering the concept.
“This is my building.” He stopped beside a tall, cylindrical glass edifice, its floors spiraling up ten levels to a peaked architectural “flame.” Rather than landing and parking on the roof, hovercars flew into a hoverport located between the eighth and ninth floors.
“Was this your regular home base, or did you rent it after your discharge?” she asked.
“After. My brother got the place for me.”
Well, that made sense. The architectural style didn’t strike her as the kind that would appeal to him, but it had the urbane and polished Korsan written all over it.
She wished she’d been able to advise him in the selection of a residence.
She couldn’t see in now, but what about at night?
How shatterproof was the glass? Were the windows coated with protective anti-laser film?
“I was never home long enough to need a home base,” he added. “I suppose I’ll see you in the office tomorrow?” He sounded resigned.
“You can count on it.”
He entered the lobby, and she followed him.
He halted. “No. You are not coming with me.”
“I live here, too.” She smiled sweetly. The lobby made a grand, artistic, museum-like impression with gleaming glass walls and dark marble floors, but it lacked residential appeal. It was beautiful, but in a cold, hands-off way, not in a homey, warm way.
“Of course you do.” He refused to even look at her as they boarded the booster and shot up to the eighth floor. He turned left. She did, too.
“Phuk me,” he muttered.
“Out of curiosity…do you speak that way around ladies all the time?” She wasn’t offended; she just wanted to yank his chain. Having been in the military and around men her whole life, she’d gotten accustomed to raw language and had said a few choice words herself a time or two or ten.
“You’re no lady—you’re my bodyguard.”
Touché.
He stopped outside his unit, palmed himself into the apartment, and slammed the door in her face.
She’d arrived on the planet two days before reporting to the office. While he was out, she’d swept his place for bugs, found none, and then planted her own so she could keep tabs on him.
The unit adjacent to his hadn’t been available at first. There’d been no vacancies on his floor. However, a generous financial inducement had convinced the gracious former tenant to vacate and sublet his unit to her.
She entered her unit and switched on the camera feed to verify no intruders had lain in wait for him.
Ruyn stalked into the kitchen where he poured himself a beverage—alcoholic, no doubt—and leaned against the eating counter while he drank it.
For the first time, she saw his expression unguarded. He looked disgusted.
Sorry, not sorry. I have to do my job.
Having confirmed his main living areas were safe and clear, she switched cameras to check out the bed and bath.
Both appeared undisturbed, so she turned off the surveillance equipment to avoid invading his privacy.
There was a fine line between guarding and spying.
His rigged door would warn her if he left the unit or someone entered, and that would have to suffice.
Gingerly, she settled onto the armless sofa, having learned a painful lesson when she’d flopped onto it, hit the rock-solid surface, and nearly broken her ass. The only thing harder than the sofa was the bed. She’d never imagined she’d miss her Army cot, but she did.
Artistic asceticism seemed to be the theme.
Nothing about the décor addressed comfort or function.
The stiff seating was unforgiving, and the odd-shaped tables had jutting, decorative legs that got in the way.
She might have blamed the questionable taste on the previous tenant, but he’d informed her the place had come furnished, and Ruyn’s unit had the same stuff.
In keeping with the ascetic minimalism, storage was negligible—not that she had much with her, just clothes, some family photos, weapons, which she mostly kept on her person, and surveillance equipment.
It had taken forever to locate the minuscule closet hidden behind a solid-appearing bedroom wall.
If there were other closets, she had yet to find them.
At least the unit had a decent-sized hologram-viewing platform. She connected her comm device to it and opened the holo-vid.
A piercing alarm stabbed her eardrums.
Quickly, she decreased the volume and surveyed the scene on the platform Oh, god. She covered her mouth with her hand.
The screeching wail came from the drone flying overhead. A masked man lay unmoving on the ground.
Three other hooded men converged on Ruyn, punching and kicking him. So much blood covered his slashed face, he was unrecognizable, but the injury didn’t deter him. He fought hard, getting in solid punches, but it was a losing battle.
His assailants reminded her of a pack of jackals working together to take down their prey. One of them produced a pipe and swung it at Ruyn’s head. As he jerked away to avoid the blow, another darted forward and stabbed him in the abdomen.
“Oh, god!”
He kept fighting, landing some bone-crunching blows.
Then an assailant knee-capped him, and he went down. He covered his head with his arms, and she had to force herself to watch as they kicked him, the one with the pipe striking him over and over.
The siren continued to wail as the drone circled, recording the attack from all angles.
Ruyn stopped moving. Michaela couldn’t breathe.
“Halt!” A half dozen armed police officers stormed into the alley.
One of the thugs lobbed an object. A percussive blast knocked the officers off their feet, and the men disappeared down the alley.
The drone continued to shriek until the policemen got to their feet and shut it off. A med team arrived and administered first aid and then transferred an unconscious, bleeding Ruyn onto a litter and took him away. Jesus fucking Christ. How did he survive?
She forced herself to pay attention to how they processed the crime scene, collecting blood samples and bits of debris. They recovered a casing from the percussion bomb, but the men had taken the pipe and knife with them.
The assailant’s body was removed. What happened to it, she wondered as they carted it away. Had a forensic autopsy been done? Had the body yielded any hints to his identity? She tapped a note into her comm device to find out.
Finally, the drone footage ended.
The beating sickened her, and she dreaded having to rewatch the vid, but she had to study it to glean some clues authorities might have missed.
But not tonight.
After watching the hologram, she’d concluded the attack was premeditated but was meant to appear opportunistic. A pipe might be found discarded in an alley. Street thugs might carry knives.
Nobody carried a percussion bomb. You couldn’t make them at home or easily get them.
No ordinary criminal would have one. And if they had access to that kind of a weapon, they could acquire laser rifles, so why bother with a pipe and a knife, which required getting close to the victim?
Why put themselves at risk? To wit, one of them had died.
Someone with connections wanted him dead and had tried to make it look like he’d been a victim of a random crime. This was a hit. Korsan was right. Ruyn needed protection.
She wished she could have seen what preceded the appearance of the drone. Had the men already been in the alley? Or had they followed him in?
She turned on the camera in his apartment. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He’d come so damn close to dying. It was pure happenstance he’d survived and recovered to the degree that he had. If the drone hadn’t appeared when it did…
I’m going to get those bastards, I promise you.
Disturbed, she turned off the viewer.