Chapter 2

The woman sprinted away, her steps soft slaps on the slick alley pavement. Her perfume drifted in her wake—sweet like pine needles. With the light gone, spots danced in Connor’s eyes, but something about her made it easy to follow.

It was the spots. They actually framed her body, revealing the light jacket flapping up and down with her stride, the pants that accented her hips. Instead of blinding him, those spots were enough to trace their surroundings, too: high walls in a variety of grays and sludge blacks. They seemed close enough to squeeze in against him.

What could cause the spots to do that? It was the light, obviously, but—

That device hadn’t been just a flashlight. She’d projected someing into the air with it—maybe some sort of phosphorescent particles, or something that caused a sensitivity to something in her clothing. Even with his pupils dilated, it seemed like her clothing glowed.

His mind raced, but it was split between trying to remember the woman’s voice and tracking his pursuers. That ended when something rattled off the walls around him, and he caught the soft puff of gunfire.

A chill ran down his spine—fear rather than the cool air.

It wasn’t just any gunfire, but rail guns: magnetic coils accelerating small, metal slugs at terrifying speeds.

That narrowed the list of candidates. Not many could afford concealable rail guns.

Up ahead, the woman darted into a street, skidded, and stood revealed in the light of a cart for just a moment.

Black hair, alabaster skin, a delicate little nose.

Toshiko! What was she doing here?

He would have to ask her later, because after she glanced past him, she bolted to the right, out of sight.

Connor exited the alley just ahead of another volley of shots that flaked off sections of the wall above and to the right. He ducked against the wall and held his breath, heart racing.

Six. They had been trailing ten to fifteen meters behind. They would split up, half coming down the alley, the ones farther back running parallel, taking the alley to his right.

That gave him seconds. Long enough.

From the alley came the patter of soft soles, preceding a head of thick, brown hair and a narrow set of shoulders.

And there was a hand with a big pistol in it.

The lead pursuer.

Connor’s right fist pistoned out at the same moment he locked his left hand around the gunman’s wrist and squeezed. The fist connected with a meaty crack.

The gunman went slack, dazed.

That left two in the alleyway.

In a continuous motion, Connor caught the gunman under the arms and brought him up, pushing his limp body ahead and into the alleyway, using him like a human shield.

More puffs of gunfire echoed in the alleyway.

Something rattled off Connor’s left shoulder, and the heft of the stunned man became dead weight.

A round had gone through the gunman—probably the round that had hit Connor.

He had a few answers now. His pursuers had the money for good equipment. They were professional. They were out to kill him. And they weren’t the least bit concerned about anything that got in the way of that mission.

Umbra, then. Not thugs or enemies but Talon Sector government agents…the Directorate had sent its assassins after him.

Connor activated the infrared nano-circuitry of his contacts, revealing the thermographic forms of his attackers. Given their heat profiles—more blue of the ambient temperature than red and orange of a human body—they were either wearing heat-disguising undergarments or they were dead.

With the body shield now truly dead weight, Connor drove it toward the closer of the assassins. The body smashed into the assassin, slamming it against the wall.

Another puff of gunfire—muffled this time—echoed, and a round cracked against the pavement.

That was the momentary distraction Connor needed.

He let go of the dead gunman, tucked slightly, and backflipped to where he’d seen the third assassin.

His leap was a little off, or maybe the other man had moved in the second since he’d been spotted by Connor, but it worked out all right, as he smashed into the Umbra agent.

The two of them tumbled to the pavement in a heap.

It was typical—instinctive—to hold onto a sidearm and try to use it when engaged. Unfortunately, it was also a bad idea.

Connor grabbed the weapon barrel with his left hand and shoved the tip away. At the same instant, he brought his right forearm down against his opponent’s throat and face in rapid strikes until the gun came free from limp hands.

Another puff sounded at the same instant that something whistled past Connor’s right ear. He had a vague awareness of the pavement cracking nearby.

The second assassin was silhouetted against the mouth of the alleyway.

Sloppy. Inexperienced.

Connor hurled the weapon he’d taken from the other man, striking the remaining assassin in the chest.

It was enough to foul the next shot.

And that was enough for Connor to roll across the short distance separating them and to sweep the other man’s feet with the lunge of a shoulder.

At that point, it was elementary: control the weapon, knock out the assassin.

But as the final assassin went limp, the patter of approaching feet became clear.

There was no time to climb a wall or to sprint deeper into the alley, so Connor settled on rolling back into the darkness as far as he could. He managed to get to the body of the assassin who’d been killed by his fellow Umbra agents. Connor tugged the corpse over him, hoping that might be enough to confuse the agents.

They’d chased him in the dark, and they’d fired on him without hesitation. That meant they could see him somehow. He was counting on the same infrared contact lenses as he had. They were expensive, but that wouldn’t be a problem for an organization that could afford rail gun pistols.

At the alley opening, the second group of assassins paused, once again showing the same sort of sloppy behavior that an elite Umbra assassin wouldn’t show.

That meant these were Slivers—good but not elite.

So there was a chance Connor might walk away from this engagement alive.

He watched from behind the corpse, one eye barely raised over the crook of the dead man’s neck.

One of the agents waved the other two forward, and they entered the alley, pistols slowly sweeping in time with the swing of their heads.

Not good.

If Connor attacked the two moving down the alley, he would leave himself exposed to the third. If he waited until the two swept past him in the alley and attacked the one at the entry, he would be exposed to their shots. Waiting them out wasn’t an option, either. They would check their comrades’ bodies.

That left only one option.

When one of the two assassins leaned in, one hand extended to check on the dead agent, Connor hurled the corpse at the curious assassin.

With the corpse knocking the curious assassin backwards, Connor launched himself at the other assassin in the alleyway.

A puff of gunfire came from the Umbra agent’s gun, but the shot missed.

Connor didn’t. He grabbed the man’s chin and drove his head into the opposite alley wall.

The assassin’s skull cracked against the hard surface, and he slid down.

Before the man’s butt hit the ground, Connor had twisted around, grabbed the off-balance assassin, and dragged him to the ground. Once on the ground, the pattern of disarm and disable was completed.

But when Connor raised up to hurl the pistol at the assassin at the end of the alleyway, he realized that the Umbra agent already had a bead on him. Silhouetted, the assassin was smaller than the others, slender and feminine. What he could make out of her face confirmed that.

He hesitated, knowing that he couldn’t stop her shot.

And then she fired.

Except, there wasn’t a puff of the rail gun round whipping out of the barrel and coming toward him. Rather, there was the crack of a bullet being expelled by the explosion of gunpowder.

He patted his chest, where the Umbra assassin had been aiming.

No blood, no pain.

She slumped to her knees, then dropped to the pavement.

Another feminine form rushed toward the alley from across the street: Toshiko.

She kicked the assassin’s gun away, then glared at Connor. “What was that?”

He stood. “What was what?”

“You had guns all around you. Last I remember, you were a decent shot.”

“I don’t like using guns.”

“Really?” The small woman snorted. “Is that some ridiculous crap Wentz taught you? Die with honor and dignity?”

Connor brushed grime off his jacket and slacks. “It’s something life taught me.”

“Well, you better unlearn it.” Toshiko grabbed the rail gun pistol she’d kicked away and shoved it into his chest. “You’ve got a bounty on your head. You realize that, right?”

“I do.” He took the gun. “I didn’t think they’d pick me up so quickly.”

“Yeah, well, they did.” The bridge of her nose crinkled. “You stink.”

“One of the costs of doing business.”

An old man’s head—mahogany skin wreathed with spiky white hair—poked around the corner. Big eyes blinked behind thick glass lenses. He grunted, then pulled back and out of sight.

The cart vendor. Not a threat.

Toshiko groaned. “Why’d you have to come to Mara? I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

“It wasn’t my choice. Anyway, I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Now you know that I am, you need to go.”

“I can’t. You’re supposed to be my contact. I need a job.”

One of the Umbra agents groaned. The little woman kicked the assassin in the side of the head. “Just great. You didn’t even kill them?”

“When they wake up, they’ll wish they’d been killed.”

She shook her head. “We can’t stay here.”

“The job—?”

“Not here.”

“But I need it. Whatever you can find.”

Toshiko jabbed a finger into his chest. “I’ll do what I can, but only because I want you off of Mara. You understand?”

“I—”

“After what you did to me…” She spun on a heel and stomped out of the alleyway, leaving a pleasant hint of perfume behind.

Connor breathed it in and closed his eyes, remembering a better time and the taste of sweet synthcaff and cream on her lips.

“Connor!”

His eyes snapped open. “Sorry.”

She stormed away, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket, shoulders slumped.

He followed after, because he had no other options.