and the next thing he knew she had her arms around him, pressing her body tightly against his. “Ah—Allyse—”
“It’s so good to see you,” she said, her voice oddly muffled as she spoke into his shoulder, her face pressed against the left side of his face, her breath disconcertingly warm on his neck. “How have you been these last few years?” Hal glanced past the side of her head. Isard had now stepped around behind her and was giving Hal the same kind of look she’d just been giving the comlink. “Actually, Allyse, I’m kind of busy right now,” he told her, trying to diplomatically ease her away from him. A waste of effort; her arms merely tightened all the harder around him. “In fact, I’m in the middle of something very important. I have to go.”
“Imagine finding you here,” she repeated. “Is this destiny, or what?”
Isard’s eyes were starting to throw sparks. Bracing himself, Hal took a deep breath and got a firm grip on Allyse’s ribs.
And abruptly froze. Faintly detectable with that incoming breath had been two distinctive aromas: the pungent tang of cigarra smoke, plus the more subtle scent of Gralish liqueur.
Moranda Savich?
He opened his mouth to speak; but before he could get the proper words lined up, the arms pinioning the two of them together loosened and she stepped back. He caught just a glimpse of the slender lockjim between her lips before it vanished again into her mouth and belatedly noticed the pressure of the choke-collar around his neck had disappeared—
And with her grin still in place, Allyse backed full tilt into Isard.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, twisting around with feline speed and grabbing Isard’s jacket in time to keep her from falling backward. “So very clumsy of me,” she added, busily brushing down Isard’s jacket where her grip had momentarily wrinkled it. “Are you all right?”
“Get away,” Isard snapped, putting a palm against Allyse’s chest and pushing her away. The shove sent her sprawling back against the side of the landspeeder, her hands scrabbling for balance and finding a grip across the top of the door.
“Well, sure,” Allyse said in a subdued tone.
“You don’t have to be so rough,” Hal reproved Isard gently, his eyes probing Allyse’s face. Usually he was able to pull Moranda’s features out from under the mask of her many and varied disguises, but here, at first blush, anyway, he couldn’t seem to find her anywhere in that indignant expression. Maybe it wasn’t her, after all.
“She should be thankful I didn’t get rough,” Isard countered acidly. “Now get away from our landspeeder. We have business to attend to.”
“I don’t think so,” a voice called from Hal’s right.
He turned. Colonel Nyroska, flanked by two uniformed Defense officers, was striding in their direction. All three had blasters drawn. “Colonel Nyroska,” Hal nodded. “What brings you down here?”
“Your friend there, Inspector Horn,” Nyroska said, his gaze shifting over Hal’s shoulder. “She and I need to have a long talk.”
“My friend?” Hal frowned, turning back to look at Allyse.
But she was not, as he’d expected, waiting with the wilted, defeated look of a criminal or fugitive who’d finally been run to ground. Instead, she was standing tall and proud, an almost haughty expression on her face. “I commend you on your excellent timing, Colonel,” she said in a voice that matched the face as she gestured at Isard. “There’s your thief, and my Rebel agent. Arrest her.”
The sheer effrontery of it caught Isard completely flatfooted. “What in the—?” she sputtered. “You little—back off!” she snapped as one of Nyroska’s men reached for her arm. “Back off, all of you.”
Her hand dived beneath her jacket, then froze in place as three blasters suddenly lined up on her face. “You’re making a big mistake, Colonel,” she said quietly. “A big mistake. I’m Imperial Intelligence Field
“It’s so good to see you,” she said, her voice oddly muffled as she spoke into his shoulder, her face pressed against the left side of his face, her breath disconcertingly warm on his neck. “How have you been these last few years?” Hal glanced past the side of her head. Isard had now stepped around behind her and was giving Hal the same kind of look she’d just been giving the comlink. “Actually, Allyse, I’m kind of busy right now,” he told her, trying to diplomatically ease her away from him. A waste of effort; her arms merely tightened all the harder around him. “In fact, I’m in the middle of something very important. I have to go.”
“Imagine finding you here,” she repeated. “Is this destiny, or what?”
Isard’s eyes were starting to throw sparks. Bracing himself, Hal took a deep breath and got a firm grip on Allyse’s ribs.
And abruptly froze. Faintly detectable with that incoming breath had been two distinctive aromas: the pungent tang of cigarra smoke, plus the more subtle scent of Gralish liqueur.
Moranda Savich?
He opened his mouth to speak; but before he could get the proper words lined up, the arms pinioning the two of them together loosened and she stepped back. He caught just a glimpse of the slender lockjim between her lips before it vanished again into her mouth and belatedly noticed the pressure of the choke-collar around his neck had disappeared—
And with her grin still in place, Allyse backed full tilt into Isard.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, twisting around with feline speed and grabbing Isard’s jacket in time to keep her from falling backward. “So very clumsy of me,” she added, busily brushing down Isard’s jacket where her grip had momentarily wrinkled it. “Are you all right?”
“Get away,” Isard snapped, putting a palm against Allyse’s chest and pushing her away. The shove sent her sprawling back against the side of the landspeeder, her hands scrabbling for balance and finding a grip across the top of the door.
“Well, sure,” Allyse said in a subdued tone.
“You don’t have to be so rough,” Hal reproved Isard gently, his eyes probing Allyse’s face. Usually he was able to pull Moranda’s features out from under the mask of her many and varied disguises, but here, at first blush, anyway, he couldn’t seem to find her anywhere in that indignant expression. Maybe it wasn’t her, after all.
“She should be thankful I didn’t get rough,” Isard countered acidly. “Now get away from our landspeeder. We have business to attend to.”
“I don’t think so,” a voice called from Hal’s right.
He turned. Colonel Nyroska, flanked by two uniformed Defense officers, was striding in their direction. All three had blasters drawn. “Colonel Nyroska,” Hal nodded. “What brings you down here?”
“Your friend there, Inspector Horn,” Nyroska said, his gaze shifting over Hal’s shoulder. “She and I need to have a long talk.”
“My friend?” Hal frowned, turning back to look at Allyse.
But she was not, as he’d expected, waiting with the wilted, defeated look of a criminal or fugitive who’d finally been run to ground. Instead, she was standing tall and proud, an almost haughty expression on her face. “I commend you on your excellent timing, Colonel,” she said in a voice that matched the face as she gestured at Isard. “There’s your thief, and my Rebel agent. Arrest her.”
The sheer effrontery of it caught Isard completely flatfooted. “What in the—?” she sputtered. “You little—back off!” she snapped as one of Nyroska’s men reached for her arm. “Back off, all of you.”
Her hand dived beneath her jacket, then froze in place as three blasters suddenly lined up on her face. “You’re making a big mistake, Colonel,” she said quietly. “A big mistake. I’m Imperial Intelligence Field
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