Read Nexus: Ziva Payvan Book 2 Online
Authors: EJ Fisch
Nexus: Ziva Payvan Book 2 (12 page)
Both emboldened and discouraged by Zona’s words, Kade nodded respectfully and left his commanding officer’s office. He knew good and well why the man was leery about his approach to the entire matter, and he couldn’t blame him for being hesitant. The Royal Guard was looked upon as the spoiled little brother in the grand scheme of things, and he was well aware of how the rest of HSP would handle a feeble RG agent if they showed signs of treachery. Normally asking questions wouldn’t have been such an issue. After all, Payvan was legally entitled to have someone try to build a case for her throughout this week; his behavior should be considered normal. But after the appearance – and subsequent
disappearance
– of the strangers in the med center, Kade was convinced there was more going on than met the eye. The situation was anything
but
normal.
The wheels in his head were spinning so fast that when he arrived at his workstation he couldn’t recall how he had gotten there. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Payvan was being set up, but there was no logical explanation for the evidence brought against her. Everything seemed almost
too
airtight. He blinked into the fiery orange light streaming through the window as Noro began to sink below the city skyline. With a heavy sigh he sat down in his chair, all too eager to get to the bottom of things, one way or another.
A bright, undefined light shone through the blurry film over Aroska’s eyes when his eyelids finally parted. He immediately closed them again, wincing against the pain shooting through his head. He ran his tongue over his crusty lips – his mouth felt like someone had stuffed fiber mesh into it and left it there overnight. Drawing a deep breath, he fluttered his heavy eyelids again and now realized he was looking into the warm yellow light of dawn as it poured in through the window. He turned his head lazily to one side and squinted into the sunlight that had managed to break through the clouds for the first time in days. The glass was coated with a thick layer of condensation, the result of all the warm moisture suddenly rising from the ground.
Unable to discern exactly what time it was, Aroska moaned and flopped over onto his stomach. He could feel that he was indeed wearing his pajama pants, but he was lying uncovered on top of his made bed. The bedroom smelled sour like vomit, and he vaguely remembered stumbling in, changing out of his soiled clothes, and collapsing onto the bed without so much as a second thought.
His head felt as though it weighed a ton, but he felt oddly coherent considering the amount of alcohol he had to have consumed in order to be in this condition. He lay perfectly still for a moment, straining to remember what had happened. The realization that this was no ordinary hangover hit him when he felt his stomach rumble with hunger. Everything came rushing back to him at that exact moment as if he had just awakened from a long and puzzling dream. Ziva had come, she had used his shower, they had talked, and she had forced him to drink that awful concoction. He thought he could still taste the stuff in the back of his mouth.
Groaning again, Aroska sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the carpet between his toes as he placed the heels of his hands in his eye sockets and held them there for a moment before rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He could feel his arms trembling involuntarily, no doubt the result of low blood sugar. Ziva had been right when she’d explained the consequences of drinking her mysterious mixture – Aroska had no desire to relive his experiences in the lavatory the previous night.
He stood up, feeling a bit light-headed but otherwise better than he had in a long time. As he went to his wardrobe, he recalled the conversation he’d had with Skeet Duvo two months earlier, the conversation that had taught him what he considered one of the most important lessons he’d ever learned: Ziva was always right. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, the lesson had continued to manifest itself every time he’d been near the woman, and now that she was back, here it was again.
Aroska selected a lightweight shirt and pulled it over his head, adjusting his deceased brother’s military tags which hung on a chain around his neck. He’d often wondered what Soren would think if he knew his brother had forged a friendship with the sniper who had shot him. He hesitated a moment – no, at this exact point he wouldn’t consider himself friends with Ziva. It was by no means her fault, but he had a lot of frustration built up inside him and she was the best person to take that frustration out on. He pictured it as giving her a taste of her own medicine, and was considering this the second chance the two of them had agreed upon the last time they’d met.
When he opened his bedroom door, the rest of the house was silent. Haze from his govino habit lingered in the living room, swirling lazily through the shaft of light shining in through the window. Aroska stood there at the end of the hall, watching and listening for any signs of Ziva. Perhaps she had already gone? He knew that was just wishful thinking. She wouldn’t have bothered going through the trouble of getting him sober or even coming to find him if she was just going to turn around and leave. Half of him saw her arrival as a sign – of what, he wasn’t quite sure – but the other half wasn’t ready for another round of Ziva just yet.
He continued silently down the hall with all of his energy devoted to listening, just as he had the previous day when he’d first heard someone enter his house. When he broke out into the living room, the sight of her lying on the couch startled him out of his skin. She was flat on her back with her head propped up against the armrest, arms folded across her chest, legs crossed at the ankles. She was still wearing her boots and her pistol lay on the center table, which had been pulled to within arms’ reach. Aroska couldn’t imagine that she could possibly be comfortable, much less asleep, but for the duration of the time he stood observing her she didn’t move. Her eyes remained closed and he could hear her breathing quietly.
Again caught off guard by how innocent and peaceful Ziva was capable of looking, Aroska continued across the room and peered into the kitchen. To his surprise, he found the dining table neatly set and an assortment of food spread across the kitchen counter. Puzzled, he turned back toward the sofa and found Ziva looking at him, crimson eyes dark in the shadows of the room.
“Feel any better?” she asked. Other than her tilted head, she remained motionless.
The sound of her voice made Aroska’s skin crawl for a reason he couldn’t explain. He nodded, raking his fingers through his tangled hair. “I do, actually,” he replied. “Thanks, I guess.”
Ziva rose fluidly into a sitting position and leaned forward, studying him with her elbows resting on her knees. “Good,” she said, “but you’re not in the clear just yet.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Aroska muttered, hoping she didn’t mean he still wasn’t allowed to eat. His stomach was roaring now and had cramped up to the point that he was afraid he might throw up again.
“One more day,” Ziva explained, waving a single finger. “You can get started early and get to feeling better by tonight. We’ve got a lot of planning to do before tomorrow.”
Oh yes; he had almost forgotten he would be infiltrating HSP on her behalf. At this point he doubted refusal would be an option. His chance for that had been blown the moment he’d spewed his guts all over the table the day before. He doubted, however, that any performance he gave HSP would be convincing with the shape he was currently in – yet another instance of Ziva being right even when her actions seemed so cold and merciless. She had also been accurate when she’d told him the fact that she was asking for help should be reason enough for him to comply. There had been a time when he might have jumped at the opportunity to help her, for no other reason than that she could be such a
shouka
when it came to cooperating with anyone. At the moment though, he just felt…maybe
jaded
was the word, though he could think of no reasonable explanation for feeling so.
Aroska watched her watch him for another several seconds before he shifted his eyes down to her folded hands. Despite the fact that her body wasn’t much more than a silhouette against the morning light shining through the tinted window, he was still able to see the white medical tape that bound the index and middle fingers on her left hand. Another bout of regret and embarrassment smacked him in the face.
“I’m sorry I bit you,” he said.
Ziva glanced down at the bandages. “You’ve done worse.”
For a brief moment Aroska found himself standing on the boarding ramp of Ziva’s ship, staring at the mass of burned flesh and clothing that surrounded the hole he’d just blown through her right kneecap. He shook off the memory, not wanting to relive any more of his mistakes than he would have to whenever Ziva forced him to sit down and talk. He had a feeling the time was not far.
“I’m sorry for that, too. Did I ever tell you that?”
“No. Did I ever tell you how I feel about people apologizing to me?”
Aroska chuckled. “No.”
Ziva stood up, face grim, and placed her hands on her hips. “For the price of helping me I thought I would at least make breakfast. Why don’t you eat something? I could hear your stomach from the other end of the house.”
So she had been awake after all. “Ziva, hold on,” Aroska said, stepping to one side to block her entrance into the kitchen. “I’m sorry for the way I was acting yesterday. You were right, that wasn’t me.”
He stopped when Ziva held her hand up for silence. “Did you not hear what I just said?”
“Yes, but I—”
“Made an ass of yourself is what you did.”
He had to smile a little – there she was again, brutally honest but totally accurate. “Yeah.”
“Now go eat something – purging again won’t be any fun, but we need to keep your blood sugar up to control withdrawal symptoms. I’m sure it’s all cold by now, with how long you stayed in bed.”
“Excuse me, but I think you would have been exhausted too after the night I had. I can’t remember the last time I felt that
sheyssen.
”
“If I had to guess, I’d say it hasn’t been that long judging by all of those empty bottles you had piling up around here. Can you even remember the last time you woke up without a hangover?”
Again Aroska had to admit he felt good, though it killed him to think of drinking any more of Ziva’s concoction. Still, he imagined it would all be worth it later, judging by how rejuvenated he felt after a single round.
He sat down at the table and looked over the different dishes as Ziva set them out, remembering the leftover warco stew he’d tasted during dinner at her house. “Pardon me for not picturing you as a cook,” he said, filling his plate.
Ziva slid in across from him and did the same. “Something constructive to do with my spare time,” she replied. “You’re not the only one who finds it hard to believe. I have to laugh about it myself sometimes.”
“Pardon me for not picturing you laughing, either.”
“Figure of speech,” she retorted, stuffing a bite of food into her mouth.
Aroska stabbed a piece of meat with his fork but hesitated with it in front of his mouth. “Smile,” he said.
“What?”
“
Smile.
”
Flames might as well have been bursting from Ziva’s eyes. “Why?”
“Because you just look so pissed all the time.”
Ziva glared at him for a moment before shifting her attention back to her plate and taking another bite. “And I usually have good reason to be.”
Aroska snickered and shook his head. Working Ziva over was almost
too
easy, and her attempts at remaining the hardened spec ops assassin never ceased to entertain him. He’d seen that little shard of a heart she had buried inside of her, perhaps more times than any other living being thanks to his previous experiences with her. The fact that he – or anyone for that matter – could sit and carry on a civilized conversation with her was evidence enough that she wasn’t as bad as she made herself out to be. Aroska had to admire her focus, but the further she locked herself away, the more compelled he felt to fight his way in.
The two of them continued eating in silence, she no doubt contemplating the situation and he respecting her wishes for quiet. It seemed that was what the would-be partnership consisted of: Ziva taking center stage while he followed her lead like a lobotomized guhr hound. He wasn’t so sure he would allow it to stay that way this time around.
Aroska scraped the remaining food from his plate and let his fork clatter to the table, feeling indescribably content. He had to hand it to Ziva – the woman was as talented a chef as she was a killer. He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head, allowing a chuckle to escape his throat. The assassin who had murdered his brother before his eyes had just cooked him breakfast.
Ziva swallowed the last of her own meal and gazed at him quizzically. “I hope you’re not going to irritate me this much for the next few days.”
He was tempted to make a comment about how much pleasure he took in it, but thought better of it. “Is there any
being
in this galaxy who doesn’t irritate you?”
She ignored him and picked up the empty serving bowls, taking them to the sink.
Ziva Payvan, the housekeeper,
Aroska thought. She was a peculiar one, she was, and he doubted he would ever fully understand her. That was part of what made her so good at everything she did – nobody was capable of comprehending how her mind worked.
Ziva resumed her position across from him, drilling into him in much the same way as she had during their conversation the day before. “I think it would benefit us both if you just tell me everything right now. I’m in no mood to interrogate you, and I doubt you’d enjoy being interrogated if I’m not in the mood.”
He couldn’t help himself. “Would I enjoy it any more if you
were
in the mood?”
She stared at him, unblinking.
Aroska brought his arms down and crossed them. “Why is my story so important to you?”
“Because I want to know what caused
this
—” she extended her hands toward him “—so I can keep it from happening again.”
“And why do you care so much about what happens to me?”
“Damn it, Tarbic! Were you paying attention to a word I said yesterday?”
Aroska blinked. Even if he could have come up with a reply, it would have been cut off by an insistent rap on the front door.