Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [104]
Terwilliger focused on him, as if seeing him for the first time. He nodded. “Thanks.” And then he seemed to come to terms with what had happened, for Data could see the fire ignite again in his eyes. “Good shot,” he said, “for a snot-nosed, loudmouthed wise ass of a rookie. Just don’t let it go to yer head.”
The android smiled. “I will do my best,” he said.
Lyneea opened the door. Obviously she hadn’t expected him to be the one behind it. But like a good retainer, she recovered quickly.
“Riker,” she said. “And without your sling.”
She looked different from the last time he’d seen her. For one thing, she was wearing a dress—a long green and white shift that accentuated the color of her eyes. For another, her hair was pulled back and braided with a thick silver chain.
“I got tired of wearing it.”
“Good for you.” She paused. “I thought you’d left.”
“I thought you had, too,” he told her. “Until I learned that you live here in Besidia.”
She shrugged. “Someone has to. And I like it better than most of the other places Criathis has posted me.”
“I see.” He gestured past her. “Mind if I come in?”
Her eyes searched his. After all, he hadn’t yet said what his visit was about. “Not at all,” she told him.
Riker went inside. The quality of the furnishings surprised him.
“Criathis pays its employees well,” he noted.
“Skilled undercover people are hard to find. Though I don’t know how much good I’ll be to the madraga now that I’m so well known.”
“Sorry about that.”
“It was unavoidable. And not every retainer needs to operate undercover.”
He nodded. “I’d hate to think I cost you your job.”
She regarded him. “So. Why are you here?”
Riker found the bar in the room. In a place this well appointed, there was always a bar.
“Korsch?” he asked.
“No. Dibdinagii brandy.”
He looked at her. “Offworld refreshments?”
“I’m off duty,” she explained.
Riker filed away the distinction and located the brandy. He poured two glasses’ worth, put the pride of Dibdina back in its place, and delivered the libations.
In the meantime she had found a seat on a chaise longue. He hadn’t noticed the slit in her dress before; he noticed it now.
“Thank you,” she said, as he handed her a glass. The amber liquid sparkled with the day’s last light. “But you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
He knelt before her, clinked his glass softly against hers. “Because when you’ve saved someone’s life, and that person has saved yours, you don’t part company without saying good-bye.”
Her eyes narrowed. “When did you save my life?”
“When we were at Larrak’s house, remember? That guard was going to blast you, and I knocked your chair over.”
She smiled skeptically. “Oh, come on, Riker. You knocked my chair over? I had already tipped it when you fell on me.”
He felt the mood slipping away, and resolved not to let it happen. “I didn’t fall on you,” he said gently. “I knocked you over. There’s a difference.”
“There certainly is. And you fell on me, probably trying to save your own skin.”
This was getting annoying. “Hell,” he told her, “you even thanked me.”
“Thanked you? I don’t recall.”
Riker shook his head. “Forget it. Forget I even mentioned it. That isn’t the point anyway.”
“Then what is the point?”
He sighed. “When we were lying there on the floor, all trussed up on those damned chairs … I looked into your eyes. Just as I’m doing now. And I thought I saw something there.”
“Of course you did. I was relieved. Nobody likes to be shot at while she’s all trussed up.”
His hopes sank another notch. “And that’s all there was to it?”
Lyneea seemed not to understand. “What did you expect?”
Riker turned wistful. “I was hoping you’d say that, in some small way, you were attracted to me. But I guess I was mistaken.”
She just looked at him. Suddenly he felt very uncomfortable. After all, he didn’t find himself in this position very often.
He got to his feet, put the brandy down on an end table. “Listen,” he said, “I guess I jumped to the wrong conclusion. No harm done.” He put out his hand. “It was nice working