Jaq’s Harp

By Ella Drake

In a world of floating islands and bio-engineered beans, the bad guys are taken down by agents of the Mother organization—agents like Jacqueline “Jaq” Robinson. Instead of accepting her next routine assignment, she sets out on a mission of her own—to destroy Giant Corp, the company responsible for her sister’s wasting illness. Jaq must steal her cure from Giant’s headquarters high above the city…even though she’ll be brought face-to-face with Harper English, the man who left her to go deep undercover at Giant.

For Harp, Jaq had been a distraction the mercenary thought he couldn’t afford. But once he sees her again, Harp knows he’s made a mistake. Even though she vowed he won’t have her again, it’s clear they still have a powerful attraction. Harp’s determined to get a second chance with Jaq—if they can escape Giant Corp and get back to solid ground in one piece…

Dear Reader,

A new year always brings with it a sense of expectation and promise (and maybe a vague sense of guilt). Expectation because we don’t know what the year will bring exactly, but promise because we always hope it will be good things. The guilt is due to all of the New Year’s resolutions we make with such good intentions.

This year, Carina Press is making a New Year’s resolution we know we won’t have any reason to feel guilty about: we’re going to bring our readers a year of fantastic editorial and diverse genre content. So far, our plans for 2011 include staff and author appearances at reader-focused conferences such as the RT Booklovers Convention in April, where we’ll be offering up goodies, appearing on panels, giving workshops and hosting a few fun activities for readers. We’re also cooking up several genre-specific release weeks, during which we’ll highlight individual genres. So far we have plans for steampunk week and unusual fantasy week. Readers will have access to free reads, discounts, contests and more as part of our week-long promotions!

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Dedication

To my family. You are my bedrock.
Thank you.

Acknowledgements

Jaq’s Harp could never have happened without the influence and work of Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm for their collection of fairytales, and of course, without my wonderful editor, Deborah Nemeth, who made this story shine.

Contents

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

About the Author

Chapter One

Jacqueline threw the digi-missive across the room to shatter into tiny shards of tech. Her latest assignment would waste her talents taking out a little band of smugglers. She wanted a much bigger target. No, not wanted. Needed.

She needed to take down Giant Corp.

She stalked past the sparsely furnished front room, through the dim hallway and into the back room of her small apartment, toward the hacking cough. On Jaq’s bed, her sister, Merrilyn, stared listlessly at the ceiling as a bloodied cloth flittered from her hand to the floor. Jaq sat on the edge, careful not to jostle the one and only person dear to her. Well, the only one left who took up residence in her personal space.

“I told you not to trust Giant Corp.” She ran a hand through Merry’s blond hair, so like her own.

Merry’s slight pat on her arm reassured her, though only a little. “They said the treatments would work. What else could I do?”

“What else, besides sell your condo and leave us destitute to pay for a charade?” Jaq clucked soothingly to take the bite from her remark. She had other reasons to distrust Giant, but Merry didn’t know about those.

“Don’t go to work,” Merry pleaded. Too weak to keep a hold, her hand fell back to her side and she closed her eyes, her lashes dark against her pale skin. “I’d rather never recover than have you do such horrible work.”

“I’m good at it. I’ll be fine.” Yes, she would be fine. She was good at what she did at Mother, the secret espionage arm of the Global Organization of Strategic Equity, de facto government of New Castle.

“You’ll be fine?” Merry took a deep shuddering breath. “Then why are you chewing your nails again?”

She yanked her hand away from her mouth and rose without disturbing the sheets clinging to the wasted body beneath. Damn. She hadn’t mangled her nails like this since…No. She wouldn’t think of him.

“I love you, sister.” Merry’s strained voice cracked. She coughed, the spasms lifting her slight frame off the bed.

“I’ll send the nurse.” She backed out of the room while Merry shook her head with the barest movement.

It didn’t matter what Merry thought. To afford the nurse, Jaq had to work, and damn if she’d waste her time on the penny ante stuff. The medical bills to keep Merry alive had bankrupted them both.

Right on time, the nurse arrived in her bright white jumper, her perfunctory nod to Jaq showing her usual taciturn nature. This efficient dark-haired woman had been on the job for two months but Jaq barely knew her. With a bit of guilty relief, she shrugged into her threadbare jacket, hurried down the corridor to the lift, and spent the short ride down torn between going back and screaming inside the empty tin can. She did neither before she escaped onto the teeming streets of New Castle, a city so large it covered a quarter of the continent.

Without greeting or apology, a man in a drab tunic bumped past her to go in her building. She didn’t recognize him. Not surprising since the high-rise held thousands. Nothing but dingy gray concrete buildings and lines and lines of carts selling food, housewares and the latest psychedelics.

A hovercraft she couldn’t afford zinged by with low humming. She stepped onto the moving walk and shrugged. “Don’t need a stinking hover.”

The low-flying mechanical transports wouldn’t get her where she needed to go.

She looked up despite herself. Most landers never did.

Above the ground, trees and low-flying birds—scarcely topping the highest scraper—the floating islands slowly circled the city, never casting their shadow in one place for too long. The constant, tempered blue sky dispersed around the black circle dotted with red engine lights. Rising from the platform structures, visible from the ground, tall mansions and spires disappeared into the clouds.

One of those islands held the corp she now existed to take down. Even before Merry’s illness, she’d been aware of Giant Corp’s greed and Mother’s reasons for looking into them. Up there, she’d find a way to make them pay for what they did to Merry. Up there, another agent, a charming dark-haired one, pursued a similar mission. If he’d done his job, the Giant would’ve fallen before Merry got hurt.

Honk.

She snapped her chin down. A hovercraft swung by close enough for the air to push aside the flap of her jacket. She stepped back onto the moving path and kept her attention on the ground rushing by. A pair of couriers crashed in the street next to her. One wore a shabby jacket like hers. The other, one of the special aeroweave tunics that glittered silver. Nobody stopped to see if they were all right. Edging her foot to the side of the walk, she nudged aside a gawker toward the exit. Before she could reach it, the two couriers were on their feet, cursing and gesticulating wildly at each other, so she stayed on the moving conveyor belt.

Several walk switches, a jaunt in a subcar and a retinal scan later, she entered Mother headquarters. The long, sprawling building resembled a warehouse more than an office building. From the outside, nobody would guess this was home to a spy agency that employed agents, mercenaries and rogue scientists to keep the megacorps in line.

This early in the morning, the place appeared empty. All the better, really. Her steps echoed on the shined floor in the wide sparse corridors.

Just as expected, the equipment chief, who practically lived at Mother, bustled about in the basement where the mercs got their daily rations of mechguns, lasers and a multitude of nanodevices to get them into impossible places. And out again. Usually.

“Monsieur Bovine.”

Dressed in his standard drab browns, the beefy man with a drooping mouth blinked at her from his desk. He smiled warmly. “Jaq.”

Nobody called her Jacqueline. Or, for that matter, Mademoiselle Robinson. “Remember those beans you told me about?”

His eyes lit up and he shot up from his chair, which skittered back with a loud screech. Around the desk faster than his bulk should allow, Bovine strode toward one of the cabinet-lined walls. Without a pause to read the label, he yanked open a drawer and pulled out a box with reverence. “These pretties are my latest. Nobody believes in their use—the cretins can’t dream big enough. Like magic, these beauties are.”

With a flip of his wrist, he gripped her hand, turned it palm up and carefully shook out the contents of the box. The cold little stones shone brightly in the dark room, a room as murky as they all seemed to be here at Mother. It was as if the secrecy of the agency forbid them to install good lighting.

She closed her fingers and the pale green sparkle winked out. “They’re alive?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Bovine’s eyebrows arched. “Machines aren’t the only technology I dabble in.”

“No, of course not. If what you say is true…” She put up a hand before Bovine could interrupt. “I believe you. These are just what I need.”

“Your latest requisition order is for listening devices and a few mags of ammo, Jaq. Your standard op. Why would you need my magic beans?”

“I have higher aspirations than a few measly smugglers.”

He raised a brow and paused a second, but she stood mute before he frowned.

“Take these, too.” He held out a pair of dice, and her disgustingly traitorous heart flipped in her chest. Bovine didn’t notice her internal turmoil. “I made these for Harper English, but he didn’t want to trade out his lucky dice with these. Wish he’d taken them on his mission.” He gave her a hard look. “Just match up the fives, press together, and it’ll transform into a stiletto.”

With shaking hands, she palmed them and shoved them in her pocket as if they burned to the touch.

“Don’t get yourself in trouble, Sprite.”

Besides her sister, Bovine was the only one to show concern for her. Once upon a time, there’d been another, but Harper English was gone.

Jaq came from the streets. A homeless teen with a five-year-old sister had nowhere to go except Mother. The agency had approached her—they recruited youth on the streets from time to time—trained her, and housed the two sisters, and all Jaq had to do was become an agent, then take assignments to keep watch on the megacorps. Bovine had been young then and took to her like an older brother. Harp hadn’t looked at her like family. Not at all, but that was past. She blinked fast to clear the blurring sting in her vision.

“Don’t worry. I always avoid trouble.” Not even a flicker of a grin over her statement. She gripped the beans tightly and resisted the urge to hug Bovine goodbye. She’d be seeing him soon enough. But just in case—“Hey, remember the special frequency walkie you wanted to give me to keep in touch with you?”

“You finally came to your senses.” Bovine returned to his desk and rummaged around until he held out a small clip-on device similar to the ones she’d used on previous ops. “Here. It’ll connect to me in voice, video and positioning all at once. Though you’ll only have audio.”

“Got it.” She slapped it to the underside of her jacket collar. “Later.”

Bovine nodded, lines radiating from his soft brown eyes crinkling in concern. Grabbing a few evidence bags from the counter and shoving them in her jacket, she gave him a thumbs-up as she backed toward the door.

“You weren’t going to tell me, were you? You’re not leaving here yet. Tell me what you’re up to. Now.”

He didn’t yell, or even speak sternly, but he might as well have frozen her in place with what amounted to an order. He cared for only a few of them, treating them like family. The girl whose special hair he’d designed. And her. She owed him an explanation.

“I’m going after Giant Corp.” She stared at the ceiling and tried her best not to feel like a naughty teenager being caught sneaking fertilization inhibitors before a hot date.

“You know Harp is up there. They’ve scheduled his extraction. There’s no need for you to trouble yourself.”

“I have to do this myself.” She gulped back the knot in her throat.

“Why? How can this job be personal, to make you jeopardize everything you’ve worked for? That doesn’t make sense.” Bovine cocked his head at her. “And you wouldn’t undercut a deep op. Mother could cut you loose. Then where would you be?”

She shook her head. “I’d be nowhere, but this is something I have to do.”

“Let Harp do his job.” Unusual frustration on Bovine’s features revealed his concern for her. That reminded her just how few other people cared for her and only strengthened her resolve to fight for Merry.

“They made Merry sick. I need the antidote. Harp’s extraction is scheduled next week. I’ll never get the antidote in time if it’s tied up in arbitration.”

The sternness in his eyes softened to understanding. “Merry’s sick?”

“And I have to get the antidote before the week is out. Before it’s too late.” Her eyes stung as she whispered, “Or she’ll die.”

With a nod, he said it all. He wouldn’t stop her. “I’ll see if I can find someone to cover for this other job of yours. Get in and out of there. Get the job done smoothly, or I don’t think Mother will like its agent ignoring her assigned job.”

“Thank you.” Throat too tight to say anything more, she backed out.

Bovine yelled down the hallway after her. “The beans need to grow overnight.”

Overnight. Fine. That fit the plan just fine.

She didn’t bother to take the lift up to the top floor to the assignment desk. Whatever assignment they had for her could wait. It wouldn’t pay much. Mother’s mission was to secretly police the megacorps housed on the floating islands above New Castle. The org employed agents to take down any bad guys and in return the agents got to confiscate rewards from the mark, except in the cases of intellectual property, scientific advances, or whatnot. The agent could claim cash on hand, their only source of pay. Nothing else.

No antidotes.

Besides, a job didn’t amount to a hill of beans if her sister died. Merry was all that was bright in this world, even if Jaq had trouble telling her so. Merry understood.

Back at her residence housing, she went straight through the garish yet drab lobby filled with no-longer-plush furniture, which had to have been here since Merry was in diapers, and stepped out into the middle courtyard. Green space was at a high premium and though this little garden might be the best feature of the tenement housing, nobody ever seemed to use it. Maybe because it wasn’t all that green.

Quiet except for the hum of the hovercars passing in a constant stream in the thoroughfares on both sides of the scraper, the garden was twelve paces deep and thirty wide. She knew from experience. Beside the patch of bamboo, the only greenery in the gravel-filled garden, she sat on the lone bench and checked her watch. Good timing. In five minutes, she’d double-check the island’s position for the last time.

With her toe, she kicked the gravel around for a few moments before she made herself focus. Thinking of Merry would only upset her and leave her fingernails chewed to the quick. Instead, she set her internal clock and meditated. Deep breaths. Noise faded away. The world fogged. A memory of a man in jeans, dark hair and dark eyes, giving her warm caresses and hotter kisses threatened her tranquility, but she shoved it in her internal lockbox. Never a time for those wasted thoughts. The hurt.

A shadow passed overhead. She pulled herself into the here and now to check her watch. Time. She pulled the binocular lenses out of her pocket and slipped them on. After days of studying this same subject, the lenses were perfectly focused.

The floating island had a distinct call sign on its trailing edge as it passed overhead.

The Giant Corporation.

Like clockwork. It’d come about twice more before doing so again at exactly 0500.

The beans in her fist had grown hot from her skin. The small stone-like tech was a bioengineered product, the only shot she had. When she dumped them in the hole she’d made with her toe, she let out her pent-up breath.

Tomorrow morning, she’d get what she needed from Giant Corp.

The singer stood in his trademark white linen shirt and blue jeans, waiting with the band in the grand dining hall. The tall ceilings with blazing chandeliers highlighted the full tables, guests and higher-ranking residents laughing and drinking wine as if this was a grand party rather than a nightly occurrence in the Ochre mansion.

At the head table, Ochre frowned at the man next to him. The older businessman, dressed more conservatively and formally than any in attendance, smirked as he clicked closed a briefcase, rose and left the room. Ochre stared blankly around him and squeezed a piece of paper in his fist. It didn’t matter exactly what the letter held. It was another in a long line of notices of failed finances, failed products, and another harbinger of the fall of the Ochres.

Beside him, his wife, Vera, a concerned frown marring her beauty—a look she wore more and more each day—reached over to stroke his arm. They exchanged hushed words. A look of urgency slashed across Ochre’s features and he gripped Vera’s arm. She jerked into his lap and stroked his face, and then she gave the wave the singer had waited for.

He signaled the band and when the bars of music blended into the noise of the crowd, he sang. As it went every night of late, he’d be ignored but for the Ochres, who seemed to calm with the music filling the empty spaces in the crowded room.

Performing into the wee hours of the night, he waited until the Ochres left before he sought his own, empty bed. And waited.

The night passed slowly as she tossed and turned on her sofa. The two-room place wasn’t much, so with Merry in the bedroom, Jaq slept on the couch. Her eyes and back ached when her watch finally reached the appointed time. Within minutes, she dressed, ate and donned a courier bag—her planned cover as a medical delivery carrier. Unable to resist, she quietly opened the meticulously oiled door to the bedroom to see the shallow rise and fall of Merry’s chest. Without a sound she closed the door and walked the short hall lined with her commendations.

The nurse should be here before Merry woke, but as Jaq left the apartment, a pang shot through her and her hand tightened on the doorknob, refusing to let go. Merry shouldn’t need her in the early morning hours before the city woke. She’d only be alone for three hours. This was all for her, anyway.

Her boots scuffed the floor as she dragged herself away.

Outside, the sight in the courtyard brought her to a standstill. The beans she’d planted had combined into one incredibly tall vine that grew straight up in the air. The large green stalk, bigger around than a hovercar, took up nearly the entire garden. The bench had been pushed to the side, the bamboo uprooted and strewn about. Green. The air smelled fresh and verdant.

Along the sturdy, smooth trunk, thick stems shot out at regular intervals, spaced perfectly to use as a ladder.

Not much time left. She burst into action. Without a backward glance or any hesitation, she started climbing. And she climbed, and climbed, and climbed. Above, the top of the beanstalk disappeared into the haze.

Past the quiet tenement building that rose higher than the hovercar thoroughfares, the wind whipped at her clothing, jacket flapping in the wind. She ignored the prickles running over her skin from the cold as she gripped the vine rails.

Ahead, the lights of another island disappeared. She was in the right spot. She dared a peek at her watch as she clutched tightly to her green ladder. Still ten minutes left. Without a clue how long it would take her to climb, she’d pushed herself and now had to wait, dangling high above the ground. The city beneath was covered in high-rises, zipping cars, a thin blanket of smog, and glaringly bright vid-boards playing the latest garish advertisements. Early morning workers went about their business, never looking up. They’d never see her fall from the strange vine they’d never notice.

Her mouth ran dry. Eyes closed against the dizzying sway of the vine, she took deep breaths. She could do this. She had to.

Her hands started to sweat. She held on tighter as a chill worked under her jacket. Behind her, a low churning sound grew louder.

The island.

She blew out a breath and blinked the dizziness into submission.

Security systems on the floating island would alert the guards the moment a mechanical object touched its outer hull, but a plant was a different story. As a lander, she’d never been on any of the floating islands—homes to the rich, security sanctuaries for the wealthy corps, flying above the ground far enough to avoid the legal systems below. A moment’s doubt assailed her that the recon she’d done, the dossiers and schematics she’d pilfered, wouldn’t be enough. Or, that the report of Giant Corp’s arrogance—they considered themselves to be impervious so only staffed minimal guards—would turn out to be a gross error.

The lower platform of the island brushed against the vine, and a quiver echoed down the beanstalk. She gripped tighter and held her breath.

The engines rumbled closer. Not much longer. Leaves rustled as the bottom of the flying platform brushed past.

One, two…three.

With a push off the rung beneath her feet, she lunged up toward the trailing edge of the island and landed on the exhaust housing platform. So far, all had gone according to plan.

The maintenance tunnel was right where it should be. The smallest step would take her over the lip and down to the ground who-knew-how-many stories below. She looked back.

The vine still stretched into the sky out of sight. Below, clouds gathered and blocked the view of her building. A bit of vertigo assailed her, and she swayed. With a jerk, she faced forward again. Sweat slicked her grip and she clung fast.

At her back, a small breeze rustled her clothes. To her front, stale air sat unmoving in the man-height pipe. She pivoted her hold on the metal handle, lunged to the side of the maintenance tunnel and dove inside its shadows.

The countdown began—six hours until they came back around to the beanstalk, her only way off this island. It wouldn’t be there after. New Castle would be awake and the Island reps below would have it cut down. Six hours.

And if the bureaucracy worked fast, the Island reps might have already had the stalk cut down. Now more than ever, she hoped the red tape was as sticky as time immemorial. Otherwise…Otherwise didn’t bear thinking on. She flipped her jacket closed against the chill.

The mesh flooring rang with each step. At evenly spaced intervals the lights shone down from above. She passed several hatches before she came to the one she’d targeted from the stolen maps.

“Damn ladders.” She huffed a breath and climbed to the hatch. Her muscles ached and burned in protest. “I hope this is the last ladder for a while.”

Balanced beneath the opening, careful to turn the handle quietly, she eased the door up. No movement broke the stillness enveloping the room. She waited until her breathing evened and her hand steadied before she pushed up into the quiet kitchen.

She ratcheted herself over the ledge, came to a crouch, and let the door settle noiselessly. She grinned into the darkness.

A movement flickered to her left. Too late, she couldn’t respond.

A hard shove sent her into the cabinets. Her breath forced from her lungs with a whoosh. Vision sparkling, she calmed her racing heart to save her energy for escape.

A large body pressed against her and bent her over the counter.

Her hand snuck halfway to her pocket for the stiletto dice before it was gripped in a tight vise. With a grunt, she bucked against her silent captor to no avail. She couldn’t move.

She was trapped.

Chapter Two

“What’s the code?” Harp gripped the intruder’s arm and yanked it back to a painful angle. This perp had set off his surveillance monitors, and at the wrong time for his extraction. Had his cover been blown? Ice seeped into his veins.

No response. No password, no cry of alarm or pain.

“Code.” Harp yanked the arm a little harder and was rewarded with a low moan, a sound which struck him as oddly familiar as the scent that caught him for a fleeting second. Shaking his head, he forced his adrenaline-pumped mind under control. He whispered the pass phrase low, for the intruder’s ears alone. “What is steadfast?”

If he weren’t trained down to his boots in survival techniques, adaptation abilities and the keenest observation skills, he would’ve missed the slight catch in the intruder’s panting.

“The blood of an Englishman.” The operative’s response came in a questioning and strained voice that did nothing to relieve him.

He froze. The operative was a woman. And not just any woman. She struggled, the movement bringing the heady aroma back to him in a rush. He’d only met one person with this unique blend of clean and womanly scent that gripped him in the chest. And lower.

“Jaq.” He hissed out her name like a curse, because surely it was. He dropped her arm like it was poison and stepped back, away from the ass bent over the counter he now realized had cushioned his quickly rising hard-on.

“I recognize that dick.” She straightened slowly from the counter. Yes, the intruder was Jaq, short blond hair standing up in spikes, lithe form with a sinuous grace.

His chest ran cold. Her last word to him had been “dick,” but she hadn’t meant the one hard and aching inside his jeans. He practically growled at her. “Why would Mother send you?”

“I wasn’t sent.” She was still facing the cabinets and that twisted his gut as much as the response.

“You came through the agreed-upon hatch. You know the password. What the hell are you doing here, Jaq?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’ll be out of here in six hours. Until then, just pretend I’m not here. You’re good at that.”

He snorted. “What’s in six hours?”

“I have a way down. It’s one of Bovine’s contraptions. It’ll be back then.”

He wasn’t sure what exactly Bovine had come up with, but he trusted him, and Jaq. She might have a way down, but she shouldn’t be here at all. Now the shock had worn off, he realized what kind of hell she’d just dropped him into. Of all the people to be drawn into this mess, Jaq could put a wrench in the plans just by focusing her gorgeous blues his way.

A deep-cover agent couldn’t afford to be himself, ever, and Jaq made him want to be Harp again. But that had been a mistake the first time. It’d be death to them both now.

She shifted, frowned, and started detailing what Giant Corp had been up to. Things he all knew and had gotten the intel for to begin with, but nothing that explained what she was doing here. Giant Corp had been in financial ruin when Ochre had changed tactics. He’d reneged on deals. He’d siphoned money from joint ventures.

With enough evidence to topple Giant Corp out of the sky, Harp had signaled for and planned his extraction by altering a signal light on the bottom of the island to flash his code. All other communication was too risky, with all the security alarms Ochre employed around the outside of the island. Harp’s extraction was planned for next week. Mother’s team of agents would board the island through the tunnel and secure everyone here before arresting the Ochres and confiscating the entire med lab.

But his recon sensor had gone off early when Jaq entered the tunnel, sending him out of his bed and down to the kitchen as fast as his legs could carry him. If his cover was blown now, that med lab would be destroyed along with his proof—and their ability to put a stop to Ochre’s deadly scheme.

If his cover was blown, Jaq would be in as much danger as he. He reached for her, but pulled back as the sound of approaching steps made the morning take an even bigger nosedive. Jaq tensed, alert as he was.

“Get out of here. This woman will eat you alive.”

“I don’t think so.” Her reply might’ve been haughty, but she ducked into the large steel cabinet which was thankfully mostly bare. “I came to do a job, and I’m not leaving until I do it.”

He gritted his teeth to keep from yelling in frustration. The clack of high heels rounded the corner as he shut the door on the shadowy form of the woman he’d once shared passion and—dare he admit it?—love.

“Singer, I thought I saw you come this way. What are you doing in the pantry?” Madame Vera Ochre was, unfortunately, as early a riser as her husband and workers. On the floating islands, the sun blared hot, bright and too early for his tastes. One more reason he preferred living on the ground.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans to disguise the bulge at his crotch. “Looking for breakfast.”

“We don’t stock this pantry, and you know that. Why would you come here?” In a pencil-straight business suit, Vera stood, arms akimbo, long red nails drumming on her cocked hip. She had the same height and slimness as Jaq, but she seemed skinny and waspish beside Jaq’s animalistic grace.

Fingering the ever-present dice in his pocket, he glanced around the state-of-the-art kitchen used only for overflow during banquets. It would’ve been more convenient to have gone undercover as the chef, but his singing was better than his cooking. “Just wondered if there were any sweets left from the last party.”

“Come along. Time to do your job.”

Right. He was a performer, a household servant, and as such, usually safe from Vera’s notice except when he sang at her every meal, but sporting an obvious bulge in his jeans would draw attention to himself. He didn’t look back at Jaq, and worry for her wilted his erection as soon as he stepped away from the pantry.

Boots dragging on the highly polished marble, he followed Vera to the door.

“Madame Ochre, I have something special planned for this morning, but I need to return to my room for the instrument.” He held his breath. Playing the obsequious servant John Singer had grated against his nerves for months on end, but he couldn’t tilt the hovercraft now.

“Very well. Don’t take too long. Monsieur Ochre is tense this morning.”

“Yes, of course.” Her heels clacked away.

With two bold strides, he was back to the pantry as Jaq opened the door. “You should’ve waited for my signal that the coast was clear.”

“Don’t have time to wait for you. Never have.” Jaq stood straight and tense.

He barely restrained himself from grabbing her and heading straight to the hacked hovercraft he had on standby in the parking bay. His emergency plans had to go into effect now and shouldn’t tip off the Ochres. They had no reason to suspect him, and if he disappeared, they might wonder, but wouldn’t close up shop and get rid of the evidence in the lab.

Right. They were out of here. Now. As soon as they recovered the last collection of evidence from his room.

The pinch in his chest only pissed him off. “You shouldn’t be here. And that woman will have no qualms about tossing you off the island, without a chute. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.”

“I can take care of Fancy-pants Ochre. Doing her, are you?”

“You know I’m not.”

“How would I know that?” She crossed her arms and raised her brows.

He gripped her wrist and noted that, like he, she no longer wore her engagement band. But he didn’t because he was undercover. She had no excuse. Even if he’d walked away with the intent to never walk back.

Yeah, he knew that was an insane thought, but she made him nuts. He pulled her behind him, not stopping when she stumbled, and headed for the door, dragging her behind. He snarled in a harsh whisper. “You know because I believe in monogamy. Now keep quiet, we can’t let you be seen.”

“You ended it, Harp, and you’re in deep cover,” she whispered in his ear when he paused to edge around the hall corner and scan for witnesses. He shivered and a delicious heat stole down his spine. He turned his hand and laced his fingers in hers. The heat dissipated when she continued, “We’re trained to do anything while under.”

His gut burned. She better not have been with anyone for the job. She better not have touched, kissed, caressed. Even flirted, damn it.

Yes, he was irrational. No doubt about it.

“Shhht.” He hissed, low and guttural. Nobody pushed him to the edge like Jaq. He didn’t know if he wanted to pitch her off the floating island or sink his dick into her.

The way his dick pressed against his zipper gave him the answer.

“Months.” He adjusted his jeans.

They climbed the back, rarely used servant stairs.

“What do you mean, months?” Jaq kept up with him as he bounded up the first flight. Though he expected her to resist every move he made, she held his hand, her fingers wrapped in his. The small touch was more than he’d had in so long, the point of contact blazed heat up his arm.

“Months since I’ve had you.”

Her fingers clenched his. “You left. Voluntarily. You won’t have me again.”

“We’ll see.”

“Like hell.”

Despite her protest, she was still holding his hand when they reached the third flight. He cracked open the stairwell door he kept well oiled. The hallway was clear. His room, after some negotiating and trading with the Ochres’ accountant, was the first on the right. All the better to position himself for his nighttime recon. Like the professional she was, she followed him into his room with a silent tread. As he started to shut the door behind them, whispers in the hall brought him up straight. With a swift turn, he scanned the hall. A shadow disappeared at the end where the wide stairs went down to the main living areas.

Normally he would have light-footed it past the six closed doors to see who might have spotted them, but Jaq dropped his hand. All his attention went straight to her.

With a conviction that his cover hadn’t been blown, he let his attention stay on her. He shoved his now-cold fingers into his jeans pocket and nudged the door shut with his elbow. He then took the time to get a good look at Jacqueline Robinson—who’d nearly been Jacqueline English.

“You look even skinnier.” The black circles under her eyes made his anger disappear like clouds against the leading edge of the island.

“You still look as good as ever.” Jaq frowned at him and leaned against the edge of his desk. “Tell me how it is you claim to be faithful to your ex.”

Ex. She was right, he had broken it off because she could do this, make him crazy, and she’d never admitted the same depth of connection. He stalked toward her and her frown deepened. Beneath a carrier bag, her threadbare jacket, the wrinkled pullover shirt and the faded slacks made him feel as if a wedge dug itself between his ribs. Hadn’t she taken care of herself for the past year? The urge to bundle her in protective wrap and hide her in his bed assailed him.

“Because I said I would.” The familiar need to keep her safe pissed him off again. Close enough to touch, he didn’t. He put a hand on each side of her and leaned toward her until their exhales mixed, combined, caressed. Her scent, clean and rich, green, overwhelmed him and brought it all back, the feel of her in his arms, the wholeness of being with her.

She panted.

Good.

She turned him upside down without trying. Just once, he needed to make her as derailed.

Jaq whispered against his lips, not quite touching. “Saying you’d be faithful doesn’t count anymore when you break off. You said you’d stay forever. Never take a deep cover.”

The familiar guilt twisted the wedge in his chest and drove it in hard. “I haven’t touched another woman. Trust me.”

“I did trust you. You said you were done with deep cover. Told me that for months, while you stayed in my bed. Then one morning, you just up and said I’m off to deep cover, and so sorry this didn’t work.” She ground her teeth and glared at him.

To resist her influence, he’d had to end their relationship. Resistance he only halfheartedly wanted, more proof he was no longer himself—the unattainable, invulnerable mercenary. He swallowed and, in the face of her anger, blurted out, “I had to. I was getting weak. Fucked up a simple recon because I wasn’t concentrating.”

His teeth clicked when he shut his mouth. Still too weak. He wanted Jaq more every achingly lonely day, and now he wanted to be inside her more than he wanted to reach the ground with the evidence against Giant Corp. He couldn’t think why he’d been so hellfire bent with the need to take the next difficult case, to get away from her just to prove he could. Not when she stood in front of him, a breath away.

Her blue eyes held accusation, but he couldn’t do anything less, nothing more, than to give in, take her away with him to the place that was theirs.

He touched his lips to hers in a brief flutter, and she shuddered. A low moan wrenched from his chest. For a stretched moment, the wind left him with a deep, hard pang rocking through him. Panting for air, he touched his forehead to hers and gulped in oxygen.

“I missed you.” With a bend of his neck and a tilting up of her chin, he kissed her.

Like waking after months of lethargy, his system sped into urgency. It felt like decades since he’d been at home, in peace, amidst the upheaval and splendor of Jaq. Turmoil he welcomed, this whirlwind in a slight frame. His fiancée. His woman. His.

Ravenous, he stroked his tongue inside her mouth to capture her taste, the same spiciness sending him into full-blown lust every time. Succulent and hot.

She gave back as good as he gave, her tongue sliding against his as her crossed arms loosened and she gripped the fabric of his shirt. She pulled him closer and slanted her head to allow him deeper access.

But she pulled back, breaking the contact he ached to press further. She let go of his shirt and smoothed it down his chest. “You make me forget why I’m here.”

He’d deluded himself for so long, pretending he didn’t need her. He’d forgotten how she scattered his intentions. “I’d nearly lost track of why I’m here, myself.”

Still, she was in his room. He couldn’t walk out the door without a taste of what he’d denied himself for a year. They had a few minutes, just a few moments before he shoved her into that hovercraft and got them the hell out of here.

He backed a step, ripped his shirt over his head, and was rewarded by her sharp intake of breath.

“We don’t have time to mess around.” The observation came out more like a question, as if she wanted to be proven wrong. The early morning sun streamed in his one curtainless window at her back, sparkling off her hair. She hadn’t moved, still leaning on his desk, but now one arm hugged tightly around her, the other crossed her chest, chewing on her thumbnail. The habit she’d conquered long ago came back now as she frowned at him.

In a lesson in self-punishment, he put as much distance between them as possible, which wasn’t much in the cramped room, and moved out of touching distance until the back of his knees hit the small bed. The mattress was the latest in tech, a nanotech foam that memorized his shape, a piece of furniture so advanced it wouldn’t normally be found in servants’ quarters, but the previous tenant of this room had somehow gotten that luxury. He’d never cared until now.

He pulled his dice from his pocket, fingering them, and rolled them on the bed. “Odds, you on top. Even, me.”

“I really don’t have time for this.” Her soft insistence was merely token. It better be, anyway—changing her mind might have its upside, but he wanted soft and willing for their first time in so long.

“The dice say odds. You on top.” He flipped open the top snap of his jeans, and her stare, which had caught on his abs, tracked down to his stomach. He flexed, her hungry bright gaze as real as a stroke across his hot skin.

“How did you get here, Jaq?” He merely meant to distract her as he sat on his bed and bent to remove his shoes.

“On a beanstalk.”

He must have heard wrong. With a shake of his head, he tucked his socks in his aligned shoes under the bed, long practice for dressing in emergencies. She hadn’t moved, but her breathing was rapid and loud. His only consolation was that physically he got to her as much as she got to him. “How did you plan to get out of here, love?”

“Don’t call me that. Not anymore.”

“How? When?”

He leaned back on his elbows to relieve the pressure on his hardness, and a wash of cool air flowed over the head of his dick, exposed by his unbuttoned fly.

Like she was completely hypnotized, she stared at the flesh that must be bright red at this point and answered distractedly. “The stalk will come back around at eleven.”

“We can get out of here, for good, in a matter of minutes.”

She nodded, still staring as if she couldn’t stop herself or do anything else.

Good.

“We have plenty of time. I have all the evidence we need tucked away in my harmonica.”

“Harmonica?”

He shifted on the bed and looked away from her curious expression. “Yes, well, I am a singer.”

“I remember.” No longer distracted, her response was gentle and filled with an edge of sadness, and maybe he detected a bit of yearning there.

With a merciless move to put them both on a course they probably shouldn’t take, he edged down his zipper slowly, the metallic purr of the teeth loud in the room. Each little notch freed his erection further, making him even harder with relief and the exposure of his desire.

“Yes, well. Good. I think.” With her back to the window he couldn’t quite see, but he imagined she turned a bit red across her cheekbones as she was wont to do when turned on. Yes, she must have her endearing blush right now. Had to. “I did come here for that. Partly. Anyway. But there’s more.”

“There is definitely more.” He parted his jeans.

Jaq whimpered.

Her familiar sound of surrender gave him the answer he needed. He lifted his hips, for the moment ignoring the groan rewarding him, and pushed his pants down. He kicked them off and left them on the floor in a heap as he leaned back on his elbows, spread his legs in invitation, and willed himself to wait.

She hadn’t moved, but the tenseness of her body nearly vibrated across the small room. “I’m not just here for the key to Giant Corp’s bag of gold. I have to get an antidote.”

“We’ll get it. Whatever you need, Jaq.”

She lifted her chin and a stream of sunlight illuminated her face. No longer seemingly transfixed on his erection, the glittering pools of blue he wanted to see infused with passion gazed at his face. “How can you give me what I need?”

The question he’d asked himself every day since he took this job. He’d always been able to give her what she needed in bed. That’d never been their problem, but he doubted they could be what they needed for each other outside of bed. The doubt had insinuated itself into a conviction and he’d walked away.

For years they’d danced around each other as friends. Then, at the end of a joint mission, they’d fallen into her bed. For months he rarely crawled out and he moved into her apartment without even asking. As an agent, he started to make mistakes. Luckily nothing big, but by the time his handler at Mother called him in, told him to get his head back in the game and that this deep cover at Giant was just what he needed, Harp didn’t recognize himself. Afraid of the changes in himself, he desperately leaped at the chance to have his old life back. A life of being sure about what the hell he was doing. A life of controlled emotion.

Jaq had needed him to give up deep cover, unable to handle his being in a position to use sex as a tool, or get his throat slit. To make it worse, he hadn’t said a thing. Hadn’t asked her opinion. Just walked out. He’d failed her. “Come here. I have what you need. Right now.”

“For now.”

“Always, Jaq.”

“How can you say that?” She still hadn’t moved, but with her damning question she pushed off the desk and moved toward the door. “I don’t have time for this. We can’t go back to how we were, Harp. I have to get the antidote. I have a security pass to the medical labs.”

“You can’t get in there without me.” He rushed out the warning as her hand closed on the doorknob. “It’ll be busy. Everyone is working right now. How can you expect to waltz in and find what you need? And what exactly are you looking for?”

Erection subsiding, he sat up, the mental need to switch into operative mode barely held at bay. He wanted to be Harp for a little longer and try to win back his once-fiancée, though he wasn’t sure anything had changed, with his nearly blinding urgency to have her again clouding the picture. But he had to hurry this along. Madame Ochre would wonder what took him so long to get down to breakfast. Before she came back, they’d be on the hacked hovercraft and heading to the ground.

Still facing away from him, her hand on the latch, Jaq stiffened, her back straight.

“It’s Merry.”

“Merry? How is the little imp?” He liked Merry, and he was sure she liked and approved of him. Her acceptance of him had infiltrated into his heart and added to the burden when he’d walked out. Still, he didn’t want anyone to hurt Merry any more than he wanted to hurt Jaq.

“She’s sick.”

That little sentence, said with the slightest hitch in her breath, changed everything. Their history didn’t matter.

He stepped into his jeans and crossed to her before he’d decided to do so. When he pulled her into him, her body tensed before she sagged into his chest. Her fully clothed body warmed him and, despite himself, his dick half hardened again as he adjusted himself around her, to hold and comfort her. Her hair, fresh as the outdoors, familiar and heady, tickled his nose before he nuzzled the top of her head to get closer, to get more of her scent. “Tell me.”

“She had a stupid, regular old cold that lingered. Nothing big, but the cough made her tired. She wanted a good night’s sleep. That’s all. She’d started her first job.”

A surge of pride filled his chest. “I’m sorry I missed her graduation.”

“She said she wished you were there.”

He didn’t ask if Jaq had wanted him there.

“She went to the new company’s doctor. He was a Giant shill. He gave her something experimental. She bought into his hype and took it. She got worse. The antidote isn’t covered by the med certificates. She sold everything to pay for a substitute that didn’t work.” She took a shuddering breath and he held her tighter. “She’s bedridden. Withering away. Without a cure, she’ll die. I need that antidote before the sun sets.”

“Yes.” His throat threatened to close, and he hugged her, the weight of her back against his front comforting him possibly more than her. The Giant vaccine he’d wanted to halt had obviously gone to ground in trials. If only he’d worked faster. His gut burned with anger and remorse. “I’ll get it for you.”

“I’ll get it myself,” she hissed.

“You’re more than capable—with the right planning, tools, codes—but whatever you have planned will take longer. It’ll be riskier than if I go. You’re a stranger. They’ll stop you and question you, and even if you have a cover story, I’m familiar. I can get what we need and get us out faster.”

She relaxed her rigid posture. “Maybe.”

Until that moment, he’d harbored some idea of fucking Jaq senseless before getting out of here, getting off this trap, this island in the sky, and using his evidence to bring down the corrupted corp, but now that plan wouldn’t work. Damn it all, now they had to risk leaving his room before the escape and chance going into the secure area of the mansion and sneaking meds out.

So much more likely something could go wrong, but Merry’s life depended on it. He had to do it.

He held Jaq tighter. Just a minute more, to be Harp alone with his Jaq, the woman he’d walked out on because she could do this to him, keep his mind off the mission.

She’d never been so afflicted. “I have the floor plans memorized,” she assured him. “Your latest intel says small quantities are being produced for the wealthiest clients. All in a lightly guarded facility on the third level.”

Harp nodded. “My latest report hasn’t made it to Mother yet. Ochre’s finally lost all his sense. He’s desperate. He had his labs create a new vaccine that’ll turn on its host. They’re holding the cure hostage. For money. Without a costly Giant antidote, the victim will die of lung failure. The vaccine rollout is scheduled in a matter of months. Mother has to make a move. Now. Before Giant’s tainted meds decimate the lander population.”

“So they are doing this for money. Killing people.” A haunted look crossed her face before she wiped it clear.

“I didn’t know it’d started. Gone to trials” He fisted his hands, wanting to plant Ochre a facer. “Merry will not be a victim of this. I won’t let her.”

After slipping his shirt on, he swiped his dice from the bed and pocketed them. From the side table he retrieved his harmonica, slid it into his back pocket. A special design from Bovine, it molded to his shape. With a glance at the alarm clock that doubled as his surveillance control system, he sat on the bed to put on his shoes. “Stay here. I’ll get the antidote, then we’ll clear.”

Her back straightened and she turned to him with a completely emotionless look. “You know I won’t stay here.”

He needed some rope. He’d tie her here and get the meds on his own.

“And you can’t detain me. First, you’ve never tied me up in a way I couldn’t escape.”

The cold deserted him as he heated, his dick full in his jeans again as images of her tied to the bed, his mouth very busy on her sultry skin, and her jumping him and riding mercilessly when she slipped free. One of the many talents she displayed was her amazing ability to escape from any bonds. He didn’t dare think of the other talents she possessed, which she’d only used on him. He ground his teeth again. At least, it had been only him a year ago.

The memories must have attacked her as well because her voice lowered to a husky murmur. “And second, leaving me defenseless could get me killed in this place.”

He froze, the whirlwind of chill taking him so fast he nearly got dizzy. A steadfast rule of Mother was to never leave backup compromised. A deep-cover agent knew the risks, but putting another operative in danger was unacceptable.

“You do exactly as I say.”

Her blues twinkled at his command. “Don’t I always?”

“No.” Resisting the urge to throw her onto his bed and kiss her senseless, he leaned down toward her pixie face and spoke softly. “You will this time. Do exactly as I say.”

“If I want to.” She gave him her lopsided grin and opened the door a crack. “All clear.”

He jerked his hands back from where he’d nearly swatted her ass and followed her out the door.

The familiar click of heels came down the hall.

They were going to get caught. If she found out what he was really doing here, Madame Ochre would string him up by the balls.

Chapter Three

Ignoring the antique furnishings, expensive paintings, and gilded accents in the grandiose hallway, and ignoring her bitter anger over Merry’s illness, Jaq gripped Harp’s hand and darted into the stairwell. She hoped her question came out in a whisper but couldn’t tell as her pulse pounded in her ears. “Do you think she saw us?”

“She’s probably coming to see what’s taking me so long. But she stopped to talk to someone at the end of the hall.”

For a second, Jaq let herself drink in the sight of Harp. Lean, muscular build snug in his jeans, black tousled hair, dark brown eyes that softened when he looked at her. Wanting to touch every sharp plane and angle of his face, she ignored the urge and turned from him to peer back the way they’d come.

Down the hall, the sun shone brightly, more vivid and warm than she’d ever seen. The rich and expensive carpet ran down the hallway, exhibiting more wealth here in the servants’ wing than in any lander’s home. Even his room had been nearly as large as her apartment and, though sparsely furnished, the expensive woods had screamed wealth. His sheets had been luxurious and looked as if they’d be soft to the touch, but he’d been hard, masculine, heartbreaking, as he’d leaned on his bed with that dangerous glint in his eyes.

His warm breath tickled against her ear, and she leaned into him for a second. His nearness brought it all back. As if he’d never left, they clicked. His mere presence made her more complete, powerful, as though she could do anything from making him beg for her touch to climbing into the sky.

But she had climbed into the sky. On her own. Even if she’d been out of sorts and not quite whole for the past year, she didn’t need him.

She stole up the steps. He’d follow.

The wide foam-covered treads muffled their steps. The circular walled-in staircase rose up and up, windows letting in the light. On each landing, a pot full of bamboo decorated the otherwise utilitarian stairwell. She didn’t dare look out, or down toward the ground. They didn’t talk until they’d gained a level. The door to the stairs beneath never opened.

“If she saw me, we’ll have company soon. She’ll want to know why the guy who’s supposed to be singing in the dining room is running off into the stairwell with a girl.”

“And you say you haven’t been sneaking off with girls?” She nearly missed the next step as she kept plodding on.

“Nothing. No action in months,” he groused, but she ignored him.

She hadn’t gotten any either but she couldn’t quite believe a man as virile, as responsive to women as Harp, wouldn’t have gotten a piece of tail now and then.

Following rumors of a girl who knew several languages, he’d found her on the streets and rescued her from despair by offering her a place at Mother. Only five years older, he’d seemed so much more experienced but kept his distance for a few years. Later, when she’d matured as a woman and an agent, they became friends and he made her whole, shared himself with her—body, emotions, and all. He was her first live-in lover, the first man she’d ever really wanted, and he’d been quite adept at making her crave him to pieces.

Then he’d ripped her heart right out of her body without warning. No fucking warning. Things had been perfect. Too perfect. He just woke up one morning, rolled out of their bed, and said goodbye. Off to deep cover, baby. It’s been real.

She’d had a few disastrous dates since him. That she’d not been able to get hot and bothered was all Harp’s fault. She’d gotten to the point where she’d considered picking up a random guy to have sex for sex’s sake, to flush her ex out of her system. She hadn’t.

“Dick,” she muttered at him.

He didn’t answer. He’d always read her perfectly. He knew exactly what was going on inside her, running hot and cold, needy, pissed and hurt. Wasn’t it the way of life as a lander? The bitter ironies that made their lives hollow shadows?

They ascended the stairs in tense silence, but she couldn’t wipe away the feel of his stare on her ass. She hadn’t been turned on even once in a year. In his presence for a minute and she slicked her panties, but she couldn’t take him back, even if he wanted her again. She would not take him back. She couldn’t live through that hurt again.

“What was it like, living in the clouds?” Hand on the door, ready to step into danger, she hadn’t meant to ask the question.

“You know I grew up on one of these.”

She’d forgotten—well, not really, but she didn’t think of it. Of course they’d both shared their histories, but he didn’t talk about it much and he didn’t remind her he’d given up the life of the filthy rich only to take down the corrupt ones.

“It’s the same as down there, except the smog doesn’t cover everything, hovercars don’t make a constant buzz of background noise, and the sun shines. Early. Oh, and people spend their money like they have a goose laying golden eggs to refill their accounts.”

She snorted. “It’s not the same. Up here, everything is clean. Fresh. Sparkly. There’s no hope down there. People get sick. They work their fingers to the bone for nothing.”

“People up here despair, too.”

His bleak tone brought her around to peer at his serious face. “What happened?”

Her arm fell to the side when she realized she’d nearly stroked his hair, as she’d used to do when he’d come home from a tough day.

“Later.” He slid an arm past her, brushing her waist to send tingles all over, and opened the door.

Conversation over.

They didn’t have time for it anyway.

“This is the medical level.” He ushered her into a foyer with fake plants, a few couches and three glass security doors blocking access to business centers already abuzz with workers arriving at this early hour.

“We’ll want the one on the left, the viral research division.” She’d memorized everything about the Giant’s floating island.

“You can’t get through without ID.”

“I have one. I told you. And a cover story to go with it.” She patted the courier bag she still wore. “It’s foolproof.”

“I’ll go. Everyone will recognize me and I won’t be questioned. If you go, you’ll be asked for your credentials and have to wait while they screen them. It’ll take you much longer. You sit here on the waiting couches and fill out one of the visitor forms you’d need to get through there anyway. I’ll be out before you’re done with them.”

“I haven’t even told you what we’re looking for.” She glared at him. He was so bossy. His eyes focused on the door and not her.

Four men, nearly identical in green scrubs, passed their identification cards through the reader at the door in the middle. She and Harp turned to the visitor desk and read the sign instructing visitors to fill out forms, don a lab coat from the wardrobe against the wall and wait on an escort. Harp grabbed the tablet with the form and a lab coat, closing the wardrobe door with a soft click.

Thoroughly ignoring them, the four men continued through the first security doors and stopped before the inner door as the first closed behind them. Sealed in the security area, one by one they placed their hands on a pad for print analysis before the inner door opened.

“You can’t get through without a crack or a bought code, maybe even a palm skin to fake your prints, but you’d need someone’s security files first.”

She had all those, all the security cracks, but he was right, it’d take him minutes while it’d take her maybe an hour by going through the forms and checks.

“Stop chewing your nails,” Harp said in an offhanded manner as he nodded toward the couch.

An operative always knew when to accept help to accomplish a mission. In this case, the mission was much more important than her ego. Much.

“We need the antidote for V534b.” She plopped on the couch and grabbed the tablet with the visitor access request.

Shrugging into the lab coat, Harp nodded and winked at her before he went through the door to the viral research lab.

Alone, she swayed in her seat as anxiety waved over her, hot and suffocating. All these years at Mother they’d only worked together once, and it had been a simple, nonthreatening surveillance mission. She’d never seen him walk into danger. With a force of will, she kept her foot from tapping and her legs from forcing her off her ass to pace uselessly. The words on the form blurred in front of her.

To grip the touchpen, she stopped chewing on her thumbnail and wiped her hand on her jacket.

“Let’s see,” she murmured.

Name. She couldn’t put Jacqueline Robinson.

“Jackie English.” She grinned at what she’d written on the tablet before she erased it.

The man who’d prompted her long-ago pastime of scribbling her dream married name had walked through security doors and out of her protection.

She slammed down the tablet and stood in one motion. After crossing the waiting area once, twice, she plopped back down again and forced her glassy stare toward the tablet in her lap. She emptied her mind, relaxed, and tried to let the time flow by.

She’d missed Harp.

Missed the way he made her crazy, the way he made her melt at a touch, the way he made her feel at home, but she couldn’t let him be her home again. His leaving had nearly broken her. She didn’t have the luxury to fall apart. Merry needed her. Unsure how much time had passed, she jerked when the door slid open.

A woman came into the waiting area. Skinny, long blond hair pulled back, bright red nails flashing, the newcomer didn’t glance at her. Identical to her surveillance photos, Madame Ochre brushed by into the viral research area and left behind a stream of floral perfume. Jaq wrinkled her nose.

From all the reports, Madame Ochre didn’t involve herself in the work behind Giant Corp. There could be only reason she’d brought herself to the third level.

Harp was in trouble.

Harp headed straight for the medical storage room. He thumbed through the orderly files and grabbed the V534b folder, thick with sample blister packs. After shoving it into the top of his jeans at his back, the lab coat fit a little tightly, but it’d do for now.

The door to the storage room darkened. It’d been too easy. He should’ve known.

“I thought you were up to something, with all your sneaking around this morning. All I had to do was wait for your security code to come up. What on earth could my favorite singer want here in the lab?” The lights bore down on Vera’s slender frame, accenting the cruel twist of her glossed lips. She slung her long tied-back hair across her shoulder and petted the blond tresses over her pert breasts. Her type didn’t do anything for him—the type being “not Jaq”—but he recognized the beauty that entranced Ochre.

With not so much as a shift of his shoulders beneath the coat, he responded as John Singer. “I wanted a lab coat for my routine this morning.”

She smirked at him, eyes glinting. She didn’t believe the cover any longer. In the case of a blown cover, the less said, the better. He snapped his mouth shut with an audible click.

“Let’s see this routine. Come.” With a turn, ponytail fanning around her, she left the storage room and passed back through the workers, who wouldn’t look him in the eye. They’d never hesitated to point her in his direction. For the first time he regretted his decision to keep to himself, remain squeaky clean and avoid the others here at Giant Corp.

Filing in behind them, two of Madame Ochre’s silent guards—hulky, large and massive—kept pace. The folder scraped against his skin. Their beady eyes would surely catch how the folder stuck out, but they didn’t demand he hand over his prize.

They weren’t too bright. If it’d been him, he’d have patted down any suspicious character first thing. The folder at his back would get him pitched over the edge of the island. His skin itched, the urge to scratch taking up most of his thought process.

He had to get rid of the folder. Where was Jaq? She’d better have gotten out as soon as Vera showed herself.

In the waiting lobby, the swinging door of the wardrobe exposed a row of lab coats, crisp and green. He’d closed the door. There hadn’t been time for another visitor to have come through security. So only one person could have opened that door.

Jaq.

He sidestepped toward the wardrobe. The two guards glared at him before following him over. With a tilt of his head toward Vera, who also frowned darkly at him, he backed toward the wardrobe. His shins bumped into the lower edge of the wardrobe and the garments hanging inside brushed against his back. Was it his imagination, or could he feel Jaq’s intense stare boring through him?

“A moment, Madame Ochre. Just let me change this lab coat. This one is a little tight.”

A puzzled expression crossed her sharp features as he lifted the bottom of the coat in a motion to pull it over his head to remove it.

“No. Leave it,” Vera shrilled.

He froze, but the sure fingers at his back sent goose bumps over him. The folder lifted silently and smoothly from his jeans. Good girl. Jaq had all she needed. All she had to do was make her rendezvous.

The guard’s rough hands yanked down his lab coat and patted him down. “Nothing.”

“Come on.” One of them gripped him by the arm and half dragged, half pulled him behind, but no one moved toward the wardrobe and Jaq.

They wouldn’t take him to the great hall to perform while they ate. They were past the subterfuge, but until they tipped their hand, he was still John Singer. The silence from the usually talkative Vera would’ve normally had him cajole, play the crowd pleaser, but that time was past. He could take the guards, but he didn’t want to stir things up until Jaq had time to get the hell out of there.

The guards took him to the large Ochre apartments, a place where they mixed business with more intimate entertaining in the couple’s large living room. On entering the posh suite, the guards forced him to his knees while they stood at the door, one on each side like little tin soldiers. He waited, muscles cramping, while the sun cast shadows that crept across the floor like the hands of a clock. He wondered where Vera had disappeared to. They thought to make him sweat, he was sure, but when time passed and no alarm rose, he held out hope that Jaq got away.

The head of Giant Corp, the man behind all the swindles, the corporate thefts and just plain murders, finally swept into the room, wife trailing behind him, to stand in front of a large white sofa at the side of the monochromatic room. He was a short stocky man, only a few inches taller than his wife. His white suit was spotless, his black tie perfect, and his shoes buffed to a midnight shine. His skin was ruddy beneath his slicked dark hair.

With a grandiose wave, he gestured to the balcony framed by the open sliding doors and fluttering white curtains. “It’s a nice view, isn’t it?”

A cold sweat chilled Harp’s skin. This balcony had seen leapers over the years, and they hadn’t leaped of their own accord.

“Monsieur.” He nodded and once again Harp wondered what Ochre’s first name was. He’d been unable to unearth his background and Mother didn’t have the intel in its databanks. Ochre’d paid handsomely to wipe out his past.

“You always struck me as a man of action instead of a mere singer. Vera tells me you’ve been acting suspicious. There’s always a reason for strange behavior. Will you tell me here and now, or must we do this the hard way?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m John Singer. Just a musician.” Harp figured he had about half a minute before things got ugly. The intel on Ochre was that as his business had crumbled, he’d become more and more vicious. In the past year, Harp had watched the man grow leaner, the hardened light in his eye becoming desperate.

The guards grabbed his arms from behind. Focused on Ochre, he hadn’t seen them move. He pulled from side to side, but they held him in a solid grip.

“Vera, you may go now.” Ochre stood in the middle of the room, his body relaxed, as his wife walked up to him and kissed him in a carnal, hungry meeting of mouths. Lips wet, she backed away, finger-waved to Harp, and shut the door behind her. In an unhurried manner, Ochre ignored him, strolled to his desk, pulled a roll of wire out of a drawer and tossed it to his captors.

Wrestling, tugging and a few hard punches to the gut still ended up with Harp bound about the torso, arms pinned to his side. He’d underestimated the goons. He’d played this wrong.

Now he’d been roped and tied with remotely controlled wires which punished its victims by crushing them to death.

Leaning his weight against the guards, he couldn’t break their unyielding hold. He had to make this interrogation last, in case Jaq needed more time to get away. When she’d shown up, she’d said she had six hours. He wasn’t sure how long ago that was. He couldn’t very well ask for the time.

Nothing left to do but string it out.

He’d deflect Ochre’s attention, and the man would never know anyone else had been involved. For that matter, Ochre didn’t know what was going on, what was involved, or who. If only he’d gotten his harmonica with the evidence into Jaq’s hands. But if all else failed and he didn’t get out, Jaq’s testimony at the Giant’s trial would bring them all down. She’d stop the vaccine from hitting the streets.

Jaq had to get away.

Ochre strolled to the balcony and nodded to the guards.

“Move.” One of them tugged at him, and he nearly stumbled forward until he locked his knees.

“I think we’d be more comfortable here, on the couch, don’t you?” Harp dug in his heels.

At each side of him, they yanked him under the arms and dragged him to the balcony. His feet flailed but didn’t catch on anything. With a thrust, they dumped him outside the glass doors onto a balcony larger than Jaq’s apartment. He rolled up onto his feet.

The sun beat down on his back.

“Take a look at the view.” Ochre smiled at him with a genuine pleasantness.

He didn’t turn to look over the railing and into the clouds beneath. A shiver rolled over him. He’d looked down before. As a youth, he’d watched helplessly as his nanny had ended years of torment, crying at odds times of the day in the middle of their lessons, looking haggard and tired all the time. With no friends for protection and no kindness from her English employers, she’d suffered for too long. One day, after receiving a summons to report to the administration offices, she’d climbed over the railing in Harp’s room and leaped.

As he grew older, he put together the clues to the kind of harassment endured by her and other landers brought to the island as servants and abused by an overseer the English family never reprimanded. He’d left home. In his infrequent visits, he’d never gone back to his room or stood on one of the balconies.

Mouth dry, he croaked, “Nice view. Lots of clouds.”

“I don’t know why you’re here. Something’s been off about you from the beginning, but you’ve been careful. You haven’t taken anything or tipped your hand. I’d started to doubt my instincts.” Ochre frowned. “Now Vera’s suspicious too. That’s enough for me.”

“I’m a musician. John Singer.” It didn’t matter what he said. Ochre planned on killing him. He’d had some plan of talking his way out, or at least placating him until he dropped his guard, but no dice.

“I don’t take chances. Not anymore. You won’t take this—” Ochre swept his arm to encompass the room, “—away from me. Whoever, whatever you are.”

“My name is John Singer. I’m a musician.”

The head of Giant stood between him and the door. His arms were useless, but he couldn’t go out like this. He dove, head first, desperate to bowl over anyone in his way. Ochre sidestepped as Harp plunged to the floor.

He hit the hard deck. The rough surface ripped across his cheek in a stinging abrasion. He groaned and struggled to his knees.

Ochre took out a control unit, and Harp sent out a silent prayer to Jaq. He loved her. He loved her more than this job. He wanted nothing more than her. And he wanted her to know it. He’d made a mistake leaving.

“Jaq,” he moaned.

This would hurt like hell. And now that he faced the end, all he could do was think of her. How he should’ve done things differently. How he should’ve married her, stayed home and had kids.

A baby. To see her round with their child would have been the crowning achievement of his life. He no longer needed to go after the corrupt. He no longer needed to ensure people on the floating islands were treated fairly. He couldn’t be everyone’s savior. He couldn’t even be his own. He wanted to be a lander. With Jaq. And Merry.

“I can’t let you go. Vera and I have worked too hard to get the cash flowing back into Giant. We were only a few years from having to forsake this island and live on the ground.” Ochre’s face took on an unhealthy pallor. “I’d never do that to Vera. Neither will you.”

Ochre switched on the remote. The wires binding Harp’s torso cinched with a sizzle and constricted violently. He couldn’t breathe. It was as if Ochre planned to pulverize him, grind his bones down to dust.

His teeth clattered. With a groan, he flopped toward Ochre.

Where was he? He couldn’t see the man through the white clouding his vision. He panted, each breath hurt. Now he knew why people jumped over. This was hell.

Ochre backhanded him across the cheek. “You’re a singer. Sing.”

Harp held back the curses. He wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction. He wouldn’t give the man anything.

A yank at his back brought him up and thrust him toward the railing. His feet scrambled for purchase on the balcony floor. The slats of the steel-girded railings bruised his skin.

“Give me a reason not to throw you over.” Ochre sounded as if he hadn’t broken a sweat.

Harper swallowed and kept his mouth shut. The wires tightened again as a hand lifted him from the floor.

This was it.

Chapter Four

Jaq seethed inside the wardrobe. She had what she needed, the cure for Merry, tucked beneath her jacket, but she couldn’t be happy, not after Harp had marched out the door flanked by two beefy guards.

The silence in the waiting room made her rough breathing loud.

Long moments passed. Moisture pooled between her shoulder blades. Her knees shook and an itch on her right thigh drove her to distraction, but she didn’t dare move to scratch.

The quiet in the waiting area taunted her. To be sure this wasn’t a trap, she had to wait it out. Time trickled away. Shaking in her strained legs indicated she had remained still for perhaps hours, maybe an entire shift rotation.

A couple of lab workers came out of the secure area, chatting as if the world wasn’t at a complete standstill, and walked through the wide double doors, exposing an empty hall outside.

This was as clear as she’d get. She pushed aside the lab coats, stepped out on cramping legs, and made her way to the door. She had to get this antidote into the right hands for Merry. She couldn’t think of anything else.

Outside of restricted areas, the floating island wasn’t guarded. Keeping her face impassive, she nodded at the few people she passed on her way back to the banquet kitchen. Nobody looked at her twice even with the nondescript but stolen research files tucked under her arm. Though Harp had said as much in his reports, the meek attitude of the inhabitants of this island proved the harshness of the owners, who discouraged any questions. Nobody saw anything here.

She scurried through the hatch, down the tunnel, and stopped short at the opening in the clouds. Nothing there. Not that it was time to come back around to the beanstalk.

With a flip of her collar, she palmed the special walkie. At her touch, it grew warm, like a living thing. “Bovine?”

In the silence, the wind tugged at the flaps of her jacket. She closed her eyes and dared not picture Harp as she’d last seen him.

“That you, Jaq?”

She smiled. She hadn’t realized how alone, how desperate she was until she heard Bovine’s dear, concerned voice.

“Listen. I have to hurry, and this is important.”

“Go ahead.”

“I have a package for you.” She detailed her plans—Bovine listening and asking questions when pertinent—and attached the walkie to the file. “Track it. It’s a matter of life or death.”

“You can count on me, always could. I’ll get the file, and I’ll have plenty of backup at the bottom of the stalk. You better be there.”

“Just retrieve the file. Nothing else matters.” After blowing into it to create float and cushion, she sealed the folder into an evidence bag pulled from her jacket pocket. Before she could rethink her plans, she threw it out into the blue sky.

There went Merry’s cure and Jaq’s walkie, her only connection to Bovine. The file disappeared from sight, floating to the ground. It’d remain intact in the bag, and the samples in the blister packs would be safe. She simply didn’t doubt Bovine would track the walkie, get the file and cure Merry.

She turned toward the tunnel. Time to find Harp, even if she wasn’t sure where the hell they’d taken him. She’d lied to Bovine when she’d said nothing else mattered. Harp mattered, more than she’d cared to admit to herself, and she couldn’t leave him. The urge to run down the tunnel surged through her legs, but she didn’t know where to go. They had some secure rooms on the lower level, for the ostensible purpose of valuables storage, which could easily be used as jail cells. They might be questioning him in the main Giant Corp offices or any place. She didn’t know where to start.

“Jaq.” The wind moaned her name.

She must be imagining things now. The past year had been bleak, the memories of what could have been haunting her dreams.

She pinched herself. “Damn, that hurt.”

She wasn’t dreaming, and she wasn’t haunted, but if she didn’t find the source of that sound, she’d be haunted the rest of her short life.

She nearly called back and bit her tongue. The coppery taste filled her mouth as she shaded her eyes and searched above her. Like the lander she was, she hadn’t looked up, not once, when she’d taken this platform at the bottom of the island.

There, three stories above, a balcony stretched out farther than the rest of the mansion. Shadows played through the slats between planks. It could be anybody up there. She could’ve imagined her name on the wind. But it wasn’t and she hadn’t.

She needed a good trellis to climb, or maybe Rapunzel to throw down her hair. Patting herself down, searching the pockets of her threadbare jacket, she couldn’t find anything to get her up there. The evidence bags wouldn’t help. She hadn’t brought any tech in case it set off an alarm when she’d breached the platform.

Her fingers curled around the dice in her pocket. On her palm, gleaming in the sunlight, the dice looked ordinary. She matched the fives together and pressed. The dice grew warm, vibrating, elongating. In seconds, she held a lethal stiletto. The blade, silver and deadly, was nearly as long as her forearm. The handle, the grip solid and hefty, still held the heat of transformation.

“Pretty.” She slid the weapon carefully into the laces of her boot. If she ever got up to the balcony, this would come in handy, but until then, she still had no way to climb.

“Can’t go back through the mansion,” she muttered around her thumbnail. Sometimes saying things out loud helped her to think in different ways. She glanced back down at her boot.

The laces.

She shook her head. They were strong, specialty laces she’d used before for various B&E type missions and to hold blades, like now, but she couldn’t use them to climb the mansion. The building itself had ledges at every floor, but the floors were too high, the window ledges spaced too far. She couldn’t reach from one to the other.

Snatches of sound came to her over the wind. She’d recognize that groan anywhere. She wiped the perspiration dropping in her eye, ran a hand through her hair, no doubt spiking it up in clumps pointing in all directions.

She had to move. Now. Ochre was known as a cruel man who never hesitated to use violence for the slimmest reasons. Anyone at his mercy would find he had none.

Tears of frustration stung her nose. There was no fast way up there. She had to go back through the mansion and risk getting caught breaking into the Ochres’ private apartments to get out to that balcony. Flipping through the blueprints in her mind, she planned a route.

Something nagged at her. Something she was overlooking in her frantic need to get to Harp. With deep breaths, she rolled her head on her shoulders and tried to focus. What was missing? She’d go back down the access tunnel, up the hatch, and through the kitchen. To the back stairs.

Stairs. If she took the main stairs, she’d come out at the top level viewing deck. She doubted anyone used it. Like landers never looking up, the people on the floating islands probably never looked down.

She wouldn’t look down, either.

Plan put to action, she didn’t glance back at the shadows above. She didn’t imagine what Harp must be suffering with the aching sounds she’d heard. She couldn’t think about how his beautiful body could be hurt, how his beautiful mind might be in agony.

She had so much to tell him. Like she loved him. She’d never actually told him. Maybe if she had…

With a swing, she climbed through the kitchen hatch and closed it behind her.

They’d been engaged, but she’d never told him her true feelings, how she feared he’d leave. Self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe that’s why he left. She’d never really opened to him.

Straightening her jacket and patting down her hair, she left the kitchen and nonchalantly strolled to the stairs and climbed. The stairs curved ahead and she plodded on, her legs heavy weights rebelling against her demands to get her up to the top.

On the second level, Vera Ochre rounded the curved stairs with a smug expression twisting her glossed lips. Jaq repressed the urge to stick her foot out and trip the bitch. How lovely it’d be, to watch her tumble on her bony ass all the way down the wide red-carpeted stairs.

Vera stopped beside her.

Jaq held her breath. She didn’t dare look at the mistress of Giant Corp. Instead, she ignored the trembling in her limbs and lifted her foot to take the next step.

A harsh grip on her arm stopped her. Vera’s nails sank into Jaq’s arm.

“Who are you?” Vera demanded.

“Medical courier.” She patted the courier bag for emphasis though the cover story no longer mattered. She had to move. Now. No time to reassure the woman she belonged here when every minute counted. Yanking on the woman’s grip, she twisted Vera’s arm, thrusting her away and hopefully down the stairs.

Like a cat clinging for dear life, Vera clutched at the railing and shrilled, “Guards.”

Then the woman lunged at her. They fell against the wall. Of same height and build, Vera still didn’t stand a chance against Jaq’s training. Jaq swung a leg out, hooked it around Vera’s legs and pushed her, hard. Vera slammed into the wall a few stairs down with a loud moan.

Jaq didn’t wait to see what Vera would do. She sprinted up the stairs. Around the bend, a man stopped and stared as she zipped past.

A shriek to “stop” from Vera didn’t slow her or send the man into motion behind her. If she could get to the top, that would be all she needed to escape Vera and anyone who answered her yelling for help.

She pushed through the sliding glass doors at the top and stumbled onto the landing of the observation deck. Trusting her instincts, the memorized blueprints, and her heart, she didn’t slow. She ran right to the edge.

With a hand on the railing, she vaulted over and sailed out into the blue sky.

Chapter Five

Harp groaned. The grinding ache suffocating him had no end, his vision had darkened to cocoon him, and he could no longer see his torturer.

Wires banded around his torso, tightening with every pained breath. He couldn’t remember what he was doing, why he suffered. He only wanted the pain to end. Using the only retreat he had, he stilled his thrashing and curled into a ball.

If only Jaq were here, to run her hands through his hair—as she always did—to ease him.

“If you want it to stop, just tell me why you’re here, and I’ll help you end it all.” The nagging voice had said the same thing, over and over, for an endless time.

“My name is John Singer,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

Where are you, Jaq?

I have to leave you again. I’m sorry.

He wouldn’t say anything to hurt Jaq. There was only one way to be sure. He struggled to his feet and blinked in the blinding white fog. He couldn’t see through the tears. He couldn’t find the ledge.

A thud rocked him, and he fell back to his knees.

The fresh scent of green assailed him. He sucked in a painful breath to hold the fragrance to himself.

“I’m here.” A sweet angel whispered to his soul.

The unmistakable cool of a blade slid along his arm beneath the wires.

Snap. The pressure around his chest stopped abruptly.

“Get moving. Now,” she shouted.

Jaq shouldn’t be here. He blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision. Stumbling to his feet, he cradled his arms around his chest. Every move hurt.

“Who’s this?” his tormentor snarled.

Harp’s skin crawled. Ochre couldn’t get his hands on Jaq. Never. Possessive and primal rage to protect what was his pounded through him as he, still blind, lunged toward the voice.

He slammed into someone. They both went down. A hard weight dug into him, and sharp needles of pain sent his ribs screaming.

“You should’ve stayed down.” Ochre grunted, wrapping strong, stubby fingers around his neck, and leaned into him with all his weight. Ineffective. The man didn’t know what he was doing.

Thrusting his hands up and out, he broke Ochre’s hold and pushed him off with a timed arc from the floor. Still blind, he slugged toward where Ochre should be.

A satisfying thud ricocheted up his arm when he connected with the solid meat of a stomach. An oof of air hissed around him. He punched again, toward the sound of wheezing. Wind whipped around him. Masculine grunts of pain and frustrated cursing filtered through to draw his attention from Ochre. Jaq could take care of two measly guards. She was deadly with a blade. And her roundhouse.

As long as they didn’t have guns. He hadn’t seen guns.

He’d barely had the time to start worrying when her green scent and her soft panting came from beside him.

“We’re out of time. We have to run.”

Slender fingers wrapped in his. Through the fuzz of his clearing vision, he sprinted after her slim form.

The guards struggled up from a pile of limbs on the ground. One got to his feet as they slipped past. “Bitch, not done with you.”

Balancing on one foot and his hold on Jaq, Harp kicked out, tripping the guard.

They raced through the sliding doors and into the Ochre apartments. The light dimmed as they left the sun behind, and he could see clearly again.

Vera stood, disheveled, wide-eyed and open-mouthed in the doorway. Jaq pushed her hard to the side as she sprinted out of the Ochre suite.

A step behind her, he heard when Vera recovered from her shock. She screamed, “Stop. Singer!” But she didn’t follow.

Plaster rained down on him as the boom of a gun nearly deafened him.

The guards had remembered they had guns, and they weren’t good shots.

That could be good or very, very bad.

He tore down the steps after Jaq. Heart pounding, he ignored the signals from his body to collapse. His lungs heaved, every motion still grinding as if his ribs were exposed and rubbing together. But, crazy as it was, he couldn’t help the spurt of adrenaline when he got a good look at Jaq, hair wild, cheeks flushed, a grin thrown to him over her shoulder as she leaped several stairs at once.

“You came for me.” He panted every word.

“You’d have, too.”

He would’ve. He’d have come for her, no matter if the sky was falling around him. “This way.”

Careening across the great room on the bottom level, he pulled Jaq behind him, through the back passage to the garage, and slammed the door behind him. It would only slow the guards for a minute or so since they’d have to search the other rooms along the hallway, but he’d have Jaq out of here in seconds.

“Where are we going?” Jaq kept pace, huffing as she held tighter to his hand.

The largest space on the island, the three-story garage echoed with their steps as the few drivers and workers unloading deliveries all stopped to stare. Harp led Jaq past a row of hovercraft along the back wall to the one he’d already hacked, a sleek little blue number with white pinstripes. It sat toward the back of the garage, several rows of deliveries, security desks, and a maintenance bay between it and freedom. He jabbed his programmed code into the entrypad and the doors slid up. “Get in.”

She let go of his fingers to round the hovercraft, and he fisted his hand to keep from grabbing her close again. When they got out of here, he’d never let go. He slid into the driver’s seat. The doors closed, swishing before silence rang in his ears.

“Hurry. They’re closing the doors.” Jaq slapped on a safety belt and gripped the sides of the plush seat.

“Hold on.” He pushed the start button, grabbed the direction stick and floored the accelerator.

The wide open cargo bay stayed open during daylight hours. Deliveries had to have previous permission, manifests and docking permits before landing. Only trusted drivers were allowed to enter the secure zone. Getting out was easier. He swerved past the screening desk where incoming parcels and visitors were checked. The lone guard there stood, weapon firing, yelling and gesturing to the door operator.

Harp jammed a button he’d hidden under the dash. The signal scrambled the garage door controls, jamming them open for him to escape.

The back of the craft pinged with fire. Glass splintered behind him. The back window cracked. Ochre’s guards had caught up to them. He reached over and pushed Jaq’s head to her knees. “Get down.”

The craft slid on the sleek floor as it rounded the maintenance bay and barreled toward the door, now half closed. It kept closing. His scramble to jam the door hadn’t worked.

“Damn.” He jabbed at the button, but the doors kept going.

“What’s wrong?” Jaq stayed down. She knew to stay out of the way so he could concentrate on getting them out of there.

“They must have updated their codes since I hacked them. The door’s closing.”

She paled, but didn’t move. “You’ll get us out of here.”

“Sure I will.” His hands slicked on the direction controls. “Come on.”

The door moved in slow motion as his vision tunneled to the quickly disappearing daylight beyond. The car wavered and rocked as he threaded past the row of delivery vehicles and slammed his foot down harder on the accelerator. “Come on.”

They wouldn’t get there in time. With the doors barely wide enough to walk through, he banked hard to the side and slammed on the brakes. Air whooshed around them as the hover engines strained.

They slid into the closed bay door with a thunk.

More pinging and shouting slammed through the enclosed cab. Harp glanced out the window. Ochre, his guards, and the garage workers all rushed toward them. His hands fisted, Ochre scowled at Harp.

Harp gunned it, whipping around and toward the nearest exit.

“Harp.” Jaq braced herself on the dash. “You’re heading straight for a wall.”

“When I stop, jump out and run.”

“Right with you.” Her voice didn’t waver or show any fear, though his escape route had closed.

He slammed his hand on the door pad at the same time as he shoved down on the brake. The air from the hover engine warmed the cab as he came to a stop a few feet from the door. “Run.”

They clamored from the craft and bolted toward the exit.

“Shoot them,” Ochre roared behind them.

Putting himself behind Jaq, he herded her back down the hallway.

She looked over her shoulder with a determined gleam. “We have to go back out the way I came. The beanstalk.”

He still didn’t know exactly what that meant, but he trusted her—and Bovine’s tech gadgets—as she ran full tilt through the hallway into the main area of the mansion.

Jaq slipped on the highly shined, waxy tile of the great room, falling hard.

With a twinge in his chest from his bruises, he gripped her elbow and pulled her up. He ground his teeth. They had to keep moving. Throwing her arm around his shoulder, he half carried her across the slick marble floor of the grand foyer. A few of the household staff scurried behind the nearest piece of furniture.

Crack.

The marble splintered at their feet. Dust flew in the air.

A shard dug into his arm.

Jaq grunted. She collapsed against him and nearly carried him to the floor. With all his effort, he ignored the burning in his torso and muscled her onto her feet.

Jaq leaned against him and swiped at the tear in her jeans where her pale skin shone, marred with the bloody cut. A tile shard had scraped her leg in a nasty gash, but thank all that was right in this world, she hadn’t been shot.

“Got it. Let’s go.” Her voice came strained, a heavier burden than anything he’d lived through before in his life.

“Hold on, love.”

They limped along as fast as they could down the hallway toward the banquet kitchen.

The guards and Ochre couldn’t see them now, but they’d only have a few seconds of confusion before they were on their trail again.

Entering the kitchen, he breathed a sigh of relief. Too soon. A burly guard stepped into their path. “Hold it right there.”

Harp drew up short, calculating the best way around the behemoth who snarled at them like a dog. He clenched and unclenched his fists, clearly looking for a fight instead of gunning them down. In his condition, Harp couldn’t take him on. Not and get away before the ones behind had caught up.

His heart sank to his stomach. They had to get out, but he was too spent to get them out of this. The data in his back pocket would stop what was coming, a viral outbreak with Giant Corp holding the only cure—for a steep price. And they had the only proof to stop it. Harp swallowed hard and got ready to get pummeled.

The man didn’t bother to watch Jaq as she pulled away. Harp swayed and sidestepped a meaty fist. Harp swung about, landing a solid punch to the man’s gut. The guard bent with the force of the blow, exposing his gun in a shoulder holster as his jacket opened. Harp reached for it.

The guard stepped back and angled away. Harp’s fingers brushed the grip, but slipped. He dove after him, but the guard swung again, hitting him square in the chest.

Harp’s injured ribs screamed in pain as he staggered back, bent half on top of a counter.

Before the guard came at him again, Jaq skidded a pan across the counter toward Harp. He caught it by the handle, swung hard, and whacked the large man in the side of his head. A loud reverb rang out and the man crumpled as if all his muscles had melted.

Harp dropped the pan with a clank.

Jaq smirked. “At least those things come in handy for something.”

Arms and legs shaking with the strain, Harp bent to remove the gun, stepped over the body and pulled Jaq to his side, so high and tight against him, he lifted her off the floor.

“Out the door…” He shoved the gun in the back of his waistband and sucked in a pained gulp of air. “I’ve set up that lock to jam.”

Jaq panted with the strain of their flight. “It’ll buy us some time.”

They slid the last few feet to the hatch. With a grunt, he lifted it and motioned Jaq through. She jumped in.

“Aw, damn, that hurt,” she hissed, her voice at a small distance.

Good girl, she’d already gotten moving.

He climbed down, closing the hatch as a clamor echoed in the kitchen. He yanked a pre-laid fuse line, setting off a heated spark that melted the lock. It’d give them a few more precious seconds. “It’ll be enough time.”

In seconds, he’d caught up with a limping Jaq.

“Please, please, please.” She stared ahead, the light at the end of the tunnel highlighting the strain on her face. He wanted to take away the pain. “Please let it be there.”

“No kidding. Otherwise, I think this is going to be a short escape. I could put in surveillance and jimmy that lock, but I couldn’t leave a chute here.” Just like he couldn’t have gotten a gun onto the island without setting off alarms. The mechanical elements would have been detected immediately as soon as he’d crossed the security net surrounding the island.

Shouts and clanging filled the tunnel behind them. He put his arm around Jaq’s waist to hurry her along. “Time’s up.”

The platform at the end of the tunnel opened into the sky. He swallowed, hard. Visions of his nanny’s black smock fanning out around her body as she dove for the ground made him take a step back.

Jaq threw him a questioning look. “Are you okay?”

“Did I ever mention I have a problem with heights?”

Her eyebrows raised clear to her spiky blond hair. “How could…”

A splash of green wavered in the cloud behind her, and his mouth fell open. Damn if Jaq’s “beanstalk” wasn’t an actual beanstalk, growing from the planet’s surface way up, higher than the islands.

And it appeared that they’d need to climb down the thing. Jaq crouched, ready to jump off the platform.

His mouth ran dry and his ears rang. Or maybe they were shooting at them again. Knees weak, he stepped forward and swayed.

Jaq glanced behind him and waved frantically.

“Let’s go,” she mouthed, but he couldn’t hear her over the white noise in his head.

Her foot stepped into the air. He lurched toward her. He had to save her. She couldn’t jump. No. Not again.

Her boot landed on a green limb. She reached toward him and the noise came rushing back in crashing waves.

“Harper English, you get your ass down this beanstalk.” Jaq beckoned to him, her expression tight and anxious as she hovered amid green leaves, slowly moving around the platform. She looked down and back up at him. Her fingers reached to brush the hand he held out to her. “Now, sweetie.”

He lunged out and hugged her, gripping her, holding on for dear life.

Swip, swip, swip.

The leaves above him shredded, and he couldn’t let go to use the guard’s gun to fire back. He roared. “Go, go, go.”

Jaq slid beneath his hold and started climbing down. He followed.

Above, the platform was still empty. Their pursuers hadn’t reached it. Jaq and he would be out of view for a few moments as they descended. He didn’t know how far up they were, how much time it’d take to get to the ground.

He glanced down. Jaq’s agile body was gliding down at a breakneck pace. His vision spotted, and he jerked his chin up. No more looking down.

One rung at a time, he descended the beanstalk. Bovine’s creation was a marvel. The vines were thick, as large around as three of him put together. Maybe four. The limbs interweaved like thatch work. Large leaves the size of his head swished into him, blocking his sight, sliding against his mouth to leave behind a verdant flavor. It was as if the vine cushioned and directed him, hugging against him all the way.

He couldn’t see Jaq but he heard her humming, as if she were enjoying this craziness.

The vine shuddered. Tearing leaves rent the sky above him. They were following, but he couldn’t see through the leaves.

Jaq stopped humming.

He picked up the pace. The mindless down, down, down created unbearable tension in his shoulders and left his bruised ribs protesting.

Down, down, down.

His arms ached. The top of his head heated, exposed to the threat above.

At least he was between Jaq and Ochre’s guards. They’d have to go through him first.

“I’m on the ground,” Jaq shouted.

The tension in his shoulders fell away. His feet touched the earth and he moved toward Jaq who stared above, frowning, eyes squinting, as she peered up into the vine. An expression of horror covered her beautiful face as she reached for him and screamed, “Watch out.”

A heavy mass fell on him, banging his head into the ground and wrenching his arm back. He surged up, throwing off the man, and rounded on him, only to draw up short with the barrel of a gun in his face.

He froze.

Chapter Six

Jaq dove to the side, putting the overturned courtyard bench between her and the two guards, who glared at Harp as Ochre made his way down the vine. He was still a ways up, taking his time.

She had to move now, while it was two instead of three. Vera Ochre wouldn’t be following them down. Ochre had turned his company into a shell of itself, a corrupt and inhumane entity, all so his wife wouldn’t ever have to touch the ground. No, Vera Ochre was high above.

She and Harp had to take out three men. Because Bovine and the other agents weren’t here yet. If Ochre overpowered them, nobody would be around to tell the world what Ochre had planned, and a vaccine would hit the streets in a few weeks that would wipe out half the population of landers. They had to get the evidence to Mother.

The gun in Harp’s face didn’t waver. She wanted to call out, but terror for him tightened her throat, and she didn’t want the guards to remember she was here.

This was where it’d all end, and she was determined that it would end with Harp and Merry whole and safe, even if she had to sacrifice herself to make it so.

She took it all in. This was the courtyard to her building, but she’d never thought to stash weapons here. Breathing in and out, she shrugged her shoulders and let her emotions fall to the ground.

In a smooth motion, she grabbed one of the downed bamboo plant canes, stood and slashed it through the air.

Swish.

The hard yet flexible pole came down, fast, onto the hand holding the gun. The guard’s arm yanked down, discharging the gun into the ground. Always fast, Harp attacked the man, twisting his arm and pointing the firearm away.

She didn’t wait to see if Harp could take out the guard. She dove at the other one, stunned and standing with his mouth agape. Her momentum plowed into him. As he stumbled, bowed over, she righted herself, gripped him by the shoulders, and brought her knee up into his nose.

Crunch.

He howled and fell to the ground, clutching his face. In seconds, she yanked her courier bag over her head, removed the strap, and had the guard’s hands tied and secured to the bench while he was still bent over, moaning over his broken nose.

Harp and the man he fought cursed and grunted, but she couldn’t step in, not without distracting Harp. For heart-stopping seconds he jabbed at his opponent and landed strikes ruthlessly beautiful to behold. The other man was good. He dodged and parried, but couldn’t find a way through Harp’s defenses. Harp didn’t need the gun he’d taken from the guard, or her help, but she tensed, ready to come to his aid though weariness had started to seep into her bones.

A thud drew her dazed attention from Harp. Ochre had reached the bottom of the vine and sneered at her. “Who are you?”

“The person who’s taking you down.” She took in deep shuddering breaths and made her body stand straight and tall instead of falling over. She was spent.

But he would not win. Never. Not while she breathed. He would not take the lives of landers hostage for the sake of profit.

The man who’d nearly killed Merry circled Jaq, keeping to the outside away from Harp, who should’ve downed his guy by now. She didn’t let herself get distracted by the worry.

Ochre’s mouth ticked and his eyes telegraphed his intentions. He was coming straight for her throat. When he lunged, she came up on the balls of her feet, bounced twice, and swung her right leg around in a fast, arching roundhouse.

He took it right in the side of the head and went down hard.

Before he knew what had happened to him, she pounced. She yanked his jacket back so he couldn’t move his arms, pulled the stiletto and pointed it at his throat, pressing hard enough to leave a trail of blood.

“Don’t move,” she growled.

Ochre groaned into the dirt beneath his face. Off to the side, the guard Harp had been fighting echoed the groan as he crumpled to the ground.

Harp knelt beside her and put a hand on her back. “Good job. The cavalry’s here.”

The small courtyard filled with Mother agents, Bovine in the lead. They soon had the guards and Ochre bound and ready for detainment. Ochre yelled and screamed as he was dragged away. “Leave Vera out of this. You can’t take the company. Don’t make her come down here.”

After what had happened to Merry, Jaq was a little shocked by the wave of pity she felt for Ochre as she stared at his contorted face. Then he was gone.

“Move aside, Robinson.” A uniformed Mother agent waved her away as he set to work with a chainsaw on the beanstalk.

Bzzzz. The loud noise ripped through the air.

“Where is this thing going to fall?” She cast a worried glance around the courtyard of her apartment building. Harp stood next to the bench they’d sometimes shared while drinking coffee in the morning before going to work. Her dry mouth flooded, the memories burning.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she flinched. Bovine answered in his usual good humor. “I designed it to collapse onto itself. Don’t worry. Your home will be safe. So will Merry.”

She turned and hugged Bovine. “How about Merry? Will you be able to help her?”

“I already have Merry at the hospital. Picked her up this morning, but you’d already left. We’re giving her stabilizers while I synthesize the antidote. You can visit her tomorrow.”

She blew out a long breath.

A crash shook the courtyard.

The beanstalk folded in. Leaves thwapped as they rushed down. The scent of uncooked beans filled the air as green dust coated Harp’s black hair.

Harp leaned toward Bovine and yelled over the continued crashing of the beanstalk. “They planned on moving it out of trials and onto the streets in just a few weeks. I have all the evidence you need to prove it.” He pulled his special harmonica from his pocket and slapped it into Bovine’s hand.

“I’ll get this back to headquarters.” Bovine nodded significantly in her direction. “I knew she’d get you out. She couldn’t wait on extraction, it would’ve been too late for the antidote.”

Harp nodded. “We can put him away for a long time. But for now, I have a few things to say to Jaq.”

“Soon as the medics clear you, go. Say your things. Take a day or two while I convince the head office to let Jaq keep her job.” Bovine gave Jaq a wink.

The medics cleaned and healed their cuts and checked Harp’s chest. His ribs weren’t broken but he had some nasty bruises they treated with fast-mend. He declined the heavy-duty pain relievers and promised he’d come by for a checkup tomorrow. Jaq snorted as they walked away from the medics. Harp wouldn’t go to the med-clinic unless he was unconscious, bleeding, or ordered to do it.

Jaq shook all over. Acting on autopilot, she led the way inside the apartment building. She ran hot and cold. Her mind flipped through all the events of the past year in a blur. The past few hours had turned everything up over end.

They kept their hands off each other in the elevator. Harp didn’t touch her as she opened the door, but once shut in with him, in their home, he crushed her to him and took her mouth. The feel of him against her immediately soothed the panic she’d been holding at bay.

She ripped her mouth away from his. Cheeks awash with color, eyes sparkling deep brown, he smiled tentatively, chest heaving as he gave her the most unsure look she’d ever seen on his face.

For good reason.

Her chest tightened. “No. You can’t just come in here like nothing ever happened.”

“Will you give me a chance?” His plea came out husky and defeated.

She turned her back on him and started down the hall, but a hollowness pitted her stomach and the pain came, an ache that only he could cure. She looked over her shoulder, smiled, knowing he’d follow.

She shrugged out of her clothes and threw them into the laundry chute. Her raggedy jacket would probably fall apart after a few more cleansing cycles.

The air around her changed, filled with heated spice. With a whirl on the cold tile in her bare feet, she faced him. His eyes were afire, roaming her nakedness, as real as a touch. Shivers broke out all over her. She groaned.

He reached for her sensitive breasts but she stepped back.

“Talk,” she commanded while she still had a voice. Her throat tightened as she turned from his haggard face, the already healing cuts, the bruises fading at his temple, the treated slash on his arm where they’d cut off his sleeve. She knew she’d take him back, foolish or not, but she’d hear his reasons first.

She flipped on the shower and ran a hand under the stream to test the temperature.

He slowly unbuttoned his shirt. “A year ago, I knew where we were headed. Even if you’d agreed to marry me, it was too fast for you. I’d turned down many pleas to go back in deep cover. I’d gotten the report on Giant Corp weeks before but turned down the assignment. They hadn’t found anyone else to send, but I didn’t care. You didn’t want me in deep, so I wouldn’t go. But I couldn’t concentrate on the simplest jobs. I started making mistakes so I could hurry home to you. I doubted my ability as an agent. That’s all I know how to be, Jaq. An agent.”

He carefully slid his shirt off, gently moving it over his injuries. The black and blue contusions over his rib cage made her suck in a breath. She nearly reached out to him, but he unbuttoned his jeans and lowered the zipper.

She froze, entranced by his bruised but honed body. Her mouth watered when he parted his jeans to free his undeniable erection. He didn’t look at her, but watched his hands as he pushed down his pants and continued to explain. Her body pleaded with her to rub against him, but she listened to his words. What he said now mattered more than the craving making her legs tremble.

“Then, one night, I found those three words on the edge of my tongue and I froze. I knew if I said them, I couldn’t take them back. I knew if I said them, you wouldn’t say them back, and I knew it’d hurt like hell. So I ran.” His eyes glistened in the brightly lit bathroom, trained on her, pinning her to the spot.

“You thought I’d hurt you?”

“You would’ve. You hadn’t been able to open to me, like I had to you. You were still hiding from me.”

It was true. She stepped under the shower and stared at the tile. “And you’d given up what you enjoyed most about your job. For me. I wasn’t fair.”

He didn’t wait for an invitation but slid under the water behind her.

“No hanky panky,” she insisted though the slickness between her legs proved how much she wanted to skip the talk and get down to business. She couldn’t. She took a washcloth from the ledge and gently soothed over the faded bruises on his face. “We need to clean you up, Mr. English.”

He grinned. “As long as I can return the favor.”

They washed each other with gentle touches. As if the water washed away all the heartache and sleepless nights, they caressed and held each other. By tacit agreement, they didn’t linger to excite or entice, leaving the heated moments for afterward. The shower disguised the tears, but her body wept for release by the time they were done.

Harp carried her to bed, careful with her leg, and stretched out beside her. Their desire heated the sheets in seconds.

“It’s good to be back.”

“You won’t leave again?”

“Never.”

She sucked in a breath and rushed it out, while she had the courage. “I do love you.”

He nodded. He leaned toward her and whispered against her lips, “Of course you do.”

With a push, she rolled him off her and burst out laughing. His deep chuckle filled the room as he caught her legs between his. She squirmed, giggling as his hand traced up her side.

The laughter died, replaced with a hot, melting need in her middle.

“I love you, too, Jaq. I have for so, so long.”

His mouth covered hers in a gentle taste. He nipped at her bottom lip, kissed the side of her chin, along her sensitive neck, and licked the seam of her mouth. She opened to him, eager and desperate all at once to be beneath him, beside him, inside him.

Harp’s taste was uniquely his own and she suckled his tongue for more as her body slid along his. His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs circling maddeningly around her nipples. She wiggled beneath him and brought her knees up to cradle him. She needed to be closer.

His dick rocked against her, slicked through her folds, spreading her excitement. With a subtle grinding of his hips, he rubbed her clit with teasing strokes, sending her to the edge in a stuttered heartbeat.

“Oh, there, right there.” She grasped for the bliss he always gave her.

She hung there, as he rubbed her nipples with his thumb, ground against her mound, and made love to her mouth. Everything flew together, sending her senses soaring. Too much, almost painful, in her urgency. Her release shattered through her.

She shuddered, wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear as he slid inside her. “I’m ready now.”

He knew what she meant. She was ready to open to him fully.

He rocked, taking up a maddeningly slow tempo. She bucked up against him, needing more, harder, faster. His large bulk too heavy, she writhed against his flesh, hot and slick.

His face tucked into her neck.

“Yes,” she moaned and wiggled her hips.

Mouth open on her skin, tongue tasting her, he picked up the pace, thrusting hard into her. She lifted her knees to position herself to get more of him, more of his length and his strength.

He gripped her ass to keep her steady as his rhythm turned frantic. She hugged tight, arms too weak to show him how badly she needed him. Too ineffective to show how she’d never let go.

Stars sparkled in her vision. She was close again. She held her breath, her body taut, open and accepting as he moved inside her with abandon.

He tensed above her and groaned, his hot breath heating her neck. She climaxed, hard, her thighs spasming. She’d never been so at peace, at one, with anyone before.

With a gentle nudge, he moved her legs down and bit her with a playfulness that brought tears to her eyes. He fell to her side with a wide smile.

“I needed that. It’s been a bloody year.” He sighed, long and deep.

She believed him.

“Same,” she murmured and curled into his side.

If she hadn’t climbed the beanstalk to save Merry, would she have been here today? Would he have made it off Giant Corp island alive? And would she have taken him back, if she hadn’t faced the danger of losing him?

No. She shuddered. She’d almost lost him.

He pulled her tight. “Remind me to thank Bovine for those magic beans.”

The man could read her mind.

“I know what you’re thinking.” His eyes were closed and he grinned toward the ceiling.

“And what’s that?”

“You’re thinking you should be on top next time.”

“Oh, is that it?”

“Definitely.”

Reluctantly, she forced herself away from his strength and heat. He reached for her as she slipped out of bed. She dodged his hold and scooped up his pants, digging into the pockets.

“Odds, you’re on top. Even, I am,” she purred.

She threw the dice.

About the Author

As a child, Ella read every book she could get her hands on, which meant most of her dad’s science fiction and fantasy collection. There she found a special love of elves, dragons and knights. Now that she’s found her own knight in shining armor and happily ever after, she loves to write tales of fantasy, hot enough to scorch the sheets.

Before she started writing, Ella was a waitress, a cashier, a receptionist to a U.S. senator, a network admin, a web developer and an all-around card-carrying geek. One day she sat down and wrote that first sentence. She hasn’t stopped since. A 2010 PRISM finalist, she’s written gothic romance with cursed families, shape-shifters and science fiction. She’d love to hear from readers and can be found at her website, www.elladrake.com, on Twitter as Lori_Ella or on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/ella.drake.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9123-6

Copyright © 2011 by Ella Drake

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