“Yeah. Him coming into the ville like that, he had to know Kirkland would know you people chilled Liberty.”
“Means Kirkland has more up his sleeve than an arm,” Dean commented quietly. “He figures on taking control of the group.”
“Where Albert fit in?”
“Got to ask him,” Dean stated flatly.
Jak turned his attention back to the prisoner. “Why you follow us?”
The man hesitated, then shook his head, throwing drops of blood off his chin. “Kirkland wanted you chilled. You turned up with the plague, your bodies would be proof they needed him. But that wasn’t my idea. I was just following orders.”
And that made sense to Jak. Without wasted effort, the albino teenager slashed the man’s throat. He wiped the blade clean on the dying man’s shirt and turned away while the man kicked out his life. “Let’s ride,” he said to Dean.
Chapter Eleven
“You look good, lover.”
Ryan felt a little self-conscious in the clothes Aunt Maim had sent up by way of one of the maids. The pants were neatly pressed, of thinner material than he would have ever cared to wear, and the shirt had belled sleeves and a ruffled collar that looked effeminate. The short-waisted jacket revealed the fuchsia cummerbund, and the sleeves ended above the puffy sleeves of the shirt.
“Feel triple stupe,” he replied. “And that’s an ace on the line. These aren’t a man’s clothes.”
Krysty slipped her arm through his as they descended the stairs down into the hotel’s main room. One of the young maids led the way. “I think you look fine.”
“Not me,” Ryan said. “But you look beautiful.” Krysty did. The white evening gown showed off her tall, shapely figure to perfection, setting off the liquid fire of her hair. Her face was clean, made over with a light application of cosmetics that had been provided with the clothing that had been delivered to the room only moments earlier. She’d even shed her beloved cowboy boots to put on the fancy high-heeled shoes that accompanied the dress. The hotel was lit by lanterns. Sconces along the wall held them every few feet, beating back the shadows that threatened to fill the building from outside. The windows on two sides of the room offered two huge views of the starry sky and quiet glimpses of Hazard.
The maid led them across the wooden floor, their footsteps muted by a thick carpet. Ryan was surprised at how big the building was. From the outside, he’d known it was huge compared to existing structures he’d been in that hadn’t been left over completely after the nukecaust. But obvious care had been spent in restoring the decor.
“Isn’t it beautiful, lover?” Krysty asked as they entered another room. She paused to run her hand along a grandfather clock that ticked with precision. The hands showed that it was nineteen minutes past eight.
“Yeah,” Ryan responded. There were some things that had been salvaged from before the nukecaust that made him really curious about how life had been lived in those times. The grandfather clock was one. He knew from experience that the people living at that time had access to comps that could be programmed to respond to voice commands and give the time out loud. Yet an object like the grandfather clock had obviously been kept even though it was obsolete. He reached out to stroke the cherry-wood finish with his fingertips.
The maid waited just inside the doorway ahead of them. Lanterns hung on the wall behind her, throwing out a yellow, elongated sphere. She crossed her hands in front of her, ducking her head. Still, she regarded Ryan with what looked like thinly veiled hostility.
Ryan returned the woman’s gaze. Despite the clothing that had been sent up, he wore the SIG-Sauer in its leather on his hip. The panga was sheathed on his opposite hip, ready for instant access.
“Aunt Maim, may I present Mr. Ryan Cawdor and Miss Krysty Wroth,” the maid announced.
Ryan glanced at Krysty, raising his eyebrow. The titian-haired woman shook her head slightly, indicating that her mutie senses could pick up no veiled threat of danger. Ryan took the lead into the room anyway, protective of his lover.