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By Liz Maverick


Chapter One

Macao, 2176

Nobody lives like this if they don't have to. But it all depends on what you're willing to do to get out. Jenny changed her mind a lot on that score. It was amazing how easily real life could mess with your standards.

The vendor in front of her cleared his throat impatiently as she considered his offerings. She ignored him, using the muzzle of her handgun to lift the bread and examine the small slab of bloni. Meat substitutes on Macao were a bit dicey these days, but she'd had her last round of innox shots pretty recently. And she needed cheap fuel.

She'd been trying to get out of places like this all her life. Except for that one year at the palace...but, frankly, when the grass is really greener on the other side, it's better not to know about it all. She poked at a second sandwich. Yeah, ignorance was bliss, for sure. Especially when it came to synthetic meat.

She held up the forefinger on her gun hand. "I'll take those two. And don't even try to rip me off."

He scowled, his eyes flicking from the gun in her hand to the coins she held in her opposite palm. "You got any other kinda value?"

"No. Do we have a deal, or not?"

He grunted, chose the coin that looked brassiest and dropped it in a grease-smeared apron pocket.

She wiped her hand down her vest, then realized the vest wasn't any cleaner. With a shrug, she picked up the sandwiches and stuffed one in her mouth, using a quick chaser of alcohol mixed with antibiotic from a flask both to kill off any newer forms of bio-infection and any flavor.

She ate quickly, an iron grip on her messenger bag, eyes focused on the people milling about in the square, ears listening for unusual variations in the droning sound filtering down from the sky above the built-up highways and skyways. The nagging feeling of being watched followed her everywhere.

Of course, people around here watched any female who appeared to have all relevant body parts and at least half a brain.

Jenny turned slowly in a casual circle. Observe carefully and pretend you see nothing. And if you do...just keep it steady...keep it steady...

Okay, who was that?

The guy was too clean, for this area. Too fit, too well-fed. And his weapons were way too new.

Her second glance was quick, practiced, and if he hadn't already been staring straight at her they'd never have registered eye contact at all.

Jenny's mouth went dry, but she'd overreacted and made a fool of herself before. Paranoia was a disease down here, blooming out from one person and infecting a crowd like a virus. She stopped turning, and stood motionless in front of the vendor's kiosk, only half aware of the sandwich bread squeezing under her nails. Her mind skidded through a list of jobs she'd had over the past year. Who did she know...who had she worked for...what jobs...had she screwed anyone over?

It could be anything, but she always came back to one likely possibility. Parliament. Had they come for her at last? Well, in all fairness, she'd gone and killed a man. A very particular sort of man. And if it were her on the flipside, she'd still be looking for her, too.

But the members of Parliament rarely looked outside their self-styled world, even to square up a dispute. Jenny chewed nervously on her lip. In her case, maybe murder was worth the trip. From a strategic point of view, making an example of someone like her was a reasonable way to keep order, to keep Newgate—hell, the whole of Australia—for themselves.

She shuddered as she thought of that place, those men. Hardly men, really. More like empty souls using opiate to make their sick reality more palatable. Creepy men posturing as Regency-era aristocrats from a time made moldy in memory and tainted with the worst the present had to offer. The members of Parliament might have no control in rest of the world but they ruled with an iron fist clamped around the throat of Newgate City. And now, just when she was ready to believe they'd forgotten about her, that they'd decided she was small potatoes, that they'd never send anyone out from Newgate just for her...well, she always seemed to find a reason to keep looking over her shoulder for them, didn't she?

On the edges of her consciousness, she could feel a change in the atmosphere, the negative charge as the crowd slowly emptied from the market square behind her. A bead of cold sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades. The vendor stared straight in front of him, almost catatonic, as if he could make himself invisible through sheer will. She made a sound; their eyes met, her look a question. If there was one thing the slummers in Macao had in common, it was a mutual distrust of outsiders.

His gaze flicked quickly over her shoulder. Then he nodded almost imperceptibly, picked up an empty sandwich tray from the counter and bent down with it, scattering sandwiches as he shielded himself below the table.

Jenny took a deep breath and split to the left.

Pushing through bodies, she hurled herself over the concrete slab that demarcated the boundary of the marketplace. Balancing herself with a hand to the ground, she hardly felt it as her palm scraped hard against the concrete. She moved to snatch the stun-gun from her left ankle holster, but bobbled the grip; it skittered out across the pavement. She grabbed it, reared up and accelerated to a flat-out sprint. Jenny knew these alleys like the back of her hand and was fairly acclimated to the pollution; there was no question she could lose such a big guy with just a bit more lead.

The damn messenger bag thumped against her back as she ran. She could unlock it, drop it. Not unless she had to. It held everything she owned. Some ratty clothes, first aid, random ammunition—nothing in there that could help in this scenario. She had a couple of low-grade explosives, but she'd run out of ignition clips.

Still running as fast as she could, she glanced behind her and saw her pursuer jump the concrete barrier with surprising ease. A double-take revealed he was talking into a comm device. Not good.

She ducked into another side street, and flattened herself against the wall, sliding awkwardly across the slimy bricks.

His footsteps thundered down the side street toward her. "Don't run!" he called.

Don't run? Yeah, right. What's the one thing you do when some huge bastard with a gun warns you not to run? You run like hell and hope you're a better shot. Jenny flipped herself face first against the well, took a second to try and control the shake in her hand from the adrenaline, then fired a recon shot around the corner. The stunner flared half-heartedly, then sputtered and died.

Cursing a blue streak, she slammed the side of her hand against the muzzle, shook it almost desperately, and went for it again.

"Jenny Red!"

It worked this time, sending a flare straight down the alley. Bullseye. The heavy grunted and reeled back, losing his footing and slamming backwards to the ground. She stared up at the traffic-congested sky, if not expecting a miracle, at least a little inspiration. The sun was already beginning to go down, and against the backdrop of electric pink and orange neon clouds enhanced by the chemicals in the smog, Jenny could see a copter circling above the launch pad on the rooftop. She'd just have to throw herself on the pilot's mercy. She swung around, looking for the rooftop ladder access attached the high-rise behind her, and ran for it, leaping onto the rungs. Halfway up, she looked down. The heavy was already up, shaking his head clear like a dog ridding its coat of water. Okay, so much for stun. She slammed the stun-gun in her leg holster and just kept climbing.

"Don't run!" The man stopped abruptly, clearly under the mistaken belief that if he gave the impression of retreat, she'd somehow interpret him as a friendly. Not likely. Not even close. Although, for a nanosecond she did consider surrender on the grounds that it might get the idiot to quit screaming out her name at the top of his lungs for every bounty hunter in a five-block radius to hear. For all she knew, Parliament might literally have a price on her head.

His dogged approach as he ran the length of the alley in what seemed like record time sent chills up her spine. She just kept moving up the endless ladder along the side of the high-rise.

She was at least seventy-five pounds lighter than he was, and gasping for air. That this guy could move so fast given his size in this kind of atmosphere meant he had access to oxygen poppers. He obviously worked for someone with a lot of value to afford that stuff. Definitely not good. Made the idea of trying to kill him a less appealing investment in the rest of her life.

Sweat ran down the inside of her bulky protective gear, and clearing the side of the building to the rooftop, she had to battle a wave of nausea from the altitude and pollution combined.

The rhythmic clang of boots on the ladder behind her kept her focused on the copter, now resting in idle on the launch pad. The pilot opened the door, and Jenny pulled her handgun from the opposite holster. Glancing behind her, she saw the heavy clear the ladder and step onto the roof.

She pointed her gun at him, gasping and gulping for air, her finger slippery on the trigger. He stopped in his tracks at a bit of a stalemate and she finally got a good enough look at him to realize that he didn't have the stamp of Newgate on him. Just a gut feeling, and it wasn't like it provided her any sense of relief. He could have been hired through a middleman. Although given his obvious Japanese descent, he was likely a local. Closely shaved black hair, angular face, eyes narrowing as he stared back at her. None of that registered much concern. What concerned her was that the guy was built like a Sumo wrestler—without the fat. Taking a hit from one of those fists probably felt like slamming into a side of beef.

Slowly, he raised his gun to match. "I'm—"

She didn't wait to hear the rest. Swinging back around, she ran toward the copter pilot, gun still raised. Shit, she was going to have to go for a hijack.

Suddenly, the heavy was right behind her and she was flying face first into the ground. Her gun went airborne. She raised her leg up, bent her knee and bucked her boot violently behind her, a cry of pain indicating she'd hit her target.

He flattened her anyway. "You keep using up your oxygen at this rate, you'll be delirious within five minutes," he said into her ear.

He was right, and she stopped struggling.

He sighed. "His lordship's going to be pissed."

His lordship? She turned her head toward the copter.

The engine kicked up swirls of filthy air as the pilot strode toward them, charcoal-colored trench coat billowing out behind him. Polarization shades obscured his face, but he looked tough, nasty...and familiar. The royal emblem snaked around the upper arm of his coat. Traditionally affixed in hammered platinum, this one in the raised black leather she'd seen only on one person before.

Holy hell. It was Deck.

D'ekkar Han Valoren, former prince and scion of the Han monarchy, walked up to the pile of body parts that represented Jenny and the heavy smashed into the concrete together, cocked his head at her and removed his shades. "Jenny Red. A pleasure." His voice was as hard-edged as she remembered, but it still seeped under her skin like a soft growl.

"Sorry, sir," the heavy said regretfully as he finally peeled off her. "She ran." Deck held out his hand, sheathed in a glove made from the finest armored fabric Jenny had ever seen.

Still working to catch her breath, she let him help her up and squinted at him through the smog. "You know, you could just...I don't know, send a letter. Make a call. What's with the theatrics?"

The heavy shifted behind her; she could actually feel him breathing down on her. Lovely. He clearly didn't like her taking such a casual attitude with his boss. Well, that was just too damn bad. She'd spent enough time at the Han palace to know that the trappings of royalty might be special, but the royals themselves were no better than the scum she lived with now.

To others, he might command respect, fear even. But he wouldn't get any of that from her; not anymore. True, he was Prince Kyber's half-brother. But to her, he was just Deck. Bastard son, black sheep of the royal family, and all-around rebel without a cause, as far as she could figure. Oh, yeah, plus the worst unrequited crush she'd ever had in her life. But that was then, and "now" was turning into...who the hell knew. Deck took Jenny's hands and turned them over. One palm was pretty much okay. The other was a scraped up, bleeding mess. He managed to pick a piece of gravel out of her skin before she snatched her hands away.

"Nice manners, your guy," she said roughly, nodding toward the heavy to mask her confusion. Behind the palace gates, you couldn't so much as lay a finger on a member of the royal family—and vice versa wasn't so good an idea either. He'd only ever touched her one time before, at the last.

"Jenny, allow me to present my associate, Raidon. Raidon, my old friend, Jenny Red." "That's helpful. I make it a point to always know who's lying on top of me." She touched her fingers to her nose; they came away red with blood. "Old friend, huh," she noted absently as she searched in her pockets for something to wipe her nose with.

"Do you always leap before looking?"

"It's better than being dead."

Deck's hand slid toward his breast pocket, and Jenny flinched out of habit.

He raised one eyebrow and simply pulled out a crisp, white handkerchief. She had to laugh. Jenny, you are so torqued.

She took the handkerchief. "Ready for surrender at a moment's notice?" she teased, instantly destroying the fine lawn square with the blood and dirt from her hand and face.

Deck snorted disdainfully. "To whom do you think I'm likely to surrender?"

"Not me, clearly," she grumbled with a rueful look in the direction of the ever-watchful Raidon. She held the mottled cloth back out to Deck.

He shook his head. "Consider it yours."

She stuffed it in her pocket, a corner of her mind already calculating how much value she might get for a stained handkerchief made of the finest natural fiber—monogrammed with the initials of a Han prince. Maybe she could get something for it as a novelty item. Maybe not.

"Well? What are we doing here, Deck?"

"We're picking you up." He nodded toward the idling copter. "Ready to go?"

She widened her stance and looked up at him through narrowed eyes. "Sorry. Doesn't work that way. What's on your mind?"

He sighed impatiently. "Two things. One, I need to talk to you and, two, I would really like to conserve what fuel I can."

She glared at him in stony silence.

"I need you to come with me. I'm not going to discuss it here." He quickly surveyed the high rises around them. "We've been in the open long enough as it is."

She could see his patience giving way, and couldn't help wanting to push him to the edge. "I've been living in this shithole for two years, and now the...the freaking royal brigade miraculously finds me, and I'm supposed to drop everything and follow you. Why the hell should I?"

He took his gun out of his holster and pointed it at her forehead. "Oh, I don't know. Because the food's better where we're going?"

Even Raidon jerked back in surprise.

Holy hell. She swallowed hard, then rolled her eyes, making a big show of moving the muzzle of the gun to the side with her forefinger, and itching the spot it had touched. "Okay, it's a need to know basis. I get it. Just one thing...what else do I get?"

He looked her up and down. "A bath to start."

She flushed. "For a prince, you always did make a lousy gentleman. A bath, food, medical supplies, ammunition...all the water I can carry. And this is just to talk."

"I'll throw in the tantalizing conversation for free. You have a deal."

She held out her hand.

"I trust you," he said.

"I trust me, too. It's you I have issues with." She wiggled her fingers. "Put it here, Deck."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile as he met her in a handshake. "A gentleman's agreement."

Raidon led her to the copter, with Deck following behind them.

"Are we going far?" she called over her shoulder as Raidon hustled her into the back seat.

"Not that far."

"How long is this going to take?"

Deck settled in front of the controls. "I only have one major question to ask you. How long the rest takes depends on your answer."

She frowned as Raidon strapped her in beside him like he was tucking in a small child. "Well...tell me the question, and I'll have an answer for you by the time we land."

Deck looked at her in the rearview mirror. "Have you ever heard of Banzai Maguire?" He hit the accelerator, one eye still watching her. Jenny hoped he'd assume it was the gravitational pull that drained the blood from her face.

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