Deja Ortega: Oddsbreaker Read online

  “Must you always try to get involved in everything?” she asked him.

  Sheesh. What a “fun” boss, Deja thought.

  Then the vendor spoke. “Naturally, I’ll have to add a surcharge for running your ID, Chef Glass. New regulation. Ninety-five kips.”

  “Ah, a pity,” Deja observed, accepting her own ID.

  “You needn’t worry so,” the other woman retorted. “A few kips are nothing.” Turning to the Vinadroan, she handed him her CredChip and said, “Please use the premium thermawrap to keep them chilled.”

  The vendor processed the payment and began wrapping up the purchase. He wasn’t about to give up on another sale, however. “Chef Dubois, I have these other, sweeter-tasting peppers here, if you please. Yellow xintabelles,” he said, tapping the produce in question. “Or I can send over some hixotes from my shipment in the morning.”

  Deja opened her mouth to accept the latter option…

  “Thanks, friend, but that won’t be necessary,” said a voice on the deep end of sexy. The newcomer spoke in Common, so she didn’t have to wait for her translator to kick in.

  Geoff? Pivoting on her heel to face the speaker, Deja attempted to block out the disbelief that hit her stomach like a pint of malted yeegerwomp. Attempted and failed. She never should’ve contacted the officer about Famous Foodie’s run-ins with the law.

  “Didn’t you get my message, Chef Dubois?” he continued. “I already picked out some hixotes for you myself.”

  If it weren’t for the subtle hand signal he’d flashed as she turned around, she wouldn’t have been sure of his identity. Voices could be duplicated, as she well knew. Yet both of them had learned a standard form of sign language—him as a Coalition officer and her in all her travels.

  But how could Lieutenant Colonel Geoff Thorne be here? And looking so different that only the voice was unmistakably his. He stood there smiling in a sous chef jacket, sporting a number of uncharacteristic features, like not being human.

  Somehow, he’d morphed into an albino-skinned, Evuutan male. As such, his head, devoid of his thick brown hair, now boasted row after row of raised bone running perpendicular to his face. Intricate tattoos detailing the history of his (newfound) birth clan laid claim to the areas between these crests of bone and down the sides of his head past where his ears should have been. His ears of course, had been “relocated” according to Evuutan physiology: marquis-shaped apertures near his left and right temples. His eyes were still blue, but, my, how large they seemed.

  The lower half of his face was more muzzle than anything else; nose rather flat and nostrils sitting almost flush against his skin. Other narrow crests of bone encircled his neck and arms like fearsome bracelets, the skin between decorated with yet more tattoos. Oh, and this incarnation of Geoff had developed a slight paunch, unheard of for a man who kept his body battle-ready.

  The wannabe Evuutan held aloft the sack of fine hixote peppers. “See, the pick of the bunch. Bought them just as this fellow opened shop. I’ve also acquired all the items you sent me for.” He indicated the lumpy tote bags hanging from both shoulders. As he spoke, she glimpsed his strong, ivory-colored teeth—both rows of them—and a somewhat forked, purple tongue.

  Although her mind (and pulse) raced, Deja didn’t stumble. Reading his alias from his chef coat, she said, “Message? I suspect you meant to surprise me, Ian, dear. As usual.” As she dropped the word “surprise,” she shot him a glance of weapons-grade fury.

  Deja turned so she could see both Geoff and her snobbish competitor. “Sous Chef Ian Blackleaf, meet one of our worthy opponents, Chef Glass.” The two newly introduced individuals blinked at each other. Geoff (or Ian) was the first to feign a polite greeting. The rival chef inclined her head. “Enjoy your hard-won purchase,” Deja said. “If you’ll excuse us, we have to transport our goods back to the test kitchen.”

  This time, Deja was sure the other woman had to suppress a scowl. Geoff would be getting thanked for that. After she walloped him for messing about in her dare, of course. The two of them left the scene of disputed peppers with Geoff following behind, towing the hovercart. She’d just have to send him back for the other items she needed. Right now, she wanted to get him somewhere private. So she could pummel him. When they reached the transport platform with waiting taxis, she relished ordering him about.

  Despite that, she chaffed at the necessity of holding her questions—and her rage—until they were in private. How in the name of all wormholes had he found her? If only she hadn’t contacted him to verify Famous Foodie’s alleged criminal acts. What was the lieutenant colonel trying to do, anyway? Execute an elaborate practical joke? Perhaps. Yet his makeover was heavy duty and made to last. Why? Could he be hoping to recoup the life debt he owed to her? She paused in her inward ranting to consider another possibility. Maybe he liked her enough that—no, she knew better than that. And anyway, this life, this dare, was her livelihood, and maybe her father’s too. Famous Foodie could very well disqualify her when he found out about her supposed partner. Gravgummit!

  As she and Geoff rode together in the transport’s back seat, she crossed her arms and refused to look at him. Somehow, it helped contain the anger and fear twisting inside her gut like rifterworms. Also, she felt a little flustered about her augmented bosom. Despite avoiding his gaze, however, she couldn’t keep her nose from appreciating his distinct scent. Laser rifle oil, boot polish, and cardamom.

  The comm-shielding device lit up: Area Secure. And Deja lit into Geoff.

  A swarm of curses came first (in five languages). Breathing came second. Questions, last. “What did I save your butt for? So you could toss mine into a blazing reactor the first chance you got? What am I supposed to do now? How’d you even find me here, you—” and here she reverted to cussing again. The heels of her shoes clacked as she paced. Geoff, leaning against the textured wall in her assigned quarters, said nothing. One muscular shoulder remained pressed against the carved ebony doors covering a triangular alcove—a shrine reserved for offering food to the Vinadroan gods. All six of them. Or maybe it was seven? Ugh. Geoff was shorting out her neurons.

  When she paused for a breather, he pushed off from the wall. Though his features were now unfamiliar, he seemed concerned, his white lips turned down at the corners.

  “Deja, please, hold up for one nanosecond, would you?” He held out a hand, not quite touching her. For response, she flashed an impolite hand signal. The lieutenant colonel dropped his arm, and she considered throwing a punch. But the Coalition trained its officers well. Besides, he’d be expecting something like that and just dodge his sneaky self out of the way.

  Deja’s PalmStar took the opportunity to rumble in a pocket of her vest. Glaring at the lieutenant, she turned away and unfastened her wraparound chef smock to get to the device. He kept talking as she read the communication.

  “I’m sorry, Deja. I’m not here as a joke. I’m here on official business. I wanted to send you a warning but I was afraid you wouldn’t see the…benefits of Coalition involvement.” Her head snapped up when he mentioned the Coalition.

  “You mean to say that you’ve brought the law into my dare?” she roared, whirling around.

  “I—yes. But let me explain. And, if it’s any comfort,” he added, “I almost didn’t spot you. I figured your patron might send you into action on your lonesome. Still, I watched scads of contestants register, looked at scores of profiles, cross-referenced registration dates against the date you contacted me, etcetera. Only when I spotted you wearing those LinguaLenses I gave you was I sure I’d found you. Speaking of your disguise,” he finished smoothly, “I can’t say I mind being in the service of an older woman.”

  With a groan, she ignored that and raised her PalmStar to get his attention. “Well, Geoff, can you guess who just contacted me? It’s Famous, and he wants to know whom my new partner is. And he’d like to know what’s to stop him from backing out right now. Flatter me all you want, but this older woman is dang close to boi
ling your eyeballs into a mint jelly and shoving the rest of you into the nearest rubbish compactor shoot.”

  He paused. “Uh, I suppose my peepers would make good eating... But, think. Aren’t you a little worried about this sponsor of yours?”

  “Should I be?” she taunted. He fixed his blue eyes on her as she continued speaking. “I think I’m brilliant at taking care of myself. And you, too, Geoff, if you care to remember how we met.” There, let his ego try to sop that up.

  “Unfortunately, Famous is much more dangerous than I could let on, trust me,” he explained, sidestepping her ego jab. “The big leaguers at the GJC haven’t been able to touch him. Or even ID him. Yet. But we could catch—”

  “Riiiight. The evil fiend who orchestrated YeastCease must be stopped!”

  Geoff crossed his arms, fingers tucked against his sides as he often did when trying to keep his cool. “Yes,” he said flatly. “But only because he’s masterminded much more than that.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Seems like that newly forked tongue of yours suits you perfectly, lieutenant.” She left off the “colonel” part on purpose.

  “Now, now,” he half groaned, and she could see the deep purple of the tongue in question. He looked down as if afraid to brave her gaze any longer. “I wanted to tell you everything I knew, but I couldn’t at the time. It was classified information. Anyhow, I figured this food freak might’ve dared you to enter this galactic food fest. I told my CO that I wanted to bring the culinary brat to heel, and”—his eyes darted up to meet hers—“that I had an insider who would make a brilliant informant and partner.”

  Perfect, he just wanted to use her, a middling lowlife, to catch Famous, an exceptional lowlife. Of course that’s why he’d come. Gritting her teeth, she tensed, looking for an opening to land a solid punch. Yet his next words flowed with a satin and fire that paralyzed her.

  “Sure, I’d love to collar that fanatic. But, to be honest, he’s mainly my excuse to see you, Deja. Are you such a horrid thing for me to want? Or is it that I’m not enough for you?”

  That wasn’t the problem. He was too much for her. But he wouldn’t believe it if she said so. Unless she told him about… No.

  His steady stare made her clench her jaw and look down. Gazing at the tiny tiles in the floor, Deja’s mouth felt dryer than the powdered dirt she’d eaten that morning. No one should be able to make her insides twist with fear and shudder with hope all at the same time. This mess was her fault. It started after she had saved his life, really—when she stuck around long enough for him to remember her and vice versa. And then meeting up with him a few months later. Blast it. She couldn’t let him screw up her dare, not when failing could mean it would take her a whole lot longer to get her father out of prison.

  Geoff had a passing fascination with her, that’s all. Could she picture him ever introducing someone like her to his fellow officers? Hah. That would be a riot. Literally. Or inviting her to dine with his family? Not in a hundred lifetimes. Clutching her PalmStar, she pondered throwing it at him. The man was delusional. Putting a dent in his head might reboot his common sense.

  When she still hadn’t answered his question, he spoke again. “Deja, I know this isn’t anything you expected. I know this isn’t the best—”

  Turning away, she cut him off. “I don’t—I can’t think about this other stuff right now, lieutenant colonel. Now’s not the time to squabble over whatever you think we might be to each other. Oddsbreaking is my work. It’s not any more civilized than I am. I know it, even if you pretend not to. But it’s what I do.”

  To that, Geoff stepped closer. “I’m in your world now,” he agreed. “Yes, you have an ‘unorthodox’ job. But I prefer to think we define our work, not the other way around. Trust me, bullying you isn’t what I set out to do. What’s more, I’m not some kind of unwavering ‘Justice Man.’” She turned her head, delivering a sidelong glare. “Okay, not all the time,” his lips gained a rueful dimension. “Deja, listen, I know things that will make you glad of my interference. Thanks to the Coalition—”

  That did it. “Thanks to them, what?” she demanded, facing him once more. “Geoff, you had no right. You have no idea what I stand to lose here. For all you know, my sister could be dying somewhere and I need this money to cure her.” Okay, so that was as close to the truth as she wanted to get. But perhaps the dolt would give up on his nutty mission to corner Famous Foodie. I mean, who knew if Famous would even attend the contest in person.

  Letting his arms drop, Geoff shook his head. “And if you did have such a reason for living this life, then what? Don’t you think the two of us stand a better chance?” He came closer, breathing faster. “Or do you think I’m such a bumscuffle idiot that I wouldn’t have a plan? That I wouldn’t make sure you benefited from this?”

  “Oh, so I stand to gain something, huh? It had better be stellar, mister. Otherwise, you’re looking at the defendant in your murder trial.” Most likely, if she and Geoff succeeded, the Coalition would pat her on the head for her trouble and be magnanimous in forgoing an arrest. At least until she jumped into some other, not-quite-legal pursuit.

  Instead of replying, Geoff brushed past her, reaching the beverage bay in three fluid steps. “Chilled rubarlo nectar with two shots of chocolate,” he ordered. Her second-favorite drink, as if that would soften her up. The machinery whirred with activity. He gestured towards the nearest couch, a pastel green settee modeled after a delicate leaf. “Think what you will of me right now. But you might want to sit. I have more information—information that should prove I’ve got your best interests at heart.”

  Exasperated, Deja rubbed her temples with her fingertips. His voice had a storm-cloud heaviness to it suddenly. A tone she rarely heard from him, and it chilled her. Still, she stood. Geoff held the drink out to her. Well, why not? Space knew she needed it. Screw the extra calories.

  “Just talk,” she said, leveling her tone and plucking the nectar-filled plastimug from his hand.

  “Fine,” he replied. His gaze now held something she would recognize no matter what disguise he wore. Pity. “Deja, I know about your father. And I just learned that he’s been injured. Badly.”

  “My…” she trailed off. No! Before another thought could flash through her mind, she drew back her arm and hurled the plastimug of nectar at Geoff.

  Only the lieutenant’s training saved him from a contusion. “Deja, your father is—” But she was already moving at him, her muscles burning with the need for action, her heart aching with a need for Geoff to be wrong.

  Although she angled her body as if to tackle him, she bent sideways at the last moment. Landing a satisfying punch to his midsection. He grunted. Deja dived in the direction of her blow. As soon as her opposite hand and one knee touched the floor, she kicked backwards with her free leg. Her shoe flew off and her foot didn’t connect. Blast it.

  Reacting, she used her momentum to spin around. Crouching and facing Geoff again, she panted, more from anger than exertion. To her surprise, the man didn’t even look mad. He held his long-limbed body in a fighting stance, yes, but his features weren’t contorted in anger. In that instant, she knew he could’ve caught and restrained her if he wanted to. His reach was much better than hers. Besides which, her blazing emotions had never improved her brawling reflexes.

  Swallowing, she stood up as worry, shock, rage, and a lot of other annoying emotions burned up and down her spine. How had he found out about her father? Was her papá dying? “Everything, Geoff. Tell me everything. Now.”

  “Of course,” he said, rubbing his stomach where she’d jabbed him.

  “Is my father dying?”

  “No, but it was a close thing. Please, sit down?” he ventured.

  A retort came to mind, but all she cared about was learning what Geoff knew. Anyhow, now that her adrenaline had ebbed and she stood there wearing only one shoe, finding a seat seemed prudent. Kicking off her remaining shoe, she plodded over to the odd-looking couch.
<
br />   “For some time, I’ve been curious about your family, Deja,” he began as she sank into the plush, green cushions. Though she knew her face must be pale, she smoothed her expression and waited for him to continue. Goosebumps prickled her skin, so she bent her legs and tucked them against her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees.

  At her silence, the officer placed his hands behind his back. “I just wanted to know all I could about you. But you always guard your past with more zeal than a Felxian cat guards her litter. I don’t blame you. Most of us don’t get to choose who our family members are. Maybe I shouldn’t have snooped.” He tilted his head at her. “If I hadn’t, though, I wouldn’t have discovered that your father had been injured recently. In fact, I wouldn’t have thought to negotiate his treatment and release as your reward for helping me apprehend our foodie friend.”

  Gratitude flushed her cheeks pink. Almost choking, she asked, “His release? But what happened? How did he get hurt?”

  “Well, you and your father are far too spirited for your own good.” Geoff smiled, encouraged by the relief in her voice. “Seems that he didn’t like the idea of poisoning the warden and the guards as part of a planned breakout. Some inmates showed your father how much they disliked his decision. They started with a beat down and ended with a frame job, saying he was the ringleader of the escape plot.” Geoff paused, clearing his throat, a sign he was nervous.

  “Go ahead. Give me details,” she said, rubbing her sweaty palms against her slacks.

  “OK. Broken kneecaps and legs. One hand…smashed. Tongue, almost severed. Various lacerations and bruises. Bad concussion and cracked skull. Nerve damage here and there. Some memory loss. And a bruised liver and kidney.”

  Dazed and queasy, she closed her eyes. Determined not to appear as weak as she felt, Deja resisted putting her head between her knees. She kept her eyes squeezed tight against the tears and the images of her battered father. She was tough. An oddsbreaker had to be.