Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [236]
"How thoughtless of the manufacturer."
"I entirely agree, Citizen Nu."
She looked at him more carefully. Did her smile grow slightly more genuine?
"Anyway, I prefer to sell them in wholesale lots. If your organization isn't financially up to it—"
"An arrangement might yet be made."
"Promptly, I trust. I'll be moving on soon."
She murmured absently, "Perhaps not . . ." then looked up with a quick frown. "What's your next stop?"
Ungari had to file a public flight plan anyway. "Aslund."
"Hm . . . yes, we must come to some arrangement. Absolutely."
Were those blue flickers what were called bedroom eyes? The effect was lulling, almost hypnotic. I finally meet a woman who's barely taller than I am, and I don't even know which side she's on. He of all men ought not to mistake short for weak or helpless.
"Can I meet your boss?"
"Who?" Her brows lowered.
"The man I saw you both with this morning."
". . . oh. So, you've already seen him."
"Set me up a meeting. Let's do serious business. Betan dollars, remember."
"Pleasure before business, surely." Her breath puffed against his ear, a faint spicy fog.
Was she trying to soften him up? What for? Ungari had said, don't break cover. Surely it would be in character for Victor Rotha to take all he could get. Plus ten percent. "You don't have to do this," he managed to choke out. His heart was beating entirely too fast.
"I don't do everything for business reasons," she purred.
Why, indeed, should she bother to seduce a sleazy little gun runner? What pleasure was in it for her? What was in it besides pleasure for her? Maybe she likes me. Miles winced, picturing himself offering that explanation to Ungari. Her arm circled his neck. His hand, unwilled, rose to stroke the fine pelt of her hair. A highly aesthetic tactile experience, just as he'd imagined . . .
Her hand tightened. In pure nervous reflex, Miles leapt to his feet.
And stood there feeling like an idiot. It had been a caress, not incipient strangulation. The angle was all wrong for attack leverage.
She flung herself back in the seat, slim arm stretching along the top of the cushions. "Victor!" Her voice was amused, her brow arched. "I wasn't going to bite your neck."
His face was hot. "I-have-to-go-now." He cleared his throat to bring his voice back down to its lower register. His hand swooped to pluck the vid disk from the player. Her hand leapt toward it, then fell back languidly, pretending disinterest. Miles hit the door comm.
Overholt was there at once, in the sliding door aperture. Miles's gut eased. If his bodyguard had been gone, Miles would have known this at once for some kind of setup. Too late, of course.
"Maybe later," Miles gabbled. "After you've taken delivery. We could get together." Delivery of a nonexistent cargo? What was he saying?
She shook her head in disbelief. Her laugh followed him down the corridor. It had a brittle edge.
* * *
Miles lurched awake when the lights snapped on in his cabin. Ungari, fully dressed, was in the doorway. Behind him their jump pilot, wearing only his underwear and a sleep-stunned expression, jittered uncertainly.
"Dress later," Ungari snarled to the pilot. "Just get us free of the dock and run us out beyond the ten-thousand-kilometer limit. I'll be up to help set course in a few minutes." He added half to himself, "As soon as I know where the devil we're going. Move."
The pilot fled. Ungari strode to Miles's bedside. "Vorkosigan, what the hell happened in that hostel room?"
Miles squeezed his eyes against the glares of both the lights and Ungari, and suppressed an impulse to hide under the covers from both. "Ha?" His mouth was dry with sleep.
"I've just gotten an advance warning—bare minutes' advance warning—of an arrest order being put out by Pol Six civil security for Victor Rotha."
"But I never touched the lady!" Miles protested, dizzied.
"Liga's body was found murdered in your meeting room."
"What!"
"The security lab has just finished timing it—to about when you met. Were to