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  She shot him a look she normally reserved for men like her brother.

  Banks wasn’t an idiot, though he could wear that mantle when it suited him. He wasn’t the sort to jump at shadows, or draw his gun when a blade would do just as well.

  And he wasn’t someone who underestimated her.

  She knew how to take care of herself, and he knew arguing with her was a waste of his time. But it entertained him, and usually amused her, so she didn’t bother to send him packing.

  Instead, she reminded him of one very pertinent fact.

  “All my competitors know what happens if I die. And it doesn’t benefit them in the least. I imagine I had more protection there than I might have had if I’d stayed here.”

  A strange commotion echoed in the hall beyond her office. The sort where soft voices were more jarring than shouts. A familiar voice of incorrectly assumed authority sounded like a cold knife, serrated and sharp.

  Banks grimaced, and Sophia pretended she hadn’t noticed as the man who was her legal heir appeared in the still-open door, cutting off her guard’s examination of why her competitor wanted nothing to do with her death.

  The reason had, after all, just walked through the door.

  A silence descended on them and her little brother looked between them, eyes darting as though following a pingball.

  He’d had his irises tattooed six months earlier, and the swirling patterns reminded her of infectious worms.

  Geo had been born—unfortunately—a near carbon copy of their father. A tragedy that inspired alterations like those he looked at her with now, and she’d indulged, despite the unsettling consequences.

  Banks turned his back on Geo and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He’d labeled her brother a “Fashion fuck”—though he’d never used the term in her hearing—and Geo’s suit certainly confirmed the insult. It was so tightly cut, she wasn’t certain he’d be able to sit down.

  The silence stretched too long and her time was finite. “Good morning.”

  “Sophie.” He scowled at the back of Banks’ head. “Can we talk privately?”

  Where others might have scurried away, Banks waited for her dismissal, which she gave with a nod. She knew he’d be outside the door waiting.

  “I don’t like him,” Geo sneered at the closing door—no doubt hoping Banks heard him.

  She didn’t bother to tell him the feeling was mutual.

  She’d never been a fan of stating the obvious. “Is there anyone you do like on my security team?”

  “That one’s too familiar.” Grumbled words followed that statement, but she didn’t bother to try to understand them.

  They’d had the argument too many times for it to warrant a response.

  Sophia glanced down at the report she was almost finished with, and Geo moved to the window, scowling out at the darkly glittering city as though it was crawling with filth and mildew.

  It took a scant thirty seconds to complete her work and send it on.

  “What brings you all the way up here?” She knew it wasn’t her view.

  “You don’t usually venture up this high.” Geo tossed the information tab across the room and onto her desk.

  The surface screen lit up as soon as it slid to a halt.

  A standard bounty notice flickered, information scrawling a touch faster than a normal person--someone who hadn’t read a thousand of them before--might be able to read in one go.

  “Send it off to the collections department. The chair head will decide if it’s worth it.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why—” Except the look on his face made her stop.

  She rescanned the information, paying attention to what wasn’t there. “No.”

  “It’s free money, Sophie.”

  “That,” she pointed to the notice that was anything but standard, “is a setup for a treason conviction.”

  The notice hadn’t come through the official channels—which was why he was bringing it to her instead of the head of collections. It had no ident photo, no name. Just a description and a bogus list of charges.

  At least, she hoped they were bogus. She shivered to think.

  But beyond the fact it had no information to be sure of who, or what they’d be bringing on—one of her hunters could kill a civilian without a tag, and then they’d be in deep shit—the real problem was in the issuer.

  And the faked identity block didn’t fool her for a moment.

  “The Lazarai could have set the bounty for a political assassination.” She shook her head, a little too vigorously. “We don’t hire murderers.”

  His pout was too familiar. “Come on, Sophie. How is anyone going to get that guy mixed up with anyone else?”

  She didn’t need to reread the description to know what he meant. It contained some generic points relating to his build, eye and hair color. The nameless man had a skill set too many could claim now that the Colarium had declared the Reject Wars over and hundreds of thousands of soldiers were left unemployed. But she doubted she’d find two men who fit the description and wore a laser-noose scar.

  Even then….

  “The answer is no.”

  Geo’s pout disappeared as though he hadn’t expected her to take the offer anyway, and he flicked his hand back and forth. “Yes, of course, you’re right. You can’t compromise the company’s reputation.”

  She pulled the tab from the screen and set it on the dead edge of her desk where it wouldn’t interact with the processors, but she didn’t throw it away.

  Not yet.

  Not until she had someone look into who this nameless man actually was. More importantly, not until she’d figured out who’d given the information to her brother, and why.

  Making notes on who she’d need to contact, she didn’t notice her brother had moved until he was leaning on her desk, the pressure of his hands distorting her data.

  “I didn’t forget your birthday.” He smiled so brightly, she couldn’t help but return it. That didn’t stop her from grimacing. “But my surprise is taking a little longer to put together than I thought.”

  The year before he’d brought her a chocolate display the size of a ground car.

  Before that, he’d cut a hundred positions from her admin department. The decision never made it past the initial request write up, so none of her employees knew he’d attempted to save her money in the least helpful way imaginable.

  She knew he wasn’t foolish enough to try something like that again, not after she railed at him. But she hoped whatever he had planned for this year would at least fit in a freight elevator.

  A tone in his hand chimed and he drew his wrist up. Lights danced across his eyes as he viewed the holo-projection. His smile spread wider still as he ended the comm without a word.

  “I’ve got to go. But we’ll talk at dinner?”

  He left before she could agree, or say goodbye and she sent a note to her assistant to forward her schedule to Geo so he wouldn’t forget she’d be leaving the planet again within a week.

  Banks came back in the moment after her brother left. “What scheme is he cooking now?”

  “He brought me a bounty.” She threw him the chip and waited while he pulled it up on his datapad. “What do you make of it?”

  Banks didn’t answer at first. Scowling at the pad as though he couldn’t see the screen, when he finally looked up, his jaw was a hard line. “You're right to have turned him down. I don’t think it’s political, not against the Colarium at any rate. The price attached… it’s too high. This is a personal vendetta. And if you can pay that much, you’ll know how to get a pagoan assassin.”

  She’d known he’d confirm her suspicions, but it was always nice to have another sound mind backing her where Geo was concerned.

  “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow for our weekly report.”

  “Oh, I’m not going anywhere.” He settled into the chair across from her. “I’ve rearranged things, so you’re my problem now.”

>   “Problem?” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

  “Kent about had a heart attack when he had to confess he’d lost you. You can’t slip away from me as easily as you have from others.”

  “Are you sure you’re not hoping for a repeat of Caireaux?”

  Mention of the planet and their chosen pastime brought a faint blush to the man’s cheeks and she looked away to keep from laughing. Teasing him wasn’t going to end well for either of them.

  And she was going to be late if she lingered much longer.

  Standing, she glanced at the still dark sky. It wasn’t long to dawn.

  “Where are we going?” Banks hadn’t stood, but she’d only need to take two steps toward the door before he would.

  She looked at the antique clock set into the far wall and raised a brow at him. It had been a long time since he’d worked her detail, but some things didn’t change. “Where do you think?”

  Snatching up her coat, she slipped the thin fabric over her arms and listened for an objection as he rose and followed her to the elevator and when they reached the bottom, led the way to her ground car.

  He seethed in silence as she watched the sun rising over the unending skyline. Capo was beautiful in the way an ugly baby was beautiful. You loved it because it was yours, not because it fit any aesthetic ideals. The central planet was more city than nature, and more refuse than city when you left the gilded towers.

  Even in the manicured areas you could smell the rot if you inhaled deeply enough.

  But there was one bright mark in every city she visited or temporarily called home.

  Even here in the heart of the Colarium, Serbal’s reach seeped into society and the temple’s marble pillars swept upward toward the slowly brightening sky.

  Banks slowed as they entered and jerked his head toward the wall carving of the devout sacrifice. “I’ll wait here.”

  The temples made his skin crawl, and he’d never bothered to hide it.

  Disapproval written on his face, he leaned a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed, a scowl cutting lines across his pretty jaw. The stance disguised the gun inside his coat, but his searching glare hinted he was more than a casual observer. She didn’t need his particular expertise.

  She was safe here.

  The safest she could ever be on Capo.

  Despite the planet’s grandeur, the temple was small.

  White stones painted with depictions of the holy trinity—Great Mother, Daughter, and Sister—lined the aisle and its pews. The five disciplines, each represented by sigils in the color chosen to make a sister readily identifiable to anyone in need of aid were represented with beautiful wall hangings that softened the hard architecture.

  She paused, staring at the red flower as though it would give her some wisdom. She’d never met a sister of that discipline. She wasn’t even certain what it was called.

  Rumors floated through the Colarium of monstrous women with scythes who could draw the truth from a man as easily as they drew blood. They were slandered as executioners and witches.

  Religion always sparked superstitions from those who didn’t understand it.

  As she passed the bulk of the temple’s seating, she joined the circle for the pre-devout—those who had done everything short of traveling to Ludo to take the rites.

  Forty-odd women sat on the pillow strewn floor, some chatted quietly, others swayed in silent meditation, fingers toying with the beads of their rosaries.

  Sophia joined those in the latter group, sitting cross-legged on a round pouf and pulling the necklace from its customary place beneath her shirt. The beads were warm, the madris claw as well. Two groupings of three white beads on either side of the main chain and a single grouping of three purple on the small chain that dangled from it and held the claw pendant.

  She’d always been drawn to the amethyst beads, to the meditations for leadership and guidance of self as well as others.

  The woman beside her wore two—one green, one yellow. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in followers, but the disciplines weren’t crossed by the truly devout. If she eventually chose to take the robes, the Great Mother would choose her path for her.

  Swishing skirts pulled her from her thoughts and she followed the green that clawed its way up from the sister’s hem, as she sank to her knees in front of them. “Blessings of the Mother.”

  “Blessings of the sister and the daughter.” Sophia repeated the words with the women around her and then closed her eyes to hear the teachings of the Great Mother and seek guidance.

  Three - Flynn

  The mining town spanned sixty miles from end to end, but everything seemed to happen on that one street.

  Three dozen oblivious civilians walked the streets around him.

  But when he turned the next corner, he almost ran into the one woman in town who knew enough of his history she should have thrown his ass off her planet as soon as she’d heard the words “special security consultant.”

  She’d chosen to wait and watch.

  “Henri, how strange to see you here.”

  She wore a wide brim hat that cast shadows over her face and half of her torso, but when she looked up at him—and with a foot difference in their height she had to—there was no disguising the bright pink on her cheeks.

  She swallowed, straightening her shoulders. “I didn’t realize you were in charge of my schedule, Monroe.”

  Henrietta Flack was the elected ruler of the Redlands, though, if you called her a queen, she’d drop you on your back faster than half the men he knew. He’d learned as much to his cost.

  Governor was her official title.

  It didn’t quite fit.

  And Flynn wouldn’t have accepted her job for any amount of money.

  Dealing with the shit brought to bear by the mines, the terrafarmers, the school’s delinquents, and he didn’t want to know what else. The stress simply couldn’t be worth it.

  “My brother steered his temper toward your office. I’d suggest you run the other way, unless you’d feel bad about leaving your assistant to deal with him.”

  Henri didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then, “You know,” she watched him closely. “Chadrick told me the two of you were alike. But I don’t see it. Aside from the physical similarities, of course.”

  “The only one I’m really like is my sister.” He smiled and looked toward his warped reflection in the window beside them. “Twins. Putty had a hell of a time growing up with the two of us ganging up on him.”

  “I weep for your mother.”

  “I’m sure she’d appreciate that.”

  “So why isn’t your sister here? I thought you were moving the whole clan to our beautiful paradise.”

  “Kathrynn has other commitments.” He watched suspicion dawn in Henri’s too sharp eyes. “But if the Great Mother needs her here, here she’ll be.”

  “Hopefully, it doesn’t come to that. I don’t think we can handle many more Monroes.”

  She nodded a curt goodbye and swept past him, her full skirt billowing behind her.

  Henri still owned and worked the only textile fabrication shop in town.

  They called her a tailor and she dressed the part.

  Despite her objections, she’d have made a good fucking queen. That level of imperiousness could easily be employed toward personal gain.

  He brushed the dust out of his hair and slapped it from his pants and shirt as he walked the short distance to the hard flaps that served as Susan’s doors.

  A screen in one corner of the bar was full of bright uniforms and three different pingball games in progress, but as a heavy gust rolled through town, the building shook and the games cut out. Patrons steadied their glasses on autopilot and ignored the interruption.

  The screen turned to black and rebooted, briefly displaying the date and time in glowing numerals.

  1337 PD.

  Post Destruction.

  Flynn hated that they called it that. Bad enough he ha
d to live in a galaxy mourning a single planet’s passing, they threw it at him with every date marker and communique.

  He couldn’t name anyone who even remembered what Earth looked like, and artistic renderings only agreed that the planet had water.

  Pathetic.

  The bar bustled with familiar faces. The one he needed to see--and wanted to see the least under the circumstances--was seated at a table, playing poker for peanuts with a kid in a red cowboy hat and a black and white flannel that would never have been seen in Putty’s closet.

  The kid’s dog sat beside them, eyes on those peanuts, speckled tongue lolling.

  “Doc,” Flynn sat in the chair perpendicular to Chad. “Seamus.”

  The kid nodded, earrings catching the light.

  “And Missy.” He reached down and scratched both sides of the dog’s face. Her name was Mischief and she’d earned it.

  “How’s the—”

  “Don’t,” Seamus held up a hand. “You’ll break my concentration. I’m going to win this time.”

  “You won’t.” Flynn bit back a smile as the kid’s foot stopped swinging, leg tangling in their skirt.

  The kid glared at him.

  “It’s not a measure of your skills kid, it’s of his.” Flynn jerked his head toward Chad and immediately regretted it.

  One searing bout of agony, a long, slow breath, and he wasn’t seeing black spots anymore.

  The only reason Seamus Saguas was allowed in the bar—the only reason Flynn even knew who they were—was because their mom was the Captain in charge of one of the three largest shaft mines. And the kings of those kingdoms were the second tier of government in this town.

  Flynn took a moment to scan the patrons. “Your mom’s looking for you.”

  “Nuh-uh.” The kid didn’t look certain.

  Seamus laid down their hand and lost, again.

  Flynn looked up at the games in progress on the screen and forced a--gentle--one shouldered shrug. “I could be lying, but what if I’m not?”

  Eyes narrowed, Seamus packed up their things, scooped their remaining peanuts into their hat, and took off out the door. Mischief followed after, tail wagging.

  “Is she really?” Chad shuffled the cards and put the deck back in the center of the table.