Hellbenders

Danny smiled. “Figure it’s the other way around.”

But the smile was driven from his face when a voice from behind them caused them both to whirl round in shock.

“I figure it doesn’t matter which way around you want it, ’cause neither of you may get out of here alive—especially if you get smart,” the voice added as Dean went for his Hi-Power.

He let his hand drop as their adversary, now stepping from behind one of the drapes, showed herself. Danny cursed, That was always his hiding place, and he should have figured on checking that one.

Chapter Ten

Apart from the fact that she was holding an old Thompson submachine gun—immaculately polished but still with a dulled air of danger about the gray gunmetal—and had a set, hard expression, Dean would never have imagined her to be a threat. But threat she most certainly was. He carefully withdrew his hand from his holstered Hi-Power.

“It’s okay, don’t panic. I’m just taking my hand away, okay?”

“I can see that, stupe, I’m not blind,” she spit pithily, without changing her expression.

“Shit, I can’t believe that I was that much of a stupe not to check it out,” Danny said, ignoring the other two and banging his hand down on the bench that held the comp. At the sudden slap, the girl turned the barrel of her Thompson away from Dean, and the young Cawdor reached immediately for the Browning. Catching this from the corner of her eye, she swung the machine blaster back toward Dean, but not before he had the Browning clear of the holster and leveled in her direction.

“Stalemate?” he questioned, echoing something his father had said a few days before.

“Mebbe, mebbe not. What’s to stop me blasting you now?”

“You don’t want the sec coming in here. If we’re not supposed to be here, then neither are you, right?” he asked, directing the last toward Danny.

“Nice try, dude, but it won’t work,” Danny replied, shaking his head slowly. “Not if that’s who I think it is.”

“And who’s that?” Dean shot back, his confidence rattled. Danny looked the girl up and down. She was about fifteen, dressed in a cropped T-shirt with sequins that clung to the swell of her breasts and left exposed a tanned and taut abdomen. Her jeans were old denim, bleached and ripped by use, but sewn through with golden threads. On her feet she wore exquisite velvet pumps that had enabled her to move quietly, but also suggested that she hadn’t come from a great distance, or that she was used to roughing it across rough ground.

“She’s a few years older now, and a shitload more beautiful—”

“That ain’t gonna pull no weight,” she interrupted.

Danny held up his hands. “Who says I was trying to? Mebbe I mean it. But you are, aren’t you?”

Her face split into a lopsided grin but the blaster remained steady. “Yeah, and I remember you, too. Hell, you were the reason I learned to get in here. You were how I learned to get in here! Never thought I’d see you again, Danny.”

Dean sighed, and looked to the ceiling. “You know, I’m sure this is all fine and dandy for you two, but seeing as we’re standing here at blasterpoint and we may get interrupted any second, it’d be kind of nice if someone told me what the hell was going on?”

Danny cut to the chase. “Her name’s Ayesha, and she’s Baron Al’s youngest sprog. Only daughter, too. Hence the fine clothes and the ability to carry such a fancy blaster. But not why she’s here.”

Her brow furrowed. “In what way?”

“Well, I remember what Baron Al was like, right? Now, I may have been away awhile, but I’d be willing to bet my life that the old bastard hasn’t changed that much. And the two things he was sure of were that he didn’t like girls hanging around anything important, and that this place was out of bounds to everyone in the whole damn ville unless he was with them.”

Ayesha pursed her lips. “Fuck it,” she said softly. “I guess you’ve got me there.” But her grip on the machine blaster didn’t waver.

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