25

The estate of Mordecai Ob was mostly dark, except for fairy lights that traced paths through the gardens.

Though his body wasn’t tired, Eduard went to bed early. He had to get up before dawn to start exercising for his boss. Some days, the Bureau Chief liked to go to the undersea headquarters at the fringe of morning; other times he preferred to remain at home in his study.

Eduard had to be prepared. It was his job.

But he lay awake, unable to sleep. Breezes whispered against the ornamental vines that clawed their way up the brick walls. Standing like guardians at the corners of the mansion, blue spruces made a gruffer, deeper sound in the wind.

Though Daragon had set him up with a wonderful job, Eduard rarely saw the young Inspector. He wanted to thank Daragon for saving him from the humiliating absurdities he had been willing to endure. Teresa rarely left the Sharetakers, and Garth had gone off to Hawaii.

Eduard missed his friends. He grew restless doing so little, all alone on the estate except for his rare and brief conversations with Tanu the gardener. Garth could have done the exercise duties for Ob, then spent the rest of the day painting. Eduard was surprised the Chief hadn’t suggested it, since he was paying Garth anyway. . . .

A sudden, startling signal jarred him out of his sleepless woolgathering. His COM terminal flashed, an incoming communication with high-priority overrides to cut through any other message traffic.

Eduard slid off his bed and activated the receive button before he had time to wonder about the source. It was a brief but desperate message calling for his help. Teresa needs you.

He didn’t pause to think, didn’t ask questions, just sprang into action—as he had done when the anti-COM fugitive had tried to take young Teresa hostage in the flower market. The reasons didn’t concern Eduard. Teresa needed him now—nothing else mattered.

Within minutes he was dressed and out the door. He wondered how long it would take him to pick the lock to Ob’s weapons cabinet and arm himself, but decided not to delay. He borrowed one of Ob’s vehicles from the carport, using the Bureau Chief’s general access code—no time to ask for permission. Sweating, he raced for the Sharetakers’ enclave.

This late in the evening, traffic was light, and COM control slotted Ob’s craft into a high-speed lane, cutting off other drivers, rushing him across the city. After docking at ground level outside the enclave building, he leaped from the vehicle and rushed to the entrance. He was ready to batter it down with his fists, if necessary.

Before he could reach the door, a waifish young woman stumbled through the access barrier. Bloodied, she staggered forward, barely able to keep her balance. She gasped with each step, trying to run, but physically unable to do so. One of her wrists hung at an odd angle, broken; raw abrasions marked her face, her eyes bruised and haunted.

Eduard hurried forward, not recognizing her in this body but instinctively suspecting who she was. “Teresa? Is that you?”

She flinched as if someone had hit her, then saw him. Her face blossomed into astonishment and relief. “Eduard!” She nearly collapsed, but he caught her in his arms. “Oh, how did you know to come here?”

“I got your message.”

She fell against him, her muscles and bones turning to water. As he held her, she winced with the pain of broken ribs. “Message? Eduard . . . I was trying to get to you. Just now.”

People moved in the entrance, shouting after Teresa like peasants bearing torches. Eduard glowered at the Sharetakers, his mind filled with questions, his throat clogged with outrage. “What have you done to her, you bastards?”

When they saw him guarding Teresa, they hesitated. Their expressions showed a collective, unfocused anger, as if most of them didn’t even know what had upset them.

A big redheaded man pushed to the front of the crowd, and Eduard recognized him as their leader. Rhys stopped, surprised to see him. “You’re Eduard Swan, right? If you’d come sooner, you could have prevented all this. It’s your fault.” His freckled face changed into a smug, supercilious mask. “Nobody wants you here now.”

“Teresa wants me here,” he said.

“We take care of our own,” Rhys answered.

“Yeah, right. I can see that.”

Teresa struggled to pull him toward the vehicle. “Eduard, please! We’ve got to go.” He realized how much this effort cost her. Tears and blood streaked her cheeks and chin, but she held the sobs inside. “Please take me away from these people.”

He looked at her huddled against him and cradled the back of her head. “No problem.” He tried to soothe her, then locked his gaze with Rhys’s. “Damn you—damn you all!”

Arrogant, Rhys gestured for the other Sharetakers to follow him back inside. If Eduard hadn’t been there to stop them, the mob would have pursued Teresa out into the streets and killed her.

Protectively, he half led, half carried her to the hovercar. He moved slowly, helping her to get inside. From the Sharetakers’ building, Rhys didn’t even bother to watch Teresa leave. To him, she was beneath contempt.

 

By the time Eduard got her to an emergency medical center, Daragon was already there, intimidating the admittance clerk. “Check your records again, please. She would have been admitted in the last hour.”

Even groaning in her pain, Teresa recognized his voice. Eduard called out as he eased her into a chair. “Daragon! We’re here.”

Looking powerful and confident, Daragon rushed down the hall. His dark hair was mussed, and his Beetle uniform looked as if he had pulled it on quickly. “Is she all right?”

“She will be, now that I’ve gotten her away from those bastards.”

Pulling all the strings of his authority, Daragon bellowed for a doctor. Much faster than Teresa would otherwise have been treated, a medical technician cleaned the worst cuts and contusions, started an IV, splinted her arm, and finally administered heavy analgesics. Both Daragon and Eduard hovered beside her, very concerned.

Even as the painkillers bit through the aches, Teresa lifted her bruised eyes to Daragon. “How . . . how did you know?”

Eduard leaned closer to Teresa. “He spies on us.”

He flushed. “I watch out for you, though without COM terminals the Sharetakers make it very difficult.”

The medical technician hummed to herself as she applied bandages and injected her patient with bone-knitting steroids and cell-division enhancers, then applied polymer struts to hold the broken wrist and collarbone in place. She paid little attention to the conversation. In other circumstances, a doctor might hopscotch with a patient to better assess symptoms and hidden damage, but this one treated only the obvious injuries. And there were plenty of those.

Daragon’s voice was grim. “The person who did this to Teresa was Robertha Chambers, a wanted anti-COM terrorist.”

“The one from the explosion in the flower market? The fugitives that tried to take Teresa hostage during the shootout?” Eduard still had so much anger inside him he didn’t know how to focus it. “Are you saying Rhys is Robertha Chambers?”

Daragon nodded. “She went into hiding, traded bodies with a man, took over the leadership of a local Sharetaker enclave. I found her because I was watching out for Teresa, looking into the religious group . . . but Chief Ob told me there were other priorities.”

Eduard looked down at Teresa’s battered, beautiful face. “Other priorities? Come on, Daragon—look what they did to her!”

Daragon felt helpless, but he maintained his stern expression. “Robertha had made no illegal move in years, and I could not get permission to act. I didn’t think Teresa would be in danger.”

“Maybe I’ll have a few words with Chief Ob myself—”

Daragon held up a hand. “Rest assured, Eduard. Teresa will be protected now. And the matter has my full attention, regardless of what the Chief says. I have justification now.”

But Eduard knew the BTL was hamstrung by the niceties of law and bureaucracy. “Just don’t take too long, or that bastard’ll hurt someone else.”

The medical technician searched her tray, as if wondering whether to use more drugs or bandages. “There, that’s all we can do. Nothing serious, no need for her to stay here. Your body will take care of what’s left. You need rest, and time.” She looked disapprovingly at the two men, but spoke to Teresa. “Do you have a place to go?”

Eduard spoke quickly. “Yes, she does. She’ll be coming home with me, so I can watch over her.”

Daragon agreed. If any problems arose, he could smooth them over with Mordecai Ob. “I’ll give you an escort.”

Already fading from the intense mixture of analgesics and narcotics, Teresa could barely summon the strength to mumble, “Thank you. Both of you.”