Runner: The Fringe, Book 3 (7 page)

“And now they are all dead too.” A freak accident with the heating system wiped out everyone in the hospital. But the more she thought about the timing of that accident—two weeks after the lab explosions—she doubted it was any kind of accident at all.

She didn’t want to think about the past anymore, because she couldn’t do anything to change what had happened. Her total lack of control over everything in the future also frustrated her. At the moment, she didn’t even control her own air. Foster could shut it off, and she’d be dead in an hour or so. Roberts wouldn’t like that, but at least Roberts would still have a corpse to show off. Technical digital trickery could bring her corpse back to life so Roberts could shoot her down. All of it well documented for the media.

“I don’t want to think of this anymore.”

Casting her mind back to when she was a child, she looked at the contents of her cell with a different eye. Picturing herself as an eight-year-old, she decided to make a fort.

Pulling the mattress off the bunk, she used the bendy foam to fashion a wall between the bed frame and the table, then covered the whole thing with the blanket. Twirling her flannel robe around her shoulders like a cape, she crawled into her fort.

Foster recoiled from the image on the holoplas. He hadn’t believed Duster. After tapping up every media channel it didn’t take long for the truth to sink in.

“You’re sure it’s—”

“It’s Jynx Brennan. If you have her, you’re a target for every bounty hunter out there.” Duster popped a crackleseed between his teeth.

Foster fought down his shock. Bouncing his gaze from the live audvid with Duster to the news channels, he swallowed hard. “Not just IWOG but—”

“Every media channel on the Tasher.” Duster popped another seed. “Jynx Brennan is, at the moment, the most despised human being in the universe.” Duster shot him that narrow-eyed wink. “What are you going to do with her?”

Composing himself, Foster shrugged. “What can I do?”

“You’re going to deliver her when I’ve told you what Roberts is saying is total crap?” There were touches of shock and disgust around Duster’s grim-set mouth.

“Truth isn’t the issue,” Foster defended.

“Reputation.”

Foster nodded and barely refrained from wincing.

“You’re a better man than I.”

“What would you do?”

“Dunno. If it were my rep on the line…I still don’t know.” Duster sat back with a sigh. “All I know for a fact is that I’m real glad I’m not you. How the hell did Roberts ever con you into this?”

“You know me. I don’t pay much attention to the media. I had no idea Roberts had done this to Jynx—me.” Thankfully Duster didn’t notice his very telling slip.

“I’ll bet Roberts offered a pretty sweet contract.”

“All told about 10Mil.”

Duster whistled. “That’s half what they want for Michael’s head. That should have tipped you off right there.”

“Dur-hey. But I didn’t think about it long term. I thought of that quick Mil in ten days.” He’d been suckered in by the flash of swift and easy credits.

“What’s she really like?” Duster leaned closer. “I mean, besides the obvious that she’s a looker and a half.”

“She’s…nice. Says please and thank you and you’re welcome.” Foster continued to tap up data as he popped his bubblegum.

“Why do you sound so pissed off about it?” Duster asked with a surprised chuckle.

“Because it’s driving me insane. Sounds contradictory, but I wish she was a loudmouth psycho. It’d make my job a lot easier.” He couldn’t help but remember Jynx pointing that out to him.

Duster laughed. “You want her to act like Mary? Kneeing you in the nuts and biting your finger?”

“Maybe not that bad, but it would certainly make me feel a hell of a lot better.” Foster whisked his hair out of his eyes.

“You know, you could always back out.”

Foster shook his head, dumping his bangs right back into his field of vision. “Not unless I’m dead. My whole reputation is hanging on this woman. If I back out, I’m dead in the Void. Who the hell would hire me? Even you would think twice about trusting me again. I’d go from being a triple-platinum Runner to—”

“A nobody,” Duster finished.

“Right. Twenty years of building my rep over in one fell swoop.” Foster didn’t mention his precarious financial situation. “I’ve got no choice.”

“What if Roberts died somehow?” Duster offered it knowing that his boss could probably make it happen.

“Nope.” Foster had actually considered that angle. “There’s a contingency in the contract.” He fought the urge to slap himself. “Like usual, I locked everything down.”

“Just as Roberts knew you would.” Duster popped another seed.

“Reputation is a double-edged blade.”

“And it seems to be stuck firmly in your back by your own hand. What is that ancient saying? Hoist by your own petard?”

“You know, Duster, you’re not helping.”

“If you find a way I can, let me know.”

Foster signed off and turned his attention back to the media channels. Everywhere he looked, he found Jynx Brennan. Roberts branded her solely responsible for the creation of the Tyaa plague and the destruction of the lab on Banna. If anyone gave half a second of thought to the matter, they would realize that one woman simply could not be responsible for something so vast. But the hysterical reports were geared to swing people emotionally, not engage their critical mind. Foster doubted anyone gave the matter much thought except to despise Jynx.

Hell, when Roberts told Foster she was wanted for just having had a
hand
in creating the Tyaa plague, Foster believed the accusation and instantly hated her. It didn’t surprise him at all that the Void at large loathed her for what Roberts now claimed she’d done.

One thing he found curious—Roberts had not let it be known that Jynx was in custody. As far as the media was concerned, she was still at large with a paltry half a Mil bounty on her head.

Did Roberts fear that he might back out?

Puzzling it over, he activated the audvid to the cells to check on a woman worth more than he’d ever made on one contract. She was a package who could put him back on top of his game or drag him into the gutter.

“What the—” He shot to his feet, spitting out his gum.

Jynx heard the cell room door open, but before she could peek out of her fort, Foster entered her cell, yanked the roof off, hauled her to her feet by gripping her shoulders and then pinned her to her cell bars.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

It all happened so fast, shock rendered her speechless. She simply froze and gaped at him.

“I asked you a question!”

“Noth—nothing.”

Foster shoved her against the bars and cuffed her hands to them. Pulling back, he made a quick circuit of her entire body, probing lightly, professionally.

Furious and clearly confused, he demanded, “Why were you hiding?”

“I wasn’t hiding.” She didn’t struggle. She had no idea why he was so angry.

“Then what the hell were you doing?” He clenched his hands to fists and practically spat the words at her.

“Playing,” she said softly.

“Playing?” His eyebrows rose.

“Fort. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

Looking at the crumbled remains, he shook his head and bellowed, “You are in mortal danger, and you decide to act like a child and play fort?” He literally hissed at her through clenched teeth. His face twisted into an ugly mask.

“What would
you
have done?” She tried to get her pounding heart to slow. “Honestly, Mr. Nash, I’m bored out of my mind.” Despite her fear at his over-the-top anger, she felt her grip on reality must be slipping, because she smelled bubblegum on him. Just as she had in that ratty motel room. Why would a man his age chew bubblegum?

Sweeping her with a probing gaze, he settled on the robe knotted about her neck. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“My cape.” Her whole body trembled with a curious mixture of fear and anticipation.

“Pardon me?” He mocked her with that cultured IWOG consumer voice. Most definitely, he’d been chewing bubblegum.

“A superhero has to have a cape.”

He untied the sleeves from around her neck. The soft flannel slid down her back and tangled up against her arms, the cuffs, and the cell bars. His hand lingered at the base of her throat. His gaze dipped to his hand.

“You have the softest skin.” He sounded surprised and pleased by his discovery.

“Thank you.” Hopefully her bra hid the straining thrust of her breasts. “You have a gentle touch.”

“You don’t mind?” His gaze still fastened on his hand at her neck, almost as if he didn’t keep his gaze on his hand, it might wander off of its own accord.

“No.” She swallowed. She didn’t mind his touching her at all. His massive calloused hand was surprisingly gentle.

“Don’t you find it even a little demeaning?” His gaze now focused on hers.

“Demeaning?” Her heart pounded with a new intensity. As soon as he looked away from his hand, his fingers began to trace lightly along her neck. Probing and curious and insistent, his touch was the most erotic she’d ever known.

“To be chained while I take advantage of you.” The soft tone of his voice contrasted with the raw intensity of his gaze.

“Is that what you’re doing?” Her voice warbled as her legs trembled. She gripped the bars behind her for support, but she felt no fear now, only a burning desire.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” He lowered his head to rub his cheek against hers.

Sharp stubble rasped against her neck, and she caught a faint whiff of aftershave. Spicy and male. Below that, she found the scent of his body, the way it resonated long after his morning shower.

All of her lovers had been tightly shaved, sparkling clean, slathered in a plethora of products that rendered them utterly devoid of any human scent. Not Foster Nash. He not only looked like a man and felt like a man, but he smelled like a man.

With her morning shower long past, her body not slathered in scent, he would discover that same human tang teasing his nose and mouth. Did he find her scent as pleasing as she found his?

“Whatever you’re doing, I find it intensely erotic. I’d like it very much if you kissed me.” She didn’t even recognize the husky voice as her own, and she had no idea where the plaintive plea had come from.

He drew back, lowered his brows and glared at her for a long time as he kept his hand still against her neck. He had to feel the pounding of her pulse just as she could feel the strained tempo of his breathing. Tight, fast, shaky pants that matched hers, except his smelled of bubblegum.

“You
want
me to kiss you?” Somehow, the very idea upset him, and his eyes narrowed.

“Yes.” Why would the thought of kissing her repulse him? Did she smell or look
that
bad?

“Why do you want me to kiss you?” He studied her with a curious concentration, like a scientist debating whether or not to continue with his experiment.

“Because I would like to taste the bubblegum I can smell on your breath.”

A low groan rumbled up from deep in his chest as he lowered his mouth to her neck. “This isn’t going to work.” Rubbing his chin against her flesh, teasing her with the stubble of his beard, he pressed his hands to her shoulders, more to steady himself than to hold her still.

“You don’t know how to kiss?”

Pulling back, he rubbed her bottom lip with his thumb. He stroked her mouth like he wanted to drop his hand and make the same friction between her thighs.

“How many men have kissed you?”

It didn’t take her long to find the answer. “Four.”

“Four? In your whole life?” Lifted brows conveyed his disbelief.

“Yes. How many have kissed you?”

“Men?” He chuckled. “None. Women? A hell of a lot more than four.”

“Then you are probably more skilled at kissing than I am.”

Lowering his head, he almost pressed his lips to hers, but he pulled back at the last moment, wincing as if she’d burned him. “You are very clever.” Shaking his head as if to rid himself of desire, he picked up the mattress and flung it to the bed frame. “It stays there. Don’t take it off again, or I’ll take it away.” He threw the pillow and blanket on top of her bed, then exited the cell.

Grabbing her hands from behind, he uncuffed her and said, “No more playing fort. Just sit there.”

Crossing her arms over her pounding heart and swelling breasts, she rubbed her shoulders, hugging herself. He changed moods so fast, she felt dizzy trying to keep up.

“Why are you upset with me now, Mr. Nash?”

“That’s another thing”—he whirled around to face her—“stop calling me that.”

She’d been trying to be respectful. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Don’t call me anything. Don’t talk to me. Stop trying to seduce me, or compel me, or whatever game it is you think you’re running. Just knock it off!”

One look into his eyes told her all she needed to know about his rapidly changing moods.

“It’s becoming more difficult, isn’t it?” She smoothed her dress back into place. “Even more so now that you know the truth.”

“What truth?” he asked, then quickly looked away.

“That Roberts lied about me.”

Foster strode up to the cage, and she fought down her instinct to back away. Standing her ground for everything she was worth, she lifted her chin and thanked God there were thick bars between them.

His eyes blazed laser blue bright. “How the hell do you know that I found out—damn it!” He whirled away. “Doesn’t matter if you knew it or not, I just confirmed it for you!”

“I knew by looking into your eyes.”

“Are you—” He faced her and shook his head. “You’re a reader, aren’t you? That’s why you’re so good at jerking me around.”

“I’m not the one who has been jerking you around. Roberts has been doing that, not me, so stop yelling at me for what another person is doing to you.”

“I’m not—damn it!” Foster jerked back. “Yes, I am! I’m yelling at you again!” Gripping his face in both hands, he shook his head, and then abruptly ceased. He dropped his hands to his sides and peered at her with that strange, oddly detached gaze. “Does Roberts know?”