Chapter 3
Lacy
Even though I did this every day, my shoulder ached from the weight of my tool bag and my breathing was uneven by the time I reached the fourth floor.
My tiny one-bedroom apartment was smaller than the restaurant, but the price was right.
It was a short walk from the docks and reasonably safe.
The biggest complaint I had was the permanently broken elevator.
I swiped my key across the keypad and stepped inside as soon as the automated lights flickered on. Out of habit, I locked the door and set my tool bag on the card table in the small kitchen.
The delicious smells wafting from my bag only made my stomach grumble louder.
I was starving! Washing the grease and grime of the day off my hands, I grabbed a bottle of water from the small refrigeration unit.
I plopped into the lone chair at the table, datapad at my elbow.
A hot meal and an episode of my favorite show—maybe even two! —since I didn’t have to work tomorrow.
“God, I’m boring,” I muttered. I wasn’t living the adventurous life I’d imagined when I’d taken off on my own. I worked too much and had barely made acquaintances, much less friends here. Even my sister, who spent all her free time in dusty libraries and museums, had a more exciting life.
I could always go back.
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I snorted and shook my head. This may not be the perfect life, but neither was that.
“You got what you wanted, Lacy. You’re fixing ships, not stealing them.”
Hungry and a little homesick, I queued up the next episode of Galactic Queens and plucked chopsticks from the utensil caddy on the table. Noodles and reality TV made everything better.
The jazzy theme song underlaid the “previously on” segment. “Welcome to Galactic Queens. I’m your host, Avalon Westerly.” The glamorous redhead gestured broadly toward the palatial estate where the scheming queens were living this season.
Before I could pull the takeout from my bag, my doorbell buzzed, interrupting whatever Avalon was going to tell me about this episode.
Weird. No one ever buzzed this late except when I ordered takeout.
I paused the video and changed screens to answer the door. “Who is it?”
A gruff voice responded. “Bob, your neighbor. Delivery guy messed up and left something for you at my place.”
I frowned. Had I ordered anything lately? Pretty sure I hadn’t. Still, Bob was the definition of surly neighbor and didn’t interact with anyone in the building unless he had to, so he was probably telling the truth.
Cranky from hunger, I returned to the door and peered through the low-tech peephole.
Despite the distortion from the fisheye lens, I recognized my neighbor immediately by his close-cropped white hair and permanent scowl. Bob was a cantankerous bastard and I was pretty sure the grouchy ran all the way through.
Apology ready—it never hurt to be nice to the neighbors—I opened the door. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting anything.”
“Don’t care,” Bob said. “Some courier left this for you.” He held out his hand.
When I opened mine, he dropped a packet into my palm. My fingers had barely curled around it before he turned, disappeared into his apartment, and slammed his door.
“Thanks,” I mumbled to the empty hallway.
I slipped back into my apartment, studying the packet. Yep, that was my name and address on the front, along with the logo of a data transmission service in the upper right corner.
Hmmm.
“Who sent you?” I whispered. It felt like a data chip, but where did it come from?
Since there was no way I was putting a random data chip anywhere near my computer system without disinfecting it—twice!—I tucked the mystery package into my pocket. I’d deal with it after dinner.
The door buzzed again when I was halfway back to the table. A quick glance through the peephole revealed it was Bob again. “Another package?” I asked with a laugh as I opened the door.
He didn’t laugh. His face was pale, his expression tight with pain.
I barely registered the figures behind him before he was shoved in my direction.
I dodged, but the unexpectedness of the intrusion took me by surprise. My back slammed against the door and my breath caught as I tried to get out of the way.
Ignoring the pain radiating from my shoulder, I shuffled sideways and stumbled into the living room. A masked figure pushed Bob deeper into the room and slammed the door closed. Bob collapsed onto the floor with a whimper and then was silent.
Though I hated to get farther from the door, I moved back, keeping distance between the intruders and me.
“Where’s the map?” the larger of the two men demanded.
Both wore nondescript dark cargo pants and long-sleeve shirts. I didn’t see any identifying marks on their clothing.
That was all I had time to process. My brain whirled, trying to make sense of his question. “What map?”
I looked at Bob lying still on the carpet—was he dead?—and then at the two men behind him. Heart pounding, I struggled to understand the nightmare I’d suddenly found myself in. What the fuck was happening here?
Bob lay between me and my unwelcome visitors. All three of them blocked my access to the door.
Think, Lacy, think! Panic wouldn’t help right now, but knowing that didn’t stop my heart from racing. What would Dad do? He’d probably say something like if you can’t talk your way out of it run, and if you can’t run, fight.
Fear threatened to overwhelm my ability to reason, so I shoved it back as much as possible. I may not have my father’s charm, but maybe I could buy time to think.
“What map?” I repeated. Hands spread to indicate I wasn’t a threat, I backed farther into the kitchen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My gaze bounced around the room and between the two men as I sought a way out. They didn’t seem inclined to negotiate and I couldn’t take them in a fight.
Run it was.
Another couple steps put me even with the table which held my tool bag and the utensil cup.
My run options were limited. The only way to the door was past them. I might be able to dodge one, but both? I bit my lip. Not great odds. My stomach churned, more nauseated than hungry now.
The kitchen window behind me was the only other potential exit. Not ideal from the fourth floor, but it was the best of my bad options.
Another wave of nausea rolled over me.
“I don’t know anything about a map.” I had to keep them distracted while I cobbled together my plan. Chopsticks might not do any damage, but the few kitchen knives I owned were in the utensil cup too. “Maybe you’ve got the wrong address?”
I took a half step to my left. Then another when neither man noticed.
“We traced the data broker to this station. To you. Give us the map, bitch!”
Crap. They were angry instead of distracted. Inhaling deeply, I rolled onto the balls of my feet and forced my shoulders to relax. I’d only get one shot.
I visualized my movements. Then, with another deep breath, I lunged for the table.
My fingers curled around the tool bag’s strap before either of them could react. Muscle memory drew it over my head, while my other hand reached blindly for a knife. The utensils rattled, but I never took my gaze off the bad guys.
My fingers curled around a wooden handle just as the bad guys lunged.
Bob pushed to his knees with a groan and lurched into the path of the man on the right. He shoved Bob into a chair, which slammed into the table. Silverware clattered with the impact. Neighborliness demanded I check on him, but my instincts screamed to take advantage of his assistance.
Distracted by the sound, the man on the left looked away from me. Exploiting his moment of inattention, I threw the knife at him. It hit him in the shoulder with a squishy thud.
“Fuck!”
He staggered, then groaned as he pulled the knife out.
That bought me a couple more seconds. Would it be enough?
I darted to the table long enough to grab another knife, then backed toward the window. Brandishing the weapon in front of me, I stepped backward until I pressed up against the plasglass.
Both men advanced on me, a bit slower than before. Maybe it was because I’d fought back, maybe they thought I was trapped, since they remained between me and the door.
“You can’t get away,” the one on the right said. “Give us what we want and we’ll let you go.”
Liar!
Shoulder Guy glared at his partner. “Bullshit. She stabbed me. She pays.”
“I don’t think so.” In one move, I threw the knife at the uninjured guy’s stomach then pivoted toward the window. I wrapped my arms around my bag, tucked my shoulder, and launched my body at the plasglass window.
Shouts echoed behind me as the entire window broke free of the frame. “You bitch!”
I tucked my body into a ball as I launched through the window.
Fuck. This was going to hurt.