Sleeping With the Enemy (22 page)

    Calming herself down again with breathing exercises, she considered and discarded everything she owned and finally settled on the black dress again, trying to convince herself that it wasn’t as revealing as she’d thought. It was just nerves, just paranoia.

    She needed to wear it if there was any possibility that it might draw Anka to her, she realized with a sudden burst of enlightenment. Meacham would
know
if she didn’t at least make the effort. Resolve after so much uncertainty went a long way toward calming her and she finished dressing and left her quarters to gather with the others. Most of them were already in the lobby waiting. She folded her arms over her waist, hoping the purse she’d grabbed would help to conceal her condition as she’d thought it might.

    She didn’t attempt to join any of the conversations. She knew a few of them by sight since they’d been part of the treaty delegation, but she’d pretty kept to herself on the trip out. She didn’t know them any better now than she had before they’d left the moon.

    In any case, it hadn’t taken more than five minutes to realize that every one of them knew, or suspected, why she’d been included. They made that abundantly clear in the looks and whispers that followed her everywhere she went.

    Even if she hadn’t already been distraught about her situation and fearful of trusting anyone, that was enough to discourage her from attempting to find a friendly face among them, which was just as well. None of them went out their way to approach her and she thought they would have if they’d wanted to extend friendship or felt any empathy for her situation. It was the silent judgment, where no one actually knew anything for a fact, but had heard something, and then had decided they should be judge, jury, and executioner-because they disapproved of what they’d
heard
about you and accepted it as fact.

    That being the case, she was glad when the transport finally arrived to carry them to the building where the festival would be held, despite her anxieties. The relief, naturally, didn’t last until her arrival. She was as tight as tension wire by the time the transport docked and they began to disembark.

    They’d been told that conditions outside were safe enough to go out, but no one really wanted to test it-not on the word of the Sumpturians, certainly! Of course, even if they had been willing they wouldn’t have wanted to expose their finery to the elements.

    Ruefully, Sybil acknowledged that she was underdressed by their standards although she’d worried she would be overdressed for the occasion. Most of the Sumpturians had been in uniform the first time she’d attended one and it hadn’t appeared to be dress uniform at that. They seemed more inclined, particularly on this kind of occasion, to favor comfort over pomp.

    She saw she’d underestimated them as soon as she entered the ballroom. It was clear that they’d donned their best for the occasion. Her heart was beating about ninety miles an hour when she glanced around the room in search of the only person that mattered to her. When she spotted him it was like leaping from an airplane without a parachute. She sucked in a sharp breath instinctively, feeling as if her heart had stopped and the floor fallen out from under her.

    He was looking straight at her, but he had the advantage. Clearly, he’d spotted her first. His face was expressionless and she had no idea how he felt about her presence beyond the fact that, if he was glad to see her, he was hiding it excellently well.

    The urge to cry slammed into her like a stray bullet to the chest, the shock of the pain shattering her mind and knocking the breath from her before her mind could register that she’d been hit, leaving her confused. The instinct of the wounded animal to burrow into some small, tight space for protection followed upon the heels of the pain.

    It was fortunate that she was too frozen to move. She thought she would’ve turned and fled if not for that.

    One of the men, a member of her own party, took her limp arm and linked it with his. “I’ll escort you to a seat. They don’t seem to have put out place cards.”

    Sybil stared at the man blankly, trying to figure out who he was and why he’d suddenly begun to behave as if he knew her when she didn’t know him at all.

    He patted her arm. “Smile.”

    She struggled to curl her stiff lips into a smile obediently, still struggling with the bizarre sense that she was trapped in a nightmare. She didn’t know why he was behaving so familiarly but she was vastly relieved when he helped her to a seat and she could collapse. He took the seat next to her.

    “I’m Brant. We didn’t get the chance to meet on the voyage over.”

    Because he hadn’t made any attempt to talk to her? She was torn between the certainty that he must be one of Meachum’s watchdogs and a flicker of hope that he might actually have come to her rescue out of pure chivalry. “I’m sorry… Is that your first name or the last?”

    He grinned at her. “Sorry, force of habit. Lieutenant Cole Brant, USMC.”

    Sybil struggled to follow his lead. She had no idea whether he was friend or foe, but she was aware that her odd behavior must be noticeable and a sense of self-protection urged her to try to hide her vulnerability. She smiled back at him. “I’m First Lieutenant Sybil Hunter, Air Force.”

    “I know.”

    Her smile flat lined.

    “Uh oh. I guess I should’ve pretended I didn’t know, but I asked around…”

    He had the sort of ‘angelic’ pretty boy looks that usually hid the heart and soul of a devil and completely disarmed everyone around him. Sybil was hardly immune, but she
was
wary. She wasn’t certain she believed he’d ‘asked around’. “Why would you do that?”

    He looked genuinely surprised. He leaned closer. “Have you actually
looked
at the other women on the ship? Prune faced.”

    It was hardly a compliment and actually a little mean, but his outrageousness startled a chuckle out of her. She clamped a hand over her mouth. She encountered several disapproving looks when she flicked a glance around at the rest of their party. “That isn’t nice and it isn’t very flattering to me either.”

    Laughter danced in his eyes. “What? That I think you’re be-u-ti-ful… next to the competition?”

    She gave him a look. “Cocky aren’t you, pretty boy? You’re that certain there’s a competition?”

    “Why thank you, ma’am,” he drawled, although his face darkened slightly. “I’m glad you think I’m pretty.”

    Sybil shook her head at him, but she was actually grateful, whatever his motives, that he’d distracted her enough to allow her to regain her equilibrium. She was equally grateful to discover that the droids had begun to serve. Whatever he had in mind, she wasn’t buying.

    “Whoa! What are those things?”

    “Droids. Ank… I was told their scientists had developed them specifically for interacting with humans. They thought they wouldn’t seem threatening since they were small and humanoid in appearance.”

    “They’re creepy little bastards.”

    Sybil smiled with less effort that time. “My sentiments exactly.”

    “So… you met any of the aliens yet?” he asked conversationally once they’d been served.

    Sybil stiffened, flicking an assessing look at him. He either didn’t know her ‘history’ or he was damned good. “I was sent on the first mission to come here.”

    “Up close and personal, huh?”

    She felt her face heat. She still couldn’t decide whether he was just pretending he had no idea or if he really didn’t. The comment could have been innocent. She didn’t believe it, but then she’d ceased to really trust anybody. “You could say that.”

    “Where are you from… originally, I mean?”

    Strategic retreat? She responded a little absently, allowing him to lead her where he would while she divided her attention between her plate and surreptitious glances around the room until she finally located Anka once she had bolstered her nerves a little. Without surprise, she saw that the entire American group sat in a knot by themselves and ditto the Sumpturians. Without place cards, everyone had gravitated naturally toward their comfort zone, which meant their own kind.

    It was the shape of things to come, she feared, but she supposed the Sumpturians probably preferred it that way. They had no reason to like Earth people and every reason to dislike and distrust them. That might change-eventually-but it wasn’t likely to any time in the near future.

* * * *

    The turmoil did nothing to soothe the anger that had been slowly rising toward a boil from the moment the dark haired man had claimed Sybil and escorted her to a table. Despite his grim determination to ignore her presence, he hadn’t been able to resist searching for her among the Earth people. That had been his first mistake. He wasn’t prepared for the effect seeing her would have on him after so long. He’d thought that he was, but it had thrown him into complete disorder, instantly crumbling his resolve, demolishing the decision that he’d arrived at after a great deal of soul searching and consideration.

    He’d thought he’d succeeded in convincing himself that it was for the best for everyone concerned to leave well enough alone. It flickered through his mind the moment he spotted her, though, and felt the familiar yearning to be with her, that it wasn’t as if ignoring her would make the problem go away. He knew why she was here, what she’d been sent to do. He really had no choice but to pick up the game again.

    On some levels he was aware that his reasoning wasn’t nearly as sound as he would’ve liked to think. He’d considered the situation from the time he was informed that she was among the arrivals. He’d struggled with his feelings for her and realized the game had grown far too dangerous for him to play it any longer. He would make a mistake that he couldn’t afford, that none of them could afford.

    He didn’t think he’d made the decision not to approach her, however, so much as he’d been frozen in indecision, torn by equally opposing forces as to whether or not reason had anything to do with the urge to go to her. He hadn’t noticed the man until he’d slipped his arm through Sybil’s so familiarly and led her away.

    He supposed it was fortunate that shock had prevented him from doing anything unforgivably stupid at that moment. If he’d been able to follow the instant prompting of his instincts he was fairly certain he would’ve regretted it-not convinced on every level because it would have satisfied something dark and savage within him to have staked his prior claim with violence-but he was also sure the shockwaves from such an action would have brought about just the sort of thing he’d been working so hard to avoid.

    The shock that had held him while he watched the
man
walk away with what he’d come to think of as his had given him a few moments to consider, a window to remind himself that he couldn’t react on a purely personal level when so much was at stake. He’d hardly known what he was doing from that moment on, however. His mind had been so completely focused on what was going on between Sybil and the man that he’d had to rely entirely on force of habit and instincts to operate with anything approaching normalcy.

    He’d struggled to tear his mind from her and focus, but he couldn’t resist glancing toward them over and over and each time he did the anger churned a little hotter.

    “Sir?”

    Anka turned automatically toward the speaker and stared blindly at his adjutant, Minh, for several moments before he had any idea who’d spoken to him. A frown drew his brows down above the bridge of his nose as he struggled to figure out why his adjutant had addressed him at all. He could see from his expression that Minh was trying to prompt him about something he was supposed to do, but his search turned up nothing.

    “Will you announce the festival?”

    Anka’s mind leapt instantly to Sybil again. Despite that, the prompting pierced both his preoccupation and his rage, resurrecting some semblance of reason. He looked down at the table and realized he’d eaten without any memory of the process… and he couldn’t recall that he’d preceded the banquet with the welcome speech he’d so carefully prepared for their ‘guests’. “I haven’t done it already?” he asked blankly, feeling discomfort waft through him.

    “No, Sir,” Minh responded. “I thought you’d decided to wait until after everyone had eaten.”

    Anka blinked at him, feeling his face heat. “Yes. I didn’t see any point in holding everyone back with political posturing.”

    He surged to his feet abruptly. The moment he did, he caught the attention of everyone in the banquet hall and silence began to fall around him. For several unnerving moments as he stared out over the sea of faces, he searched his mind in vain for the speech he’d prepared and memorized. It refused to be jarred loose. Pasting a facsimile of a smile on his face, he discarded the effort. “My fellow Sumpturians-or perhaps I should say Venetians?-let us welcome our visitors and celebrate our new home with festival!”

    Everyone stared blankly at him for several moments after he sat back down. After exchanging puzzled looks, however, they began to evacuate their seats and to clear space in the center of the room for dancing.