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  “Sara thinks she is.”

  His wife thought Jilly was Garradian. He almost asked why her opinion mattered more than, oh, everyone else’s, but somehow couldn’t. Maybe it was that surge of menace that flared in a gaze already fully loaded with threat that did it.

  “Then she’s a really good liar,” Rick muttered, more to himself than to Fyn.

  “Maybe she doesn’t know.”

  Rick looked at Fyn while he considered the words and the implication: that Fyn didn’t think she was lying either. It was kind of a relief but also disturbing. How could she write about the Garradian history and not know it was real? Even though he had a pretty wide definition of weird that was pushing it.

  “I don’t see how,” he said, again more to himself.

  Fyn shrugged. Maybe he’d just run out of words. He tucked his ray gun into his waistband and covered it with his tee shirt. He picked up his night vision goggles and handed the other pair to Rick.

  A few hours ago, Fyn and his armament had seemed like overkill. Now Rick wondered if they’d brought enough.

  Jilly cooked them all some dinner, not because cooking was her thing or to be friendly. Mostly she needed something to do with her hands. She longed to be sitting at her computer. She longed to be alone to think.

  Her mind wanted to flash back to the space gun, the way it had felt in her hand. She should have realized it wasn’t the mock-up. Now she remembered the mock-up was a lot lighter, but at the time, it hadn’t felt wrong. What was even stranger, when it fired it had surprised her, but—not. She had this vision of standing next to someone—Kamen—and he was pointing to a black mark just like the one on her garage. Who was Kamen and why did he seem not made up? Why could she see a screen with what looked like specifications for the weapon on it? It felt weird to even think in terms of specifications. She was an author, a former librarian. Not a weapons specialist.

  And why did the switched weapon look so much like her mock-up?

  Oscar Redding aka Jusan used to email her questions about the weapons in her books. He liked the tech talk, the theory behind her stuff. Sometimes it surprised her that it felt like her answers were real, so real she pulled back from saying too much. There were actually three fans, slash, readers who liked to talk weapons tech on her email loop. Dragonslayer, “Jusan,” and skywalker8524. A lot of “Jedi” loved her books, too. She hadn’t known they were “space operas” until someone told her after her second book released. Some of her fans got defensive about the label, but it didn’t bother Jilly.

  “Everything all right?”

  Until Daniels spoke, Jilly hadn’t realized she was staring at her cupboard door, her hands idle on the raw chicken. Jilly hesitated, not anxious to throw any of her fans to the feds, but Oscar had died. If one of them was involved…

  She turned to face Daniels, no Rick, he’d asked her to call him Rick. She propped a hip against the edge of the counter.

  “I have this fan loop online. I was just thinking…” She hesitated again, wishing she knew if she were doing the right thing. Rick was smart enough to look encouraging, but not speak. “There are three of them that like to talk weapons tech more than the others. Sometimes to the point of being annoying. Oscar was one of them. I don’t think of them together, because it’s online, but they did know each other. At least, they went to the same SF cons.”

  “You ever see them together—now that you think about it?”

  His tone wasn’t condemning, which it could have been.

  “How can I explain what it’s like? There’s a camaraderie when you’re on a loop. You feel like you know people, but you really don’t. Sometimes you put names to faces, but not always. Some people are bold online but shy in person. Jusan, Oscar, didn’t start really stalking me for several years. And it was always benign.” The pain in her head dulled to a steady throb. “If they have websites, some of them post pictures taken with me. There’s a place online for them to post websites. Might be worth checking out.”

  “Let’s do it,” Rick said, taking the knife from her hands.

  “The chicken…”

  “I’ll finish it,” bad agent said, sounding almost friendly. Or hungry.

  Jilly washed her hands and led Rick to her study. Her computer was already booted up. She had a feeling her hard drive had been copied. At least they hadn’t taken the whole thing with them. She pulled up the website and went into the links section. All three of the tech talkers had websites. She pulled up each one for Rick, then let him take her chair.

  All three of them had at least one page of pictures taken with them and favorite celebrities. It gave Jilly an odd feeling to see herself in a picture next to those of William Shatner and Amanda Tapping. Like she was famous, too.

  Rick made a call, feeding the names and websites to someone. After a bit, some information came back to his Blackberry that made him look thoughtful.

  But not enough to share.

  Jilly considered the two men left alive. Dragonslayer was a tall, cadaverous looking man who probably should have been an undertaker—and might very well be one. Skywalker8524 was the medium one of the trio, medium height, build and coloring. Short, medium and tall. She couldn’t have planned it that way if she wanted to. In fiction, it would be too obvious, she thought with a wry smile.

  “Do you keep records on where your mock-up tech went?” Rick asked.

  Jilly pulled open a file drawer and removed a thick file. Four books and a lot of tech. She handed it to him.

  He flipped it open and studied the first sheet, which included a name, address and a photo of the item.

  “Impressive.”

  “IRS,” Jilly said. They didn’t like her claiming her welding supplies as tax deductions. They’d lost.

  “I see you’ve made one of the space guns for each book.”

  “It’s a popular item. And my characters use them a lot.”

  “Were they all the same?”

  “Mostly. The last one and this one were modified because that’s what happened in the book. Even in a fictional world, progress is necessary.”

  Even as she said the words, she had that flash again of a lab in her book and specs on a screen. It felt so real, like she could reach out and touch them. Like she could actually build one…

  With the flash came the pain, so sharp she almost gasped out loud. It hadn’t been this bad since the accident…

  “Are you all right?”

  Through little lights that danced in front of her eyes, she could see him, could feel his hand on her arm steering her into the desk chair.

  “I think I’ve got a migraine.” She took several deep calming breaths.

  “Do you have some medication?”

  She almost shook her head, but thought better of it. “Used to, after the accident…”

  “You were in an accident?” His voice was almost as sharp as the pain.

  “A minor fender bender. Or should I say head banger?” She tried to smile but wasn’t sure it happened.

  “When was this?”

  “When?” She leaned her head against the chair rest, wishing he’d go away and leave her alone. “I don’t know, a few years.”

  “Before or after you started writing?”

  “Before.” The pain began to ease as her thoughts shifted in a new direction. Weird how that worked. “It’s kind of what got me started. It was a small accident, but it made me realize my life was passing so quickly and I wanted more.” She straightened in the chair. “I liked being around books, but I also wanted to write one. Then one became two and two become four.”

  “Interesting.” His voice was a low murmur.

  What was so interesting about it, she wanted to ask, but he seemed almost unaware she was still there.

  Her glance strayed back to the screen and the photographs. A figure in the back drew her attention for some reason. Also made the pain spike again. She clicked on the picture, enlarging it and stared at the man standing to one side.

  “He cam
e to one of my book signings,” she said, feeling almost faint from the pain washing through her. It went way beyond her head. “He was strange. Looked at me like I should know him…”

  Rick crouched by her chair, clasping her hands in his. Warmth crept up her arms and through her body.

  “And did you know him?”

  “No…” Her voice was as uncertain as she felt. At the time, she’d felt like she should know him. “He just has one of those faces.” That’s what she’d told herself at the time. “I didn’t like him.”

  Before Rick could speak, her phone rang, the sound shrill in the small room. They both jumped. She looked at the caller ID. It showed a private name and number.

  Rick’s gaze went from thoughtful to intent in a single blink.

  “Answer it.”

  She depressed the call button. “Hello.”

  “You have something of mine and I have something of yours, Ms. Smith.” The voice sounded like it was being filtered through one of those voice things. Metallic and sinister. The way a person would sound who killed with a space gun. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

  Jilly cleared her throat. “I’ve always been a fan of the easy way.”

  Rick looked at the seedy warehouse and almost sighed. Couldn’t the bad guys ever try to be less stereotypical? Just because they always had meets in places like this in the movies, did that mean they had to take it into real life?

  “Nervous?” he asked, trying to decipher Jilly’s expression in the dim light and failing.

  “Duh.”

  The lady had spunk.

  Fyn had already exited the car before they pulled to a stop outside the warehouse. It was possible he’d already rounded up the bad guys and was just waiting for them inside where he’d ask what took them so long.

  “They told me to come alone.”

  “They always tell you to come alone and they know you won’t. They know we won’t let you. He’s got his backup, too, which he hopes will trump our backup.” They could have a whole squad of Marines and not trump Fyn. Rick planned to stay out of his crossfire.

  He handed her the ray gun. “You go in, show them the weapon, then hit the deck and let us clean up.”

  “Sounds simple.”

  “Don’t make it hard.”

  “Okay.” Her voice sounded wry in the humid darkness.

  As soon as she opened the door, the stink of old wet stuff rushed in. She slipped out, slammed the door, and he heard the crunch of her footsteps as she walked toward the slightly open door.

  He looked at his watch. His backup was slow but should be here in five.

  He waited until she reached the door, then started around the side of the building away from her.

  Fyn slid through the darkness feeling comfortable for the first time since he left Area 51 and Sara. The night vision goggles made it easy to move around obstacles and see the opposition before they saw him.

  He picked a guy up and threw him against a wall. He crashed through it. Cheap wall. His weapon was quiet, but someone might notice the flash. Besides, he needed the workout. He looked down at the guy. Not that he’d given him much of a workout. He paused to tap into the satellite system, the way Sara had taught him. He found one passing overhead and focused in on the area around the warehouse.

  Ten heat signatures outside the warehouse, strategically positioned to cover any approach. Only four inside. Interesting. He made a mental heads up display, a HUD, to work with, lined up his angle of attack and started forward again. There should be a guy right—there.

  Bingo. Only nine more to go.

  Jilly moved toward the faint glow coming through the slight gap in the door. Rick had given her a flashlight and she used it, pointing it at the ground as she picked her way through the alley’s debris.

  The night air was thick and humid and weighted with the scent of old dead everything. She reached the door and widened the gap enough to step through. There was just enough light to see her way clear to a barrel about five yards ahead. She assumed that was her mock-up space gun lying on top of it.

  It was hard not to think of mice and cheese, particularly in this place.

  “Hello?” Her voice echoed around the high ceiling.

  “You wearing a wire?” The voice was still metallic, like on the phone. He’d probably gotten a voice synthesizer at one of the SF cons. Despite the disguise, there was something in the voice that tugged at her memory—and stabbed into the place in her head where her migraines started. Great. Not now. You can ache later.

  “I’d never be that obvious.” She sounded cooler and calmer than she felt. Probably because she was being that obvious.

  A pause and he laughed. She was sure it was a him.

  “True. You never go for the obvious.”

  Jilly couldn’t believe he fell for it. Or he didn’t care. Rick said he had goons. They had guys. Well, they had guys incoming. For now, they had Fyn. Actually, thinking about Fyn calmed her. He looked like he could kick some serious butt.

  “You have my item?”

  “Yes. I see mine there, if it is mine?”

  “It’s yours.” A pause. “Mine’s more valuable.”

  “Certainly more dangerous.” Her turn to pause. “I accidentally fired it. I should make you pay for the paint job.”

  “I guess you could try.” A sinister pause this time. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

  That sounded a bit too sinister for comfort. “I suppose not.”

  “Make the switch and you can go.”

  She almost believed him. He knew she hadn’t come alone. And he knew she knew he hadn’t come alone either. But she didn’t think he knew about Fyn. Or he wanted her to think he didn’t know? Her eye twitched. Maybe it would be better not to think too much until this was over.

  “You get to see me, but I don’t see you?”

  “You can see me, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  Okay, that was definitely sinister.

  “How long you been waiting to use that line?”

  A laugh. “Feels like my whole life.” Another pause. “I don’t want to hurt you. I like you. I like your books.”

  She knew, to her toenails, that he was lying. He didn’t like her. He didn’t like her books. But she had to play her part, pretend she believed him. She started toward the barrel, toward the mock-up, but something, maybe a gut deep instinct stopped her in her tracks.

  “What are you doing, Ms. Smith?” Metallic anger in the voice.

  “I’m having trouble suspending disbelief.” She licked her lips, then added, “Don’t feel bad. No one gets the plot right the first time through.”

  She shifted closer to the shadows.

  “Stay where I can see you!”

  I don’t think so.

  She dove for the shadows, the flash of energy heating her back as she went down.

  Rick eased around a corner, then pulled back at the sight of the heat signature at the end of the corridor. Nothing happened, so he eased an eye out of cover and studied the figure. His posture was alert, but he had his back to him. Rick wasn’t sure he could cover the distance without the guy hearing something. He wanted to keep it quiet for now, even though he was worried about Jilly.

  He couldn’t see what the guy hoped to gain from the meeting. He knew they were here. They knew his guys were there. He had to know their guys were surrounding this warehouse.

  So why had he exposed himself like this?

  Unless he wasn’t in there? Could he be broadcasting from somewhere else?

  He started to swear, but then stopped. Okay, if he wasn’t going to show up for the meet, why set it up? If he wanted the weapon, then he wouldn’t stop until he got it…right?

  Unless he had another agenda…

  It hit him all at once. He ripped off the goggles, jumped around the corner and downed the heat sig with one shot from the ray gun. Sweet.

  “Fyn, move in now! We’ve got to get Jilly out of there. It’s a trap! All teams move in! I s
ay again, move in now!

  Fyn saw their signatures pop up on his HUD, even as he heard Daniels shouting in his head set. He’d cleared two sides and the back of the warehouse. Only three guys—make that two. He saw a door ahead and kicked it down, then rolled through the opening, firing right, then left, then straight ahead. In the sudden silence, he heard the thump of a body against the floor. He checked the HUD. That was odd, now he saw only one guy. Maybe Daniels took out someone. Guessed it was possible. Fyn jumped up and started making his way through barrels and crates toward what he assumed was Smith’s position. He could see the one guy left moving in on her, too.

  What made Daniels think it was a trap? He adjusted the satellite tracking tighter, looking for anything in the area around Smith that didn’t look right…

  “Bomb. I think we got a bomb.”

  Rick moved into the main storage area of the warehouse at the same time Fyn gave the bomb alert. His gut kicked like a mule. The bright flare of an energy beam just missed him as he dove behind a crate.

  “Jilly! He’s going to kill you!” He popped up and fired to one side of the location the ray had come from, then to the other. Got a muffled yell for a reward.

  “Like I didn’t know that!” Jilly’s voice sounded too calm. “I would like to know why, of course.”

  “Why?”

  The metallic voice seemed odd, like they’d wandered into an SF movie instead of the cop show more suited to the setting.

  “You don’t write mysteries, Meli. You peddle our secrets for this stupid world, pretending you created something.”

  Okay, that was definitely SF.

  “The book signing…” Jilly’s voice sounded strained now and Rick could almost see her rubbing her temples. “You thought I’d recognize you.”

  “You pretended you didn’t. Your mistake. Maybe you should have been an actress instead of an author. Now you have to die.”

  “Don’t believe him, Jilly,” Rick called out, trying to draw the guy’s attention. Hoping she’d use the time to work toward the door. He eased down an aisle, trying to work his way toward where he’d heard her. Light slammed into a support beam ahead of him.