Page 29 of Stalker

My jaw clenches. "How long have you been following me?"

"Long enough to know your information broker overcharged. Zex only charges eight hundred credits for his services."

The detective's scales shimmer as she turns to leave. She pauses at the warehouse entrance, her smile sharp enough to cut.

"Yes, Bruticus, I DO know everything about you...including who you're sleeping with. Go do what you do best."

She vanishes into the shadows, leaving me alone with the stench of rust and synthehol. And the unsettling knowledge that she knows about Maryse.

The Rusty Bolt reeks of spilled vomit and unwashed bodies. I scan the dim interior, letting my eyes adjust to the haze of smoke. A Kiphian hunches over the bar, multiple arms wrapped around a bottle of something viscous and green.

"Zex-Ra?"

His head swivels toward me. "Depends who's asking."

"Someone with credits and an interesting challenge."

His lips stretch into a smile of amusement. "IHC security systems? Haven't cracked one of those in ages."

"Tomorrow night. Need all the security protocols disabled."

"Finally." He straightens, four of his arms gesturing excitedly. "Been bored slicing civilian systems. Military grade encryption? Now that's entertainment."

"Meet me here at 2100 hours. Bring your best tools."

"Wouldn't dream of anything less." He raises his bottle in a mock toast. "To interesting times."

I check my chronometer as I exit the bar. 1700 hours - Maryse's quantum mechanics class ended ten minutes ago. My steps quicken automatically at the thought of her smile, the way her eyes light up when she sees me.

The mission can wait until tomorrow. Right now, all I want is to hold her in my arms and forget about revenge, about Daniels, about everything except the taste of her lips and the sound of her laugh.

I must get back to her. Now.

CHAPTER 12

MARYSE

The compad's screen glows in my trembling hands. My father's name jumps out from the official report - Captain Marcus Daniels, Homespace Security Division. The words blur together as I read about hostages, pirates, and a "necessary tactical response."

"Miss, you can't loiter here." A security guard taps his baton against the bench.

"I'm Commander Daniels's daughter."

"Oh. My apologies, Miss Daniels."

The guard moves along, leaving me alone with the sterile government prose that doesn't match that old woman's raw pain. Twenty-three civilian casualties. Clinical. Clean. Like it never happened.

My compad chimes with a message from Bruticus. I ignore it, scrolling through more articles. The same sanitized story repeats across different news sources. Pirates took hostages. Security forces responded. Tragedy ensued.

The admin building's glass doors reflect my pale face. Dad's office waits fifteen floors up. The same office he worked from when he gave the order at Rakura IV.

"You're a murderer!" The old woman's words echo in my head. Her scarred face haunts me.

My legs shake as I stand. The truth waits up there, behind those doors. The real story, not this sterilized version that reads like a grocery list.

I clutch my compad to my chest and march toward the entrance. The security scanner reads my credentials, grants me access. Dad always said face your fears head-on. Time to take his advice.

The elevator feels like a tomb as it rises. Each floor brings me closer to answers I'm not sure I want. But I need to know. That woman deserves better than footnotes in a classified report.

---