was it. That’s all he’d said.
And he was right.
It wasn’t any of her business.
But the hurt was there, a razor-sharp edge that sliced the air between them.
The door creaked. Before she could react, he stood in front of her.
“Take this.” Booker handed her a bundle. Harsh woven cloth scraped against her palm.
“A change of clothes,” he whispered. “Putit on.”
“Where—”
“A caftan from a nearby laundry line.”
It took a moment, but she found the openings, slipped the garment over her head.
“So we can move through the streets easier.” He pulled a duplicate over his head.
Both were dark and blended well with the night. She took a step, testing the length, pleased when the hem brushed against the top of her foot. If she hadto run, she didn’t want to trip.
Sandra drew a shabby scarf from the bottom of the bag, and noticed the flat bread and cheese. “You’ve been busy.”
“I also found a place to stable the horse.” A pail clattered somewhere down the street. People shouted; a door slammed. Booker placed a finger to his lips, then peered out the window for a long moment.
Two men, their backs hunched, hurrieddown a nearby alleyway. Obviously, they didn’t like the noise or the skirmish it caused.
Sandra draped the scarf around her neck, then pulled out the food, divided it in half and put the first portion back in the bag.
When he stepped from the window, she held out his share. A small piece of bread and cheese. “Digestion dehydrates. It’s best to have small meals.”
Booker waved offthe food. “I’m not hungry.”
“Doesn’t matter. You need to eat something.” She lifted her hand higher. “I won’t be able to carry you if you faint. So I’ll leave you where you fall and finish this...hunt...by myself.”
“Hunt?” he questioned, but took the bread and cheese.
“I’m sorry, should I have said ‘vacation’?”
Booker took a bite of the cheese. His head pounded, tiny razor-sharpclaws raking it from the inside every time his jaw moved.
“The cylinders are in the mountains on the farthest side of Tourlay. Easily a full day by jeep from the city.”
“We’re going to need supplies.”
“My friends will provide them.”
“Just how friendly are we talking here?” He took another bite, this time out of sheer stubbornness. The pain ebbed quicker, but not quick enough.He stepped over to the window, took another long look.
“I know more people than you think,” Sandra argued. “Last year, I found the contacts, got introduced to the right people on the streets who could provide the services I required or the supplies I needed in cities throughout Taer.”
“What do you mean? Right people?” Anger whipped his head around, but the dizziness had him locking hisknees, grabbing the window’s edge with his free hand.
“You need rest, Booker.”
“I need a hell of a lot more than that,” he quipped. “Finish telling me about your contacts all over Taer.”
“Tourlay had been one of the main cities I worked in. I’ve spent the last year relocating families, providing medical treatment.”
Booker swore silently. “Who helped you?”
“I can’t tellyou.”
Guilt edged her eyes, but defiance lifted her chin. Obviously, it was her choice of penance.
A dangerous one.
“They’re wanted by Taer. They’re Al Asheera, Booker.”
“Who are they, Doc?” His voice was silky smooth and razor-sharp.
“I can’t tell you...I have to show you. They’ll only deal with me. It took me months to arrange my first meeting with them.” She foldedher arms for emphasis.
“All right.” He held out his hand, helped her to her feet. “Let’s go.”
She glanced at his hand, remembered the strength of his fingers against her skin....
She tugged free, wiped her palms against her pant legs. His words replayed in her head.
Suspicious, she studied him, searching for the hidden agenda. “You gave in too easy, McKnight. What’s the catch?”
“No catch.
And he was right.
It wasn’t any of her business.
But the hurt was there, a razor-sharp edge that sliced the air between them.
The door creaked. Before she could react, he stood in front of her.
“Take this.” Booker handed her a bundle. Harsh woven cloth scraped against her palm.
“A change of clothes,” he whispered. “Putit on.”
“Where—”
“A caftan from a nearby laundry line.”
It took a moment, but she found the openings, slipped the garment over her head.
“So we can move through the streets easier.” He pulled a duplicate over his head.
Both were dark and blended well with the night. She took a step, testing the length, pleased when the hem brushed against the top of her foot. If she hadto run, she didn’t want to trip.
Sandra drew a shabby scarf from the bottom of the bag, and noticed the flat bread and cheese. “You’ve been busy.”
“I also found a place to stable the horse.” A pail clattered somewhere down the street. People shouted; a door slammed. Booker placed a finger to his lips, then peered out the window for a long moment.
Two men, their backs hunched, hurrieddown a nearby alleyway. Obviously, they didn’t like the noise or the skirmish it caused.
Sandra draped the scarf around her neck, then pulled out the food, divided it in half and put the first portion back in the bag.
When he stepped from the window, she held out his share. A small piece of bread and cheese. “Digestion dehydrates. It’s best to have small meals.”
Booker waved offthe food. “I’m not hungry.”
“Doesn’t matter. You need to eat something.” She lifted her hand higher. “I won’t be able to carry you if you faint. So I’ll leave you where you fall and finish this...hunt...by myself.”
“Hunt?” he questioned, but took the bread and cheese.
“I’m sorry, should I have said ‘vacation’?”
Booker took a bite of the cheese. His head pounded, tiny razor-sharpclaws raking it from the inside every time his jaw moved.
“The cylinders are in the mountains on the farthest side of Tourlay. Easily a full day by jeep from the city.”
“We’re going to need supplies.”
“My friends will provide them.”
“Just how friendly are we talking here?” He took another bite, this time out of sheer stubbornness. The pain ebbed quicker, but not quick enough.He stepped over to the window, took another long look.
“I know more people than you think,” Sandra argued. “Last year, I found the contacts, got introduced to the right people on the streets who could provide the services I required or the supplies I needed in cities throughout Taer.”
“What do you mean? Right people?” Anger whipped his head around, but the dizziness had him locking hisknees, grabbing the window’s edge with his free hand.
“You need rest, Booker.”
“I need a hell of a lot more than that,” he quipped. “Finish telling me about your contacts all over Taer.”
“Tourlay had been one of the main cities I worked in. I’ve spent the last year relocating families, providing medical treatment.”
Booker swore silently. “Who helped you?”
“I can’t tellyou.”
Guilt edged her eyes, but defiance lifted her chin. Obviously, it was her choice of penance.
A dangerous one.
“They’re wanted by Taer. They’re Al Asheera, Booker.”
“Who are they, Doc?” His voice was silky smooth and razor-sharp.
“I can’t tell you...I have to show you. They’ll only deal with me. It took me months to arrange my first meeting with them.” She foldedher arms for emphasis.
“All right.” He held out his hand, helped her to her feet. “Let’s go.”
She glanced at his hand, remembered the strength of his fingers against her skin....
She tugged free, wiped her palms against her pant legs. His words replayed in her head.
Suspicious, she studied him, searching for the hidden agenda. “You gave in too easy, McKnight. What’s the catch?”
“No catch.
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