Cornered: Episode Two of the Sister Planets Series Read online

  Just one more easy way to make sure all eyes are on me.

  The poor guy deserves a break, though. I excuse myself from Villa the Perv, and we both cut back across the room to the drink table. I’m trying to find the In-Between to slough off how disgusting I feel, but I can’t seem to find it.

  Music plays over an old sound system, which is odd since everyone should have cochlear implants that can have music sent to them wirelessly. I don’t know what possessed the senator to do such a quaint, old-fashioned thing, but I’m glad he did. I’m probably the only one in the room without implants and the one who needs them the most right now.

  “You okay?” Mika asks.

  I hate that question, so I ignore it and stare out into the room. The music changes to a quiet, unassuming song. I recognize it immediately. It’s like the wallflower at the party, standing in the corner trying not to bring attention to itself. The one who, if you walk over and listen to their story, slowly becomes the most interesting person in the room.

  I nudge Mika with my elbow. “This song is one I picked out.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I built this playlist for the senator.” I smile. “I found this album the day I installed the Net Mirror in my apartment. It was the first time I’d ever had one. I named him Jules.”

  “That’s adorable,” Mika says without emotion.

  “Scarlet had a television, but the only things on were the news and public television. When I got Jules, I had access to music and old movies. I stayed up all night searching for stuff. This was an album I found way down the rabbit hole. It stuck with me.”

  “It’s pretty. You’ve got good taste.”

  I sigh. “I know.”

  “Maverick?” someone who isn’t Mika says from behind me.

  I turn to see a kid my age dressed as a waiter behind the built-in bar. Expensive haircut. Really bad acne. It registers with me that I know him.

  “It’s Ali, right?”

  “Oh my God, it’s you! What the hell are you doing out there?”

  My brain is working three steps ahead, trying to make this work for me. I’ve got to be careful. The room is mic’d, and Greenstreet will be listening to everything I say later tonight.

  “Things are finally working for me instead of against me.”

  Ali hasn’t stopped staring at my breasts. He looks up long enough to make eye contact. “Quit talking in code. Tell me why you’re dressed all hot and not playing music for everyone. Are you and the senator … you know.”

  Ali cocks his head and raises an eyebrow.

  I grimace and stick out my tongue. “Strictly professional. And no, the senator and I are not ‘you know.’”

  “Greenstreet was pretty mad at you today. So was Amina. She went into full Mother Mode wondering if you’d been killed or something. You weren’t around to pull together the music, so she had to get those ancient artifacts out of storage,” he says, pointing at the old speakers.

  A thought pops in my head, and words jump out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I knew she’d be mad. If you see her, could you tell her to get in touch with me?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

  I reach down and grab a napkin off the bar. “You got a pen?”

  He pulls one out of his pocket and hands it to me. I scribble down a quick note: I’m sorry. Ping Norah to get a hold of me. —Mav

  I hand it to Ali face down. He immediately flips it over and reads it.

  “Dude! Come on!”

  “What? It’s on a napkin. It can’t be too secret.”

  “He bothering you, Maverick?” Mika asks. He’s closed in, and I hadn’t realized it.

  Ali looks over at Mika, and his face turns white as a sheet. “Oh man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were together.”

  “Ali, I’m not with every man who happens to be standing near me. This is my bodyguard.”

  Ali’s jaw drops.

  I hand my glass back to him. “Make sure Amina gets that. Please.” I place my arm in Mika’s, and we walk away without looking back.

  “Who was that?” Mika asks.

  “Some kid on the wait staff. They rotate schedules, so I’ve met everyone who works for Greenstreet on the nights I play.”

  “And who’s Amina?”

  “Chief of House Staff. My boss here. Old boss, I guess.”

  And the one person who may know where I can find this secret room everyone is so worked up about.

  Chapter 5

  Mika and I take a break after an hour of hand shaking and butt kissing. As we settle into a couple of seats along the perimeter of the room, I hear an eruption of applause. I turn to see Greenstreet himself enter, his faithful Yes Men flocking to his side.

  He’s smiling that smarmy smile of his. I’ve watched him flash it hundreds of times. I’ve seen it appear right before he makes a decision that alters people’s lives. I’ve viewed it as he’s made promises he never intends to keep.

  In other words, whatever is about to come out of his mouth is a complete and total lie.

  He calms the crowd and starts talking, but I’m neither watching nor listening to him. Instead, I’m focused on the rest of the room. Norah told me about three specific people I need to watch carefully to see how they respond to the senator. I’d picked them out of the crowd earlier in the evening, and now I’m panning between them trying to detect how they’re taking the news that the senator is the front runner for vice president.

  The first one is a short, balding fat guy with a patchy beard. Even though he looks like a garden gnome in a suit, Norah says he’s a big deal.

  “His last name is Carvehall,” she’d said. “He’s a congressman for our neighbors to the south in Texas. He has a lot of influence with the wind, oil, and sun conglomerates. He and Greenstreet are technically friends, but they’ve done a lot of head-butting lately. If he looks angry, there are problems. If he looks placated, Greenstreet’s path to the vice presidency is more of a sure thing.”

  Carvehall looks neither happy nor upset, which means he’s angry. I’d heard him laughing from across the room earlier. If Greenstreet was his man, he’d be making sure everyone knew it. His silence, despite his mask of congeniality, betrays him.

  “Mika, where’s the Ostrich Lady?” I whisper.

  Mika nods his head toward the back of the room. I turn to find Gwen Watson nursing a cocktail with her much shorter date. Her hideous purple dress sits dark against her light brown skin, and the hat she’s wearing is more appropriate for a mariachi singer than an infamous reporter. Norah said Gwen is a huge donor for the senator and a big influence on the news cycle.

  The old bird is as proud as a peacock as she sips on her drink. She’s looking at Greenstreet like a fat kid looks at a birthday cake. It makes me want to take a shower.

  I’m not watching the third person because I don’t have to. I already know what she’s thinking. From the moment she walked into the room, I could tell what her feelings were about Greenstreet running. She detests it. Which is excellent, because it means we may have an ally.

  And you can’t get a better ally than Sybil Metross, former secretary of defense for the Earth states.

  I shift my gaze to another random couple in the room. I know I’m being watched, so I’m trying to look like I’m observing no one and everyone at the same time. Greenstreet is going to have one of his cronies observe the security footage of the room later, and he’ll be able to tell exactly who I’m looking at. I have to be intentional about whom I watch.

  I used to do the same thing when I played music on the street. I’d find a person in the crowd who was engaged with the music and might give me money. They became all I cared about. I was playing for them. If I could connect with that person, I’d eat that day.

  If that didn’t work, I’d find a reason to walk by that same person after the show and steal their wallet.

  “… and that’s why, if elected, I will make sure …”

  Dear God, is he still talking? I’m bored
.

  Let’s have some fun.

  “Mika, stay close. But not too close.”

  “What?”

  “Be light on your feet. Stay sharp.” I snatch a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter—like a badass—and walk toward the back of the room.

  For as engrossed as Gwen Watson is with the senator, her eyes latch on to me as I walk her way. Her back raises, and I can tell she’s instantly suspicious. I soften my face but remain confident.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Watson?”

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Maverick Martinique. I’m a big fan.”

  “Really?” she says, unimpressed.

  “Oh, yes. After I read your exposé on transport union corruption and the Folmer blackmail case, I was an instant admirer.”

  Her wrinkled face softens, her arms uncross.

  Bingo.

  “Well, aren’t you sweet?” she says with a smile, her Georgia twang thick as honey. “Tell me, why haven’t I seen you before at one of these soirees? I surely would’a remembered a gorgeous thing like you walkin’ round here.”

  “You’re too kind, Ms. Watson.”

  “You can call me Gwen. And it’s the truth. Ol’ Dexter Hausfeld over there nearly broke his goddamn neck ogling you when you walked by.”

  I laugh politely. I turn and stand shoulder to shoulder with her so she can get her unobstructed view of Greenstreet. He’s still blathering away.

  “Damn, that man can talk,” Gwen mutters, smiling that nauseating smile.

  “He’s never had a reputation for being succinct, that’s for sure.”

  “So, how’re you acquainted with Michael? You’re obviously not a politician like the rest of these walkin’ corpses. You an aide of some kind?”

  “I was a personal liaison for Don Merkatz. Now I represent his estate.”

  Gwen stops swirling her drink with her tiny straw.

  I continue without missing a beat. “He and Michael were close associates, and the plan was for the professional relationship between Amrian Enterprises and the senator to continue after his death in some capacity.”

  She squares up to me so we’re face to face. “You? A liaison for Don?”

  I take a sip of champagne.

  “How in the hell did you land a job like that at your age?” she asks, her keen eyes narrowing. “And why haven’t I seen you ‘til now?”

  I shrug. “I had a specific set of responsibilities, none of which involved parties and talking with interesting media moguls.”

  I notice her free hand reach into a pocket hidden along her waistline.

  Bingo again.

  “Might I politely inquire as to what those responsibilities were?” she asks.

  I take a sip of champagne and smile over my glass. “You could, but I probably wouldn’t answer.”

  Gwen chuckles sourly. “Well, what if we grab lunch this week? Talk about your fascinatin’ life and your connection with the senator?”

  “My schedule is incredibly full, as you can imagine. Maybe another time?”

  The crowd breaks into applause. The senator is done talking.

  Gwen keeps smiling, but her gaze is cold. “Yeah, some other time.”

  “It was lovely to meet you, Gwen.”

  “Likewise.”

  I turn back to Mika. “Let’s go. We need to talk to Sybil before we go.”

  We make it six steps before Mika leans over and whispers in my ear. “We can’t talk to Metross. Her security detail won’t let us get close.”

  I pat him twice on the arm. “I just realized how tired I am. Let’s say our goodbyes and leave. If Gwen ends up thinking we talked to Metross … well, worse things have happened.”

  Mika fails to suppress a grin.

  We meander across the room and enter the throng of people surrounding Greenstreet. Mika goes first, using his enormous frame to tunnel his way through the blockade of bodies. When he reaches the senator, he pivots and allows me to slip by.

  Greenstreet is shaking the hand of some bald guy in a suit with a bulbous red nose and hairy hands. Both look at me, and I see lust cross their faces. Then the senator’s jaw clenches.

  “Can’t you see I’m with someone?” he hisses through his smile.

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt, Michael. I really must be going, and I needed to say goodbye.” I place my hand on the bald guy’s forearm and watch him smile. I turn back to Greenstreet. “I’ll see you soon?”

  Greenstreet continues with the big fake smile. “Yes, soon.”

  “Good. And don’t forget about what I said regarding your security guard.”

  “Of course. I’ll take care of it. Good night.”

  I turn back to Mika and let him lead me out of the room. I run into half a dozen people as I go, all of whom ask why I’m leaving.

  The plan is working.

  We get to the lobby. Stupid Trevor is standing there trying to look stoic. When he sees me, he wilts.

  “Good night, ma’am.”

  “Go to hell, Trevor.”

  “Oh, Maverick!” someone says from behind me. Only one person at this party has a southern accent like that.

  “Gwen! Is everything all right?”

  “Oh yes, of course. I realized that you wouldn’t know how to get a hold of me so we could talk more. Here’s my card, dear.”

  She hands me a thin, blank card made of metal. I have no idea what to do with it, so I slip it into my clutch. “Thank you, Gwen. We’ll be in touch.”

  I wave politely, and Mika and I walk out the front doors. As we start down the darkened pathway to the cars, exhaustion and discomfort overcome me. I’ve managed to ignore that my dress is constricting the blood flow to my lower extremities and my feet hurt so badly I’m surprised they aren’t bleeding.

  Mika deposits me inside a black, wheeled car with tinted windows before he walks around and gets in on the other side. The car speeds off, and I start to take off my shoes.

  “Put those back on,” Mika orders.

  “No, you don’t understand. These things are made of hatred and nightmares.”

  He places his hand on mine. “The car is going to stop in three minutes, and we’re going to get out. We’re being followed.”

  Chapter 6

  The car accelerates, and I fall back into my seat.

  I look at the driver as I catch my breath. He’s got luminous skin, whiter than any I’ve ever seen. His sharp cheekbones and angular nose match his painfully straight, dyed-blonde hair. Long bangs mask his left eye. His right eye is beautifully slanted and topped with a thin black eyebrow.

  He wears black clothes head to toe, a tactical vest, a handgun in a side holster, and a toothpick hangs out of the corner of his mouth. He glances up at me for a split second, looks back at the road, and accelerates again.

  I turn back to Mika. “How do you know we’re being followed?”

  “I can’t be sure. But if Greenstreet isn’t following you, someone else from the party will.”

  My heart beats faster. “Why would anyone else want to follow me?”

  Mika gives me a sad frown. “To find out where you live.”

  My imagination comes up with ten morbid reasons why someone would want that information. I feel exposed, like someone who’s forced out on a stage without any clothes on. I yearn to cover myself even though it’s warm in the car.

  I want to slip into the In-Between right now. Just hum a few bars of “Hey Jude” and be alone.

  But I can’t. I have to be sharp until I’m in my safe house with the doors locked.

  “What’s the plan?” I ask.

  Mika peers around the driver’s headrest to get a better view of the road. “We’ll be switching cars. Sit tight while Henry here takes us where we need to go. If he needs us to do something, he’ll fill us in.”

  The car stops. Mika pats my hand again. “Follow me.”

  He opens his door and gets out. I scoot across the seat and exit through his door. As soon as my feet hit the ground, He
nry is behind me on my right side. Mika is directly ahead of me on my left.

  We’re in an underground parking garage or warehouse. It’s huge, dark, and empty. I only see my surroundings for five seconds before I’m whisked to a sleek black hovercar.

  Mika opens the door and practically throws me inside. The car is like the one Mika picked me and the brothers up with at the cemetery, only this one has a designated pilot’s booth where Henry sits separate from us.

  Henry starts the engine and accelerates. We swerve back and forth before gathering speed again, but this time we go upward.

  My stomach jumps into my throat. “Is he doing that thing where he leapfrogs cars in traffic?” I ask.

  “He’s good,” is all Mika says back. “Henry, give us a peek.”

  Right before I make a joke about Mika coming on to our driver, the tinted glass dome that makes up the top of the car lights up in neon colors.

  It’s like the ceiling of Mika’s car with the ebbing colors on a midnight background. Instead of random-chaotic shapes, these colors form a 360-degree panorama of the world outside our car: a tree, other cars, buildings, people.

  “Is this what we’re driving past?”

  “Yep. It’ll help us identify unwelcome lurkers.”

  In my tense frame of mind, everything on the screen is a threat. That man reaching in his pocket could be reaching for a weapon. The couple holding hands and laughing are faking it, so they must be hiding something. Every window in the buildings we pass are potential sniper holes, and every car is a potential bomb that could take us out.

  After five minutes, I’m exhausted from being wound so tightly. My chest constricts, and I feel faint.

  “Mika, I can’t anymore. You’re going to have to—”

  He takes one look at me and his demeanor softens. “Don’t worry about it. You sit back and try to relax.”

  I lay down in my seat, but it does little good. Henry is hopping cars like we’re on a giant pogo stick. I get more nauseous by the minute.