Alarm zapped through her. Her first thought was that going back to her place alone with him was probably not a good idea. Not yet, at any rate. Following hard on the heels of that bit of common sense was the memory of the breakfast dishes she had left sitting in the kitchen sink. And then there was the silky, chocolate brown bra she had washed by hand before leaving the house that morning. The bra was spread out on a towel on the window bench.
Her apartment was a small, open, loft design. Both the kitchen and the window bench were clearly visible from the entrance and sitting area. There was no way she could keep Cruz from seeing either the dishes or the bra.
This was so typical of the Dore luck, she thought. The man of her dreams walked back into her life, showing every indication that he wanted to make amends for his betrayal, and she had to worry about dirty dishes and a little hand washing.
She cleared her throat. "Well, the thing is—"
"If the idea of being alone with me makes you nervous," Cruz said, "we could probably find a quiet restaurant somewhere nearby."
"No." The word was out before she could stop herself. She drew a deep breath. She could do this. Cruz had his pride, too. She could allow him a little privacy for his groveling, and if one thing led to another, as seemed increasingly possible, there would be a lot of kissing and making up to be done. That required privacy, too. "No, that's okay. We can go back to my place."
"Thanks." He took her arm and started toward the door. "Sorry to catch you by surprise. I thought about calling, but I figured it would be better to talk about this in person. Some things can't be said over the phone."
"Especially in view of the fact that all of our recent communications have been conducted through lawyers," she said.
His mouth edged up slightly at the corner. "That does tend to limit the conversation."
"Actually, it turned out to be a pretty one-sided conversation."
"That was because you had a pretty bad lawyer."
Heads turned as Cruz steered her through the room toward the glass doors. Like most members of the notoriously reclusive Sweetwater clan, he tried to keep a very low profile. Until recently, he had spent his career working as an agent in the various field offices of AI Security. It was that anonymity that had allowed him to deceive her three months ago. But his recent appointment to the CEO slot had brought with it a lot of media attention. Her lawsuit had only added fuel to the fire. These days, in a gathering like this one, he was bound to be recognized.
An eerie silence descended on the crowd. It was followed almost immediately by a buzz of conversation that sounded a little too forced. The unmistakable rhythms of hot gossip, Lyra thought. Tomorrow there would be talk on the streets of the Quarter where the galleries and antiquities shops were located and possibly a mention in the art section of the Frequency Herald. Harriet Swan was no doubt giddy. Nothing could have elevated the status of her modest gallery more than having word go out that Cruz Sweetwater had been present tonight.
Three months ago this kind of attention had not been an issue. In his guise as a secretive underground collector, Cruz had favored secluded, dimly lit restaurants and romantic meals in her loft. But tonight things were different. Tension twisted her insides. She did not like this feeling. It was like being onstage.
"Ignore it," Cruz said.
As if he read my mind. She did not like that notion any better. The experts were certain that telepathy was impossible, but they had never met Cruz Sweetwater. He might not be able to actually read minds, but there was no one better when it came to predicting an opponent's next move. He was always one step ahead. She must not forget that.
Nancy caught her eye from across the gallery and waggled her fingers in a subtle high-rez sign: closed hand, thumb and pinky extended in the air.
Lyra took a deep breath. One thing, at least, was clear. This was not another one of the horrible waking nightmares. Cruz was no illusion. She could feel the power in him, sense the energy resonating between them. Whatever happened this evening, at least it would be real.
She went with him out into the glowing night.
Chapter 2
NIGHT WAS NEVER TRULY DARK IN THE OLD QUARTER of Frequency City. The gentle emerald light that illuminated the streets and rooftops emanated from the massive green quartz walls that surrounded the ruins of the Dead City.
The four major city-state capitals, Frequency, Resonance, Cadence, and Crystal, had been founded in the shadows of the largest of the walled cities that had been abandoned by the long-vanished aliens. But the free street lighting wasn't the only reason that the First Generation colonists had built their initial settlements directly adjacent to the aboveground ruins. In those early years there had been no way to know what dangers lurked in the vast wilderness of the new home world. The four Dead Cities—their towering quartz barricades impervious to even the most sophisticated machines and weapons of Earth—had offered the promise of protection.
As it happened, there had never been any need for the colonists or their descendants to seek refuge in the ruins. Harmony had a wide assortment of wild animals, but it had soon become apparent that there were no local inhabitants to object to the newcomers from Earth.
In the two hundred years that had passed since the Curtain had closed, stranding the colonists, Frequency, like the other major cities, had grown far beyond its humble beginnings. Its gleaming office towers were clustered downtown, not in the Quarter. Neighborhoods and suburbs sprawled far and wide. The most expensive properties were now found on the hillsides and along the river, far from the colonial heart of the city.
But it wasn't just the cheaper rents in the Quarter that had attracted Lyra, although that was certainly a huge factor. It was the subtle effect of the paranormal energy that leaked from the ruins and the strange catacombs underground that made the neighborhood attractive to her. Walking through the glowing streets at night was always something of a rush. Walking through them with Cruz at her side was even better.
"My car is over there," Cruz said.
She looked at the sleek black Slider parked at the curb. It was the same vehicle he had been driving three months ago.
"I see you didn't change your car when you changed your name," she said.
"I didn't use a fake name. Marlowe is my middle name." He opened the passenger door of the Slider. "Came from my mother's side of the family. Are you going to snap at me all evening, or can we have a reasonable discussion?"
"That probably depends on your definition of reasonable."
"What I have to say is important, Lyra."
She hesitated, her grandfather's words echoing down through the years with a warning she had heard since childhood: "Never trust a Sweetwater."
But the ridiculously hopeful side of her nature was in control.
"Okay," she said. She slipped into the embrace of the leather seat and looked up at him. "I'll play nice. At least until I know what this is all about."
"Thanks. I appreciate it. This conversation is going to be hard enough as it is."
That did it. She suddenly felt sorry for him. An apology of this magnitude would not be easy for anyone, let alone a man like Cruz. He was always so sure of himself, so certain that he was doing the right thing, so determined to carry out what he felt was his responsibility. As far as he was concerned, he had been doing his job three months ago. She had to remember that the situation between them had placed him, along with his rigid code of honor, in an untenable position.
Great. She was not just feeling sorry for him, she was actually making excuses. She had to get a grip.
Cruz closed the door before she could ask him any more questions. A few seconds later, he got in beside her and rezzed the engine. Flash-rock melted, and the Slider eased away from the curb. Cruz turned at the corner, driving deeper into the Quarter. Navigating the maze of twisting streets in the Colonial neighborhoods was not for the faint of heart or those who depended on maps. But Cruz piloted the Slider with unerring precision. She did not have to prompt him even a single time. She was not surprised. Cruz always knew exactly where he was going.