Текст книги "Sleeping With the Enemy"

Автор книги: Kaitlyn O'Connor

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Ten

    “They’d kick some ass at poker,” Powell muttered under his breath.

    Sybil dragged her gaze from the vid displaying a live feed of the peace talks and glanced at him. She’d been wondering about that herself. She didn’t know if it was because Meachum had planted it in her mind or if she’d actually picked up on something herself, but she’d begun to worry about their apparent ability to simply shut down emotion. Either they were completely unconcerned about the outcome of the peace talks, though, or they were damned good at suppressing and hiding their emotions.

    They were as placid as a herd of cows, regardless of the veiled insults the men and women of the U.N. had dropped from time to time.

    If she hadn’t met the Sumpturians on Venus, hadn’t gotten to know Anka as she had, she would’ve believed they simply didn’t feel any emotion. As it was, she’d begun to wonder if everything she’d seen on Venus was a charade devised by Anka and ably performed by the men and women under his command.

    The impression she’d gotten was that they were as similar to humans as if they’d been human and were simply people of a different race and culture. At the festival, she’d seen them dance together and interact just as a group of Earth born young people might, laughing, apparently teasing and joking with one another, flirting shyly or outrageously as their personality dictated. Anka had behaved so human-like that he’d completely disarmed her.

    And yet there he stood among the Sumpturian dignitaries as stone faced as all the rest, betraying nothing of his thoughts, his demeanor cool but completely relaxed, his gestures the same. There was no sign of tension whatsoever, no stiffness that might betray anger or uneasiness-nothing for them to pick up on.

    They knew they were being watched and analyzed, she realized abruptly.

    Powell was right. They were playing a game of poker with a race of people that knew them as well as they knew themselves, perhaps even better than they knew themselves, could effortlessly and accurately interpret every eye twitch, every gesture, every word without giving an inkling of what they were thinking or how they felt.

    She didn’t know if that sudden insight was more unnerving or the fact that it was clear that Anka indeed had a great deal of influence among his peers. Their political leaders deferred to him as often as not and generally consulted with him on matters that were clearly not even vaguely military in nature. She could understand the former. It had become abundantly clear that he was the commander of their forces, not merely of the base on Venus, or he was at least the highest ranking military officer that was part of the Sumpturian enclave. It was surprising but understandable that they’d want him to make any of the military decisions. As for the rest… either they were unsure of themselves insofar as dealing with Earth people, or the hierarchy of the Sumpturian culture differed drastically from their own.

    The President and the members of the U.N. certainly consulted with military command, but they made it clear that it was only advice they wanted. They would make the final decisions themselves. More accurately, the President of the U.S. called the shots. Global economic disaster had hit everyone, including the U.S., but the U.S. was still on the top of the heap and grimly determined to stay there.

    There were interpreters for the U.N. members. None for the Sumpturians, and they were completely unconcerned about how much it unnerved the Earth enclave that they openly and freely discussed their views in their own language.

    Meachum was getting nastier by the day. If he was any indicator of how the talks were going, and she thought he was, then the Sumpturians were trouncing their opponents hands down. The first week after they’d arrived the Sumpturians had reviewed the terms so carefully drawn up by committee and rejected all of them-not surprisingly since the government was up to its usual tricks, compiling huge tomes of rambling discourse, interspersed with ‘hidden’ propositions that had little or no relation to the subject supposedly under discussion. They’d actually edited the agreement, removing all of the neat little extras the politicians had thought up to throw in, hoping the Sumpturians wouldn’t notice.

    The U.N. delegation had been livid, of course, the Sumpturians unmoved. They’d explained with patience that they had terra-formed and claimed both Pluto and Venus and had the right, by Earth laws, of first conquest. They’d also claimed water and mineral rights of the Kuiper belt, mineral rights of Mercury, and the planet Jupiter for fuel exploitation rights and waste disposal.

    No one had apparently anticipated that the treaty would entail a division of so-farunclaimed real estate across the solar system. The U.N. delegation scrambled to catch up, drawing up a second agreement which included proprietary rights of the Earth people to everything else in the solar system, apparently deciding to slug the division out among themselves at a later date. They’d had to send for a group of scientists to help them draw it up to make certain they didn’t leave anything out that might be of some importance in the future.

    In the end they’d claimed the inner asteroid belt-all rights-all the moons, even those circling planets the Sumpturians had claimed, Mars and Earth, of course, and the remaining planets the Sumpturians hadn’t lain claim to. They also wanted waste disposal rights on Jupiter.

    The Sumpturians graciously agreed to disposal rights as long as they were allowed to monitor what was disposed of on Jupiter and refused to give up the moons circling any of the planets they’d claimed, pointing out that they had plans to introduce a moon into Venus’ orbit to help to stabilize the planet’s eco-system and also that they intended to monitor Jupiter and would need to have bases there to do so.

    The U.N. fell to haggling over the ‘choice’ outer moons for future colonization or strategic bases of their own at least. By the end of the second week, they’d managed to reach an agreement regarding the disposition of every stone in the solar system. The Sumpturians seemed completely satisfied and, because they were, the Earth people decided they’d been screwed. They weren’t sure how, but they were certain the Sumpturians wouldn’t have been so damned satisfied if they hadn’t come out on top of the battle for the prime real estate. It didn’t matter that they had lain claim to parts of the solar system they hadn’t even had the chance to reach and probably wouldn’t be able to for generations. What mattered was that they didn’t like interlopers. They wanted the opportunity to look it over at their leisure and appropriate or discard it according to worth.

    They entered the third week of talks with an agreement hammered out, which hit a new hitch when the members of the U.N. pointed out that they would expect to be able to build an embassy on Venus once it was possible to do so in order to maintain the treaty. The U.S. wanted their own Embassy and also petitioned for a military base there.

    The two issues were discussed exhaustively but the Sumpturians finally agreed to allow it, both the Embassy and the base, once the President had offered to pay to lease the area set aside as ‘American’ soil. The actual haggling began when the President discovered that they didn’t consider American dollars of any value to them. They would take payment in trade. They pointed out that, since they already had access to pretty much any raw materials they could possibly want and their technology far surpassed any technology on Earth, the Earth people really had nothing to offer but food.

    That was a painful negotiation. Nobody wanted to admit that there were already food shortages on Earth, however, due the climate change. They might as well have. They haggled more furiously about the food than they had over the planets. An agreement was finally reached, however, when the Sumpturians agreed to take part of the payment in DNA samples that would allow them to accelerate the development of flora and fauna on Venus.

    As relieved as Sybil was that they’d managed to hammer out a treaty, particularly when it had seemed for a while that they wouldn’t be able to, she was so depressed over the knowledge that Anka would soon be leaving that it was all she could do to pretend she was pleased about it.

    She hadn’t seen him nearly enough to get her fill, even though she’d managed to convince herself that what she felt wasn’t real. It was more in the nature of a crush, or maybe hero worship like a woman might develop for a man that seemed larger than life, extraordinary– like an entertainer or sports figure or powerful politician. She just needed to work it out of her system and try to break the spell he’d woven over her so that she could see him for what he truly was-probably a completely ordinary individual if not a galactic con artist who’d considered she might be useful to him in some way.

    Well, she supposed she had. She’d done her utmost to influence her own government favorably-not that she thought she’d actually succeeded, but she had doggedly refused to put a negative spin on her interpretations.

    She hadn’t managed to get him out of her head or work him out of her system, though. She didn’t think if she’d spent every single night with him since his arrival that she would’ve been able to, but she hadn’t gotten the chance. His visits seemed deliberately random. He’d come the first night he arrived and for two nights running after that and then she hadn’t seen him for two days-not privately, anyway.

    She was pretty sure that his visits had been deliberately random. What she wasn’t sure of was whether it was calculated to keep her off guard or if it was to eliminate the risks of predictability if it had been discovered that he was visiting her. She wanted to think the latter but then she was painfully aware that she was eager to explain away her own doubts.

    In spite of everything, it was a relief to be dismissed. They weren’t even allowed to stay and watch the signing, the most historical signing in the history of the solar system! Sybil was just glad to be able to reach her quarters where she had a little privacy and didn’t have to guard her tongue or her expressions anymore. She simply sat staring at the walls once she had, her mind strangely empty for a while. After a time, thoughts and emotions began to trickle back, however, and she began to wonder if this was to be her very last night, ever, with Anka, or if he wouldn’t come at all and she’d actually already had her last night with him the night before last. Would she even get the chance to say good-bye to him?

    She wanted to be alone with him-just one last time-so she could do and say all the completely stupid things she’d been bursting to. She was willing to settle for a public good-bye if that was all she could get, but she had a bad feeling that wasn’t likely. They’d kept the Sumpturians carefully segregated the entire time. It didn’t seem likely they’d lift that ban now.

    She discovered when she’d been summoned to report to her commanding officer that she was wrong. The President had decided to throw a gala to celebrate the agreement-and hopefully to impress them with American wealth and power, she was sure. She and the other liaisons had been invited to attend. Otherwise, it was only the upper crust that would be attending.

    She was instantly sorry that she didn’t have the outfit Anka had given her anymore. She supposed it wouldn’t have been acceptable even if she had, though, and it was just as well she hadn’t been tempted to flout convention and wear it considering the snooty would be in overwhelming attendance.

    Expecting a dismissal at least from her services as a liaison, she discovered that the real reason she’d been summoned was because she hadn’t returned the papers agreeing to serve another tour of duty. Caught off guard, she stammered her way through an explanation for her decision not to sign up for another tour.

    He wasn’t pleased. She could see that, but she thought she could endure his displeasure for the month or so that she had left. She didn’t regret the decision. She was afraid she might eventually, but she didn’t at the moment. She was just sorry that she had to stay that long. She would’ve loved to have been free to brush the moon dust from her boots immediately after the Sumpturians departed and head back to Earth.

    To say nothing had turned out the way she’d hoped and planned would’ve been an understatement, but she realized she also wasn’t sorry that she’d been snatched from the Mars mission and sent to Venus instead. Whatever happened, she couldn’t regret having known Anka. Her memories might be bittersweet, but at least she would have them and what a tale it would be for her children and grandchildren!

    If she ever had any.

    Shrugging her depression off, she headed back to her quarters after she was dismissed, determined to spend the time before the gala primping as she’d never primped before. It was her last chance! She was going to knock Anka’s socks off if it was at all possible!

* * * *

    Sybil had splurged. Once she’d examined her wardrobe and discarded everything in it, she’d left the base and headed to the Fontainebleu, a luxury hotel for wealthy tourists. More specifically, she’d headed to the clothing stores on the first level for the rich and famous where she’d managed to knock such a huge hole in her savings that she was still suffering from sticker shock when she finally reached the party several hours later. She’d gone one step further and, next to the purchase of the dress, it was the most outrageous thing she’d ever done in her life– she’d rented a room for the night and arranged to have a pickup at the conference center.

    She hoped she wasn’t going to be spending the night alone in the most expensive hotel room she’d ever rented!

    She was such a nervous wreck by the time she reached the security check that she thought she might faint or worse, be sick. Her stomach was a churning mass of nerves, though, and it took an effort to try to calm it when her mind was pure mush. Fortunately, she supposed, she met up with Holly Rains and Reed Powell in the security line. Holly looked like she was in as bad a shape as Sybil was, which mystified Sybil until it occurred to her that the poor thing was probably hoping to meet up with Beckt again.

    For all she knew, she realized, Beckt was part of the party and had been sneaking into the base to see Holly just as Anka had come to her.

    “I’m so nervous,” Holly muttered. “Is it hot in here to you? Or is it just me?”

    “Actually, I thought it was a little cool,” Sybil responded absently.

    Holly stared at her a moment and then scanned the dress that had set Sybil back a quarter of year’s savings. “That does look a bit… airish.”

    Sybil glared at her even though she knew it was true. It had been the closest thing she could find to the outfit Anka had given her, though.

    Actually, she thought it was probably a lot more risqué than the one she’d had. The material was certainly thinner and more clingy. It was backless, as that outfit had been, and slit well up one thigh, but it was black.

    She felt a good deal better in the black. White always made her feel like a beached whale and she was already suffering self-consciousness over premenstrual bloating. Anyway, she was a blond and white just made her look more washed out-like something that had crawled out from under a rock. “This is a formal,” she said stiffly.

    “You look beautiful,” Reed Powell said gallantly.

    Sybil reddened, struggling with discomfort over the compliment, but she was pleased to have a male opinion. “Thanks.”

    Fortunately, they were allowed to move on just then where they bottlenecked with the reception line. Music had already begun to waft from the conference center turned ballroom long before she reached the beginning of the receiving line and Sybil was in a fever of impatience to get inside, checking her time piece every five seconds for fear she’d turn into a damned pumpkin and miss the transport she’d paid for before she even got inside. A jolt went through her when she discovered that the receiving line was made up of the dignitaries attending and their spouses. She didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her, but then she’d never been invited to such an elite gala in her life.

    The next jolt came when she discovered that the second half of the receiving line was the Sumpturian dignitaries and included Anka. She almost tripped over her damned dress when she spotted him, which of course didn’t go unnoticed. Powell grasped her arm to steady her. Several women gasped and the President and Attorney General both surged forward to catch her.

    Argh! The humiliation of it! She was so embarrassed she thought for several moments that she was going to humiliate herself worse by bursting into tears. Anka’s touch steadied her, however. He took her hand when she reached him and looked her over with unconcealed pleasure. “Lieutenant Hunter, it’s a pleasure to meet you again… and under far better circumstances. I hope you’ll consider dancing with me later?”

    Dismayed as she was by the impersonal formality, she knew he was constrained by the circumstances and was heartened that he’d requested a dance. “Thank you. I’d enjoy that Commander l’Kartay.”

    Turning slightly, he introduced her to the man on his right as the Premier d’Zubi. She had no clue of what the tile represented, but she smiled politely, told him how pleased she was to meet him, and moved on. She was greeted by an usher once inside and escorted to the table where her seat was reserved.

    She hadn’t realized they would dine first or that she would be appointed a seat. She supposed she should have. That was the way it was done at formal military dinners, but she’d just thought that was because of military protocol to make certain those of superior rank were properly recognized. She supposed when she discovered that Holly and Reed were seated at her table that it was for the same reason-pearls before swine. Meachum was also shuttled to their table.

    Wine was served. She hated wine but she was well aware of the beneficial properties for relaxation and it took an effort to restraint herself from chugging it. Powell, seated directly beside her, uttered a snort he tried to disguise as a cough when she lifted her glass and took a huge gulp, then made a face at the bitterness and shuddered. He leaned closer. “It’s usually better to sip it slowly.”

    She narrowed her eyes at him. “I know that. I just needed something to calm my nerves a little.”

    “It is unnerving to find oneself in such exalted company,” he said wryly. “Too rare a treat to pass up, though.”

    “Mmmhmm,” Sybil agreed absently, having discovered the reception line had finally broken up and everyone was headed to their seats. Anka was easy to pick out among the humans, but not among his own people. All of them were tall, and a number of them a good bit taller than he was. She saw very quickly, though, that her own table was so far removed from his that she might as well have been on another planet. Disappointed, she tried to focus on the conversations of the others at her table.

    “What are your plans now?”

    Sybil turned to Reed, blinking at him. “I’m sorry! What?”

    “I heard it through the grapevine that you weren’t planning to re-up.”

    The damned grapevine sure was fast! “No, I’m not.”

    “So…?”

    She blinked at him again. “Oh! Actually, I don’t know yet. I’d originally planned to become a colonist. Now… well, I’d thought I would be on Mars when my contract ended and I could get a discharge there. I guess I’m heading back to Earth.”

    “This is still the jumping off spot,” he reminded her. “I’d been considering it myself. My ex-wife had no interest in it, but that isn’t an issue anymore.”

    Sybil frowned. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard you were divorced.”

    He grimaced but shrugged. “She wasn’t interested in being a civilian’s wife. She liked being an officer’s wife.”

    Dismay flickered through her. “Sounds like you’re well rid of her.”

    He chuckled. “I knew our marriage wasn’t working a long time ago. Betty and I never did seem to want the same things. I confess I wasn’t sure of it until I discovered she was a lot more upset by my discharge than she was by the indiscretion that caused it.”

    There was a thread of bitterness in his voice that made her wonder if he’d been ‘indiscrete’ because his wife hadn’t seemed to care or if it was other lapses that had created the riff before and the latest was just the last straw. Not that it was her business or it excused his behavior. If he’d thought his wife didn’t care about him, he should’ve dumped her and then pursued other women, not stayed with her and strayed.

    “Satisfied men don’t stray,” he muttered, almost as if he’d read her thoughts.

    “Maybe,” she countered, “satisfied wives don’t either, but there are a lot of people that never seem to be satisfied, no matter what their partner does.”

    “True. I thought I was satisfying her by focusing on my career, though.”

    Sybil shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the personal confessions of a man she still thought of as a superior officer, even if he had been stripped of his rank. She was relieved when the servers began to make the rounds, offering a distraction, but she discovered quickly enough that it wasn’t much of a distraction. Not that the food wasn’t good. It was actually exceptional. The problem was that it was paraded out in such a slow, pompous production that there was more than enough time between courses for conversation and Reed seemed determined to pursue one.

    She was seated next to him, but she was also aware that he focused most of his attention on her when everyone else at the table seemed to carry on a general conversation they could all take part in.

    The discomfiting suspicion began to grow in her that he was hitting on her. She tried to dismiss it, but it seemed the harder she tried to put distance between them, the more pointed he was.

    She was infinitely relieved when the end of the meal was signaled by the President’s ascent to the stage where a podium stood. It was the typical political bullshit, but fortunately brief. She was inclined to think everyone clapped so enthusiastically because it was brief… and not followed by a half a dozen more politicians hoping to get a plug in for themselves for the next election.

    The strains of dance music swelled within the room as the President descended to the dance floor. Sybil looked hopefully in the direction Anka had disappeared and managed to catch him leading some politician’s wife onto the dance floor.

    “Would you care to dance?”

    Meachum and Powell both asked her at almost the same time. The question in stereo confused her and it was a moment before she realized they were talking to her.

    Lovely choices! She disliked Meachum and she didn’t want to encourage Powell. She suspected Meachum had motives for asking that she wouldn’t like and that Powell was looking for encouragement.

    “Maybe I’ll just sit this one out,” she said with a vague, apologetic smile.

    “Come on,” Powell insisted, getting up. “You can dance the next one with Meachum.”

    She didn’t especially want to but she also didn’t want to make everyone else at the table uncomfortable. “I have two left feet,” she said warningly as she got up. “And both of them are wearing spike heels.”

    Powell chuckled dutifully and ushered her toward the floor. She shivered as his hand slid across her bare back and settled at her waist, trying to outrun it. It was a harbinger of things to come. The moment they reached the dance floor, he pulled her into an intimate embrace. She would’ve preferred a little more distance between them, but she didn’t want to struggle on the dance floor. “Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?”

    Sybil couldn’t help but be amused. “I believe you did. Thank you again, I think. I’m starting to feel a little uneasy about my everyday look, though, I have to tell you.”

    He chuckled. “There’s nothing wrong with that either. The thing is I was trying to save my marriage and my career and not notice.”

    “Except you did?”

    He snorted. “I’m not blinded by the uniform.”

    Sybil frowned slightly. “I know it’s none of my business, but…?”

    He didn’t pretend not to know what she was asking. “I don’t know. Regardless of what you probably think-or Betty for that matter-I wasn’t in the habit of cheating on my wife. I guess anybody is susceptible given the right situation.”

    “And that was the right one?”

    He gave her a look. “Don’t tell me you didn’t feel a certain… recklessness given the situation?”

    Had she? She supposed she had, but was that what had led her to Anka? Maybe a combination of hopefulness that it would earn her a reprieve, fear of the consequences if she ignored the opportunity, and a desperate need to feel alive while there was still a chance?

    She didn’t think any of that was what had driven her, but she could see where it could have influenced Powell and Holly and Kushbu’s decision.

She had done it because she had found Anka simply irresistible.

    An absurd thought popped into her mind. She’d tried to dismiss it, but it teased her. “You really hadn’t ever cheated? Or considered it?”

    He sent her a quizzical look. “I didn’t say I hadn’t considered it. Actually, I think I said I had, probably a lot more than I should have. Fortunately, I didn’t have opportunity… none that didn’t carry a healthy risk to keep me on track. On Venus… want plus opportunity unfortunately brought the wall tumbling down. She was pretty irresistible.”

    “Really?”

    He grinned at her. “Jealous?”

    She couldn’t help but laugh, but she shook her head. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

    “I will if I want to,” he murmured, pulling her closer and carrying her in a swirling flourish as the song ended and tipping her back over one arm.

    She caught a glimpse of Anka as her head tipped back. She hadn’t realized the dance had carried them so close to him and his partner and it wasn’t a discovery that made her happy. She straightened abruptly. “Thank you for the dance, Sir!”

    “Not sir anymore, Lieutenant,” he reminded her, sliding an arm around her to escort her back to their table. “Unless this is age related ‘sir’, in which case, I’m crushed.”

    Sybil sent him a quick look and bit her lip. “That was just a brain… uh… melt. I forgot.”

    Meachum met them before she could get back to the table to sit down. “My dance, I believe.”

    She might’ve felt like the bell of the ball except she knew Meachum hadn’t approached her because he found her irresistible.

    “You look beautiful tonight.”

    Her smile was a little tight. Honest to god! Couldn’t men think of anything else? Even a slight variation on the line would’ve been appreciated! “Thank you.”

    “I noticed Commander l’Kartay didn’t seem particularly pleased when you danced with Powell.”

    It would’ve been hard to say whether the comment thrilled her or unnerved her more. Sybil missed a step and stepped on his foot. “Sorry. If he was frowning it was probably because he was trying to place me. I’m sure we all look alike to them.”

    “I’m completely sure he has no trouble at all recognizing you,” Meachum returned pleasantly. “He did ask you to dance with him tonight when you met up with him in the receiving line.”

    And where had Meachum been skulking, she wondered? She couldn’t think up a response, unfortunately.

    “I heard you’d decided not to reenlist?”

    Sybil stepped on his toe on purpose that time. “Sorry. Maybe I drank too much wine? I’m really not used to it.”

    His lips curled in a cold smile. “No comment?”

    Sybil smiled coldly back at him. “There’s the damnedest grapevine around here! I don’t recall mentioning that to anyone and yet Powell knew and you do, too! Isn’t that curious?”

    “Actually, I overheard the discussion at the table earlier.”

    “You have exceptional hearing.”

    He smiled thinly. “I also heard you say you hadn’t made plans yet. I might have a job you’d be interested in.”

    She didn’t think so. She’d enjoyed working with him about as much as she enjoyed sitting in a dental chair. “I appreciate it, but I imagine I’ll be shipped stateside before the discharge.”

    “Not necessarily. Think about it. It could be a good career move for you.”

    “I’m not sure thinking about it will help when I don’t have a clue of what sort of job you’re offering.”

    “Meet me at the situation room tomorrow-say about ten-and I’ll go over it with you.”

    Thankfully, the dance ended just then. “I’ll give it some thought,” she responded coolly.

    He gave her a look that chilled her. “Give it a lot of thought. I’d hate for you to miss the opportunity.”

    It sounded ominous and she didn’t think, considering Meachum had delivered it, that that was just her imagination. She would’ve pulled away from him and left him on the edge of the dance floor except she discovered the damned heels she was wearing weren’t made for running. She nearly turned her weak ankle. It was barely a twinge but enough of a wakeup call to inspire caution.

    “You alright?” Powell asked when she settled in chair again, dividing a speculative look between her and Meachum, who’d simply walked her to the table, excused himself, and left.

    “I’m fine. I just stepped wrong and deeply regret the decision to wear heels.”

    “You hurt your ankle?”

    She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

    “You want to tell me what Meachum said that upset you, then?”

    She shook her head again. What could she say anyway? That she’d felt threatened by his manner? Because that was all there was to it-the nuances of his voice. There was nothing specific that he’d said that she could complain to anyone about.