Soooo…this is just a little something I’ve had running through my head for the past couple of years. The first year I thought of it, it was about two days before Valentine’s Day and there was no way I would’ve had time to write it. And then last year, I totally forgot about it until, once again, just a couple of days before. So it found its way onto my writing to-do list, and even though it wasn’t a priority, I’ve taken a break from working on Embers for the past couple of weeks so I could whip this out.
There are a few disclaimers that go along with this.
I recently started putting together this Twitter thread of gifs depicting things that either directly inspired parts of this story or just went with the overall theme. Check it out—I thought it was kind of fun.
Valentine’s Day of course doesn’t actually exist in my characters’ universe, but I figured the subject matter was appropriate enough to serve as a little bit of a Valentine’s treat in our world.
I imagine this little story takes place in kind of an alternate timeline, like if Ronan somehow ended differently and all the characters’ lives returned to normal, relatively speaking. In other words, this story does not fit anywhere in the Ziva Payvan saga as we know it and is essentially self-fan fiction. It’s a fun little snack where everybody’s fine that will help tide everyone over until Embers, where everything is broken and everybody’s NOT fine. 😈
This story has undergone very little editing/revising, and it got a pretty out of control from what I had originally planned, so it’s semi-nonsense. But I think those things are part of what makes it fun.
There is one part of this, however, that’s a callback (call forward?) to something that’ll happen in Embers, but I’ll let everyone sit and speculate about what that might be 😉
Without further ado, here we go. Enjoy.
The restaurant was called Ed Finhet, derived from an old Haphezian dialect and a synonym for excellence or refinement, but Aroska couldn’t help but think that was still an understatement. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever set foot in an eating establishment so swanky, and though he’d done a good job—if he did say so himself—dressing for the part, he still felt entirely out of place. Even getting through the door had required the pulling of more strings than he cared to pull at once, especially for this sort of thing, so he hoped this place lived up to its title. At least the food smelled good.
He ran his fingers over the silky white tablecloth and swept his gaze around the room, taking in the sight of all the well-dressed restaurant patrons talking and laughing over beverages and fine foods. Focusing on some of the individual conversations told him they were all well-off; hell, you had to be to afford eating here. Bankers. Musicians. Company executives. Even some local government officials. One particular man seated at a large table on a mezzanine across the room was a district representative for the area of the Noro Region that included the town of Salex and all its profitable govino orchards. He was surrounded by a crowd of friends and seemed to be celebrating something. Two other men sat quietly at a small table nearby, a private security detail trying desperately to blend in. Aroska could sympathize with them.
The group a couple of tables away—four men conducting what sounded like some sort of business meeting over dinner—paused their conversation when the front door chimed and let their gazes linger on the entrance a fair bit longer than they had any other time. Aroska grinned to himself, certain he knew who had just arrived without even turning around. He couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of pride; once upon a time, he might have been offended that others were ogling her like that, but the knowledge that she was capable of feeding them their own eyeballs brought about a sense of satisfaction that left him calm and relaxed.
When nothing happened, he finally turned around to see for himself what had so effectively captured the businessmen’s attention, but he was startled to find the entrance hall empty. Before he could fully process the thought that he might have been wrong, however, he felt a slight gust of air as someone slipped by behind him. Damn, that woman could move.
He smiled again and turned back toward the table as she went to take a seat across from him. “You know, for a while there I was afraid you weren’t—wow.”
Ziva hesitated a moment longer before sitting down, one eyebrow raised. The dress was black—naturally—and consisted of soft loose material that draped over one shoulder and down over her hips, with an asymmetrical leather bodice around her waist. She wore matching black sandals with laces that crisscrossed all the way up to her knees, an elegant yet characteristically practical touch.
“You leave your mouth hanging open like that and you’ll attract bugs,” she said, sliding into her chair.
“I’m…sorry,” he stammered, feeling his face flush a bit. “I’ve just never—”
“Never seen me in a dress, sure,” she said, pulling up the holo for the menu. “I always forget we never had the pleasure of attending any of the Royal Officer’s award galas together.”
“And you just had that lying around?”
“Hell no. Bought it an hour ago because I was going to Ed Finhet.” She said the name and waved her hands almost mockingly. “So I feel like you owe me three hundred credits, because I would not have bought it if you hadn’t been so insistent we come here.” An unintelligible grumble. “Huhren shouka souhn, look at these prices.”
It was all Aroska could do to keep from laughing, because as much as he enjoyed the sight of her dressed up, she was still so unapologetically herself, and that’s what he enjoyed even more. But while curt was the default for her, he did recognize an underlying hint of desperation, telling him her current surliness was probably an attempt to conceal how uncomfortable she was being here, and not solely because the restaurant was fancy. He slid a hand across the table and grasped her fingers. “Hey, you look outstanding, okay? Try to enjoy yourself.”
The muscles in her hand relaxed and her face softened somewhat. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she replied, running her gaze up and down the fitted black formal jacket he wore.
“Well, I’m feeling a little ridiculous in this environment too, so I guess we make quite the pair.” He picked up his water glass. “To Ed Finhet.”
Ziva grabbed her own glass and clinked it against his, the corners of her lips turned upward in a halfhearted smirk. “To Ed Finhet.”
The server, a bonafide organic Haphezian rather than a bot, came to take their orders, complimented them on their choices, and disappeared into a hallway that led to what appeared to be a gargantuan kitchen. They sat awhile, sometimes making small talk, sometimes in silence as they each took in their ever-changing surroundings. Aroska let his gaze linger on the district governor and his entourage up on the mezzanine for a few moments before stealing a glance at the businessmen who’d taken so much interest in Ziva’s arrival. He was pleased to find her presence had apparently lost its charm once they’d realized she was there meeting someone. She did look damn good in the dress, but her tattoos, hardened physique, blood-red eyes, and severe facial features made her especially striking. It was enough to make anyone stare…and then most likely avert their eyes in fear.
He turned back to face her and found those blood-red eyes fixed intently on him. It still made his skin crawl when she did that, though these days he admittedly found it more thrilling than terrifying. Her hands were folded in front of her mouth, her elbows resting on the table, and she said nothing even when the two of them locked gazes.
“What are you doing?” he asked with a nervous chuckle.
“Waiting,” she answered, voice low.
“For?”
“For you to tell me what the hell we’re actually doing here.”
He schooled his expression, refusing to display any outward signs of the slight spike in his pulse. “What makes you think this is anything but a nice dinner date?”
“For starters, I know damn well you can’t actually get a table here as fast as you somehow managed to. Prices are steep, though not entirely unaffordable on an ops salary, but I can think of a number of things I suspect you’d rather spend money on. You don’t want to be here any more than I do, and on top of that, I walk in and see you’ve got your back to the door, which means something in this room is more important to you than whoever or whatever might come wandering in here, a concept I don’t think I can fathom.”
“Well now that you’re here, I don’t need to watch the door because I know you’ve got me covered, don’t you.”
“Aroska.”
She was good, he had to give her that. He’d by no means expected his charade to hold up for the duration of the evening, but he’d at least pictured getting through their entrées first.
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You remember when we went out to Salex, right?”
Ziva’s face went deadpan. “How could I forget?”
“And you remember my sister-in-law, Sedna. Maston’s wife.”
She nodded.
“She contacted me about a week ago. Honestly, it’s the first time we’ve spoken at length since Maston died, so I was surprised when she reached out. She and the kids have stayed with my parents and kept the govino orchard, but they’ve run into some issues with their district governor, a man named Devry.”
“Let me guess. He’s the loud shouka souhn up on the mezzanine you keep staring at. I saw him and his posse when I came in.”
He tilted his head. “I don’t know that I’d consider it ‘staring.’ But this guy…according to Sedna, over the past year or so he has enacted some sort of property tax, and of course ninety-plus percent of the properties in his district lie within the township of Salex. He claims the extra payments are a form of insurance against property damage, both from natural causes and otherwise.”
“I’d think with a crop as valuable as govino, most of the farmers would already have property insurance.”
“That’s the thing—they do. These new payments go directly to his office, and Sedna said that when farmers have had issues, he stonewalls and doesn’t come through with much—if any—of what he has promised. She thinks he’s got some of the legitimate insurance payouts routing through his office as well.”
Ziva lifted an eyebrow. “Sounds like extortion, among other things.”
“That’s the theory.”
“Do other people in Salex have this same theory?”
“I think so. Or at least Sedna says they do.”
“There’s a lot of hearsay floating around here.”
“I know.”
“And you know none of this is your job.”
“Yes, I know that too. But there are people losing their livelihoods over this, in a town where, frankly, not many people ever have financial troubles. Devry’s got everyone at the Salex HSP outpost in his pocket, so any attempts to bring this to law enforcement’s attention thus far have gotten shut down. After everything I’ve put my family through, the least I can do is look into the problem.”
“And running recon on this guy at dinner is the best way to do that?”
“It’s a start.”
She sighed. “Does the team know about this?”
“I told them Sedna had come to me, but they don’t know you and I are here tonight.”
“So I’m your backup.”
“Just in case anything happens.”
“Skeet’s going to kill you.”
“Why? This isn’t hurting anything.”
They both went silent as the waiter returned with their dinner. The man seemed to sense the awkwardness, and Aroska managed a quick thanks before he once again disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. Ziva watched him disapprovingly for a few more seconds, but rather than argue further, she merely picked up her knife—an action he couldn’t help but pay attention to—and began cutting up the fish she’d ordered.
“Is there anything that would make this scenario better?” he asked, picking up his own utensils.
“No.”
“I’d have thought you’d be happy that this turned out to be an op of sorts instead of some frilly dinner date.” His eyes narrowed, and he couldn’t contain the teasing smile spreading across his lips. “Ziva Payvan, did you want this to just be some frilly dinner date?”
She looked up, unimpressed, and stuffed a bite of fish into her mouth. “In your dreams.”
Aroska couldn’t help but laugh, especially when he recognized the hint of a smirk on her face as well, but then her gaze flicked to something behind him, and he sobered when her features went cold. It was true that keeping an eye on Devry had been his priority when he’d chosen a table, so sitting with his back to the door had indeed made him uncomfortable and he’d been perfectly serious when he’d told Ziva he was glad she was now there to keep an eye on it. Of course he’d hoped there’d be no reason for either of them to need to watch the door, but if he could have guaranteed nothing would happen, he wouldn’t have asked her to come here and back him up.
“I just think…” she said, speaking slowly, deliberately. She was looking at him, but her eyes were out of focus as she used her peripheral vision to watch whatever had captured her attention. “…If surveillance was your end goal, there are other methods—in other venues—that might have been more effective.”
“Sure,” he replied, mimicking her tone and trying to maintain the charade of casual conversation as he searched the reflection in his water glass for whatever she was looking at. “But if you have the option of having a nice night out in the process, why not go that route?”
The reflected image in the glass was unclear, but he only had to wait a few more seconds before one of the blurry figures he’d picked out appeared in his peripherals. A nonchalant glance across the person and back revealed a man in bulky coveralls carrying some sort of handheld device and wearing a backpack. He walked slowly along the far wall, looking up and down as he moved toward the back of the restaurant and the mezzanine. More movement on Aroska’s left caught his attention, and he turned to find another man in identical attire carrying a similar device along the wall outside the kitchen. By all appearances, they looked like repairmen, but he couldn’t imagine a place like Ed Finhet would call for repairs during business hours unless there was a major problem. At the very least, these men and their greasy garb were spoiling the atmosphere, which struck him as something the type of people who frequented this place would care about.
“You armed?” he asked under his breath, taking a bite of his dinner. The two of them were most likely being paranoid, an unfortunate side effect of their line of work, but he was curious anyway. He carried a throwaway plasma pistol on one ankle, a knife on the other, and a pair of cuffs in his pocket just in case he by some miracle found something to bring Devry in on.
Ziva’s jaw twitched. “I might have been if you’d told me what we were really doing here,” she muttered.
Behind her, he saw that Devry’s two bodyguards had also taken some interest in the repairmen, though neither of them had made any move to react. Devry himself was still engaged in hearty conversation with his comrades and oblivious to anything going on around him, as were most of the restaurant’s other patrons.
Aroska was just about to force himself to change topics and get back to enjoying the evening when Ziva tensed again. She calmly set her fork on her barely-touched plate, drew a breath to say something, and then her eyes went wide.
“Down.”
It was amazing how that single word could turn into such a powerful command when delivered with the appropriate tone, regardless of how quietly it had been said. Aroska obeyed without question, grunting as he hit the floor and vaguely aware of Ziva doing the same on the other side of the table.
And that was when the first shots rang out.
The moment Ziva heard the shots, the room was pitched into darkness. Screams and the clatter of utensils erupted from around the restaurant, and when several dim emergency lighting panels came on a moment later, they illuminated a scene of pure chaos. People clambered about, tripping on overturned chairs, ducking low, crawling on their hands and knees in their formalwear. The two men in coveralls now donned masks and had abandoned their strange devices in favor of weapons from their backpacks. They prowled the perimeter of the room, herding panicked diners back toward the center.
More shots rang out before she got a good look at whoever was still over by the front door, and she pressed herself closer to the table as the rounds—solid projectiles, not plasma—whizzed by just overhead. Her attention shifted to Aroska where he lay on his stomach across from her, arms poised to push himself upright and move at a moment’s notice. She was glad he’d heeded her instructions so quickly; she was sure part of it was merely instinct after the developments he’d already been observing, but it was also a testament to how much he trusted her. Not to mention a perfect example of why he’d asked her to come here, even if he hadn’t expected anything like this to happen. For the briefest of moments she felt a pang of guilt about being so cross with him.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” a voice called out from across the room. “My sincerest apologies for interrupting your evening, but I’m afraid we have some important business to take care of.”
Ziva cautiously raised her head over the plane of the table. It appeared the only people who hadn’t dove to the floor at this point were the intruders, making them easy to pick out. There were six—no, seven—total, and one man in particular stood up on one of the vacated tables, a shotgun resting casually against one shoulder. He too wore coveralls, partially unzipped to reveal body armor, and like the repairmen, a mask covered the lower half of his face.
“My name is Harless,” he shouted. “Let’s start by laying out some ground rules. Number one: I am in charge here. Number two: you will do as I say at all times. Number three: if you ignore either of the first two rules, you will be shot.”
Whimpers rose up around the room, intermixing with the groans and wails of those who’d been struck by broken glass or had been injured in the mad scramble. Ziva cautiously slid her hand under the skirt of her dress, eyes darting between each of the intruders as her fingers found the material of the compression shorts she wore, then came to rest on the cold metal casing of the subcompact pistol secured in a pocket on her inner thigh.
“I’ve got a shot,” she whispered as Aroska dragged himself over to crouch beside her, “but we’re too outnumbered.”
“I thought you said you weren’t armed,” he hissed.
She shot him a scowl. “And you believed me?”
“Quiet,” a voice growled behind them. The intruder who’d been patrolling the wall next to the kitchen came to a stop and nudged her in the back with his boot. “Both of you, move over here with the others.”
Ziva abandoned the idea of drawing her weapon as the two of them rose up and moved, shoulders hunched and hands visible, over to the wall where the other restaurant guests who’d been seated nearby were being corralled. They were instructed to sit on the floor and interlock their fingers behind their heads, and while her dress was relatively comfortable and allowed for a full range of motion, she found herself wishing desperately for pants and a sturdy pair of boots.
“For the record, I technically never said I wasn’t armed,” she said, her lips hardly moving. “I just didn’t want you to think I was paranoid.”
“Better paranoid than unprepared,” Aroska replied in similar fashion.
Her gaze was drawn to his ankle, where she could now make out the slight bulge of his own concealed weapon, unnoticeable to the untrained eye. It seemed he’d had the same idea.
From this position, they had a slightly better view of the whole restaurant floor than they’d had down amid all the furniture, but they were also farther from any of the primary exits. The man calling himself Harless still stood atop one of the tables, overseeing his associates as they gathered all the patrons into groups and herded them into open spaces. Those up on the mezzanine, however, were kept on the mezzanine, and even remained seated at their large table. The governor’s two bodyguards had yet to react and appeared to be sizing up the situation in the same manner as Ziva and Aroska, though one of them looked like he was just a microsecond away from reaching for a hidden sidearm.
Movement drew Ziva’s attention to her left, and she turned to find one of the intruders leading all the kitchen staff out into the main room, as well as a slightly-built man in an expensive suit. Likely the restaurant manager.
“I’ll have you know the police have already been notified,” he stammered as he was prodded along with the barrel of a rifle. “They’ll be here any second.”
“I’m afraid they won’t,” Harless said, jumping down from the table and striding toward the man. “You see, my friends here have ensured that any communications coming or going from this location have been sufficiently jammed. The same goes for this establishment’s security cams. No one can see in, no one can call out. Right now, this room is your whole world.”
He snapped his fingers, and two of his men converged on the bodyguards, who both appeared chagrined that they’d somehow been picked out so easily. They were both disarmed and led down to the main floor, where they were instructed to sit amid the other hostages.
“Who are you?” Devry demanded. He remained in his chair, frozen in terror, hands raised and quivering.
“Who are we?” Harless said, loud enough for everyone present to hear. “We are your friends. We are your neighbors. We’re just simple men trying to make our way in this world. But ladies and gentlemen, we have been cheated, and your friend Governor Devry is to blame.”
“You wanted to know for sure whether anyone besides Sedna had been having issues with Devry,” Aroska muttered. “There’s your answer.”
Indeed, Ziva thought.
“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Harless continued, addressing Devry directly this time. “First, you’re going to go on record and confess to all these people here what you’ve done. Then you’re going to repay every last credit to every last person you’ve targeted with your little insurance scheme. Now, I for one would truly like to keep the theatrics to a minimum tonight, but that’s going to be entirely up to you. Every time you fail to comply, or every time I hear the word ‘no’ out of your mouth, I will shoot someone in this room. So the rest of you had better hope the governor cares more about you, his peers, than he does about the people he’s supposed to be protecting, or it’s going to be a long night.”
“You’re bluffing,” Devry said, straightening in defiance. “You wouldn’t—”
Ziva went rigid when Harless pivoted and turned his shotgun on the nearest hostage. The blast echoed through the room, and the blood spread dark and fast against the woman’s pale blue evening dress as she collapsed to the floor, screaming and clutching at her leg.
“Sheyss,” Aroska whispered.
“Part of me thinks these guys have the right idea,” Ziva said through clenched teeth, “but shooting everyone here isn’t going to solve anything.”
“And neither is letting Devry go. If he gets out of this alive, he’ll just go right back to what he was doing, and maybe even double down.”
She took several seconds to consider a thought. “What if we get him out? We neutralize the threat, but then we make him comply with Harless’s demands ourselves.”
“I’m all for a thrill, but how the hell do you propose we do that?”
“That is a damn good question.” She was silent for a moment as she did a headcount of all the members of this little militia. All seven men she’d seen initially were accounted for: Harless himself remained at the base of the mezzanine, two of his people flanked Governor Devry, two worked on barricading the exits, and the remaining two circulated throughout the room, ensuring the hostages’ cooperation. That left plenty of holes to exploit, but she and Aroska were still at a disadvantage in terms of armament, position, and even garb.
“You have a plan?” he asked.
“I have…something,” she whispered. Baby steps. “Play along.”
She heard Aroska start to protest behind her as she rocked forward and took off on light feet. She was halfway across the room before one of the intruders noticed her and advanced, rifle barrel leveled at her head.
“The hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, drawing the attention of Harless and the rest of the group.
“Easy, easy,” she said, shrinking lower and indicating the woman who had just been shot. “I’m a doctor. I just want to see if I can help her.”
Harless turned toward the commotion. Several tense, silent seconds passed where she was certain he was simply going to shoot her too; with his face partially obscured by the mask, it was harder to read him than she would have liked. But then he finally shrugged and gestured at the woman before returning his attention to Devry.
Ziva crouched down and pulled the hem of the woman’s dress back to reveal the wound. There was enough blood that it was difficult to tell how many penetrations there’d actually been, and a shotgun blast like that had no doubt caused substantial muscle damage. She would eventually need professional medical help, but despite the fact that she’d gone pale and was on the verge of passing out, she didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger of succumbing to the injury. Ziva snatched up a tablecloth from a nearby overturned table and beckoned to Aroska. “You,” she said, wadding up the cloth, “hold this here and apply pressure.”
He complied, feigning timidness as he moved over to her. The woman stirred as Ziva checked the vitals in her neck and once again took stock of her surroundings. Harless was back to hollering demands at the governor, and the intruder who’d been hovering over her had his attention on some other hostages who were starting to get antsy thanks to all the movement. She took advantage of the distractions and shot a glance at Aroska.
“The kitchen is our best bet,” he murmured.
“Agreed,” she replied.
Before she could stop him, he stood up and faced Harless. “Hey, there are more people who need help. Let me find some first aid supplies for the doctor here.”
The leader of this little militia appeared to be growing exasperated, but he paused his shouting long enough to turn and find the restaurant manager.
“There’s a-an emergency r-response kit in the pantry,” the man said, still shaking. “I can show you.”
“Fine,” Harless muttered. He motioned for his nearest comrade to escort the two of them, then waved one of the door guards over to begin patrolling the room. “You’ve got two minutes.”
Ziva resumed putting pressure on the wounded hostage’s leg and watched as Aroska moved over to help the manager to his feet. He turned and spared her one last lingering glance, then disappeared into the hallway.
With only the emergency lights to illuminate the space, Ed Finhet’s massive kitchen and back hallway were left dim at best. Aroska moved along in silence, arms held out to his sides, and kept himself positioned between the restaurant manager and the militia man, who had a heavy-duty pistol trained on the back of his head. Ziva had been right; it seemed a little vigilante justice was exactly what Devry needed, and if the security cams had truly been disabled, that would be Harless and his gang’s way out. But their plan wasn’t airtight. There were still a number of ways they could be caught, and so far they were looking at property damage and aggravated assault at the least. But perhaps they had decided that was an acceptable price to pay.
If there was a bright side to all of this, it was that he could tell these vigilantes legitimately didn’t want to hurt anyone, and their threats had been meant to scare Devry into compliance. In the case of the woman who’d been shot directly, the governor had been the true target of the action, and the hostage had merely been collateral damage. They’d opted to not kill the bodyguards as well, despite the fact that those men had been armed. Anyone else who’d been hurt during the initial incursion had been done so unintentionally, or else had hurt themselves in the chaos, and he and Ziva had been allowed to attend to the woman with minimal hassle. Chances were slim that any more hostages would be hurt merely for being uncooperative, but if Devry was uncooperative—and Aroska assumed he would be—then things could turn sour fast. All the more reason to get the man out of here as quickly as possible before he had a chance to exacerbate the situation.
As they moved deeper into the rear of the restaurant, he kept his eyes peeled for another exit, for surely there was one. With the two public exits barricaded, it would be their best bet for getting out, and if, say, something were to compromise Harless’s control of the situation on the restaurant floor, it would also be his best bet for getting Devry out of here and concluding their little game elsewhere. The question now was which of those things might happen first.
The restaurant manager came to a stop outside a door on the edge of the main kitchen and slid it open. “We keep first aid supplies in here in case of accidents,” he explained, “or in case guests get—”
Aroska barely heard him. Taking advantage of the fact that the thug’s attention was focused on the manager for the moment, he pivoted and hooked his own arm around the man’s, redirecting the gun as he slammed his free elbow into the man’s face. A knee to the groin put an immediate stop to the struggle he’d briefly begun to put up, and a hard jolt to the back of the head with the weapon—now dislodged from his grasp—sent him to the floor, unconscious…
…but not before his flailing arm caught the edge of a food tray on the nearest counter and sent its contents clattering.
“Damn it,” Aroska muttered, listening for approaching footsteps. Surely someone had heard that.
The manager watched wide-eyed as he clutched the emergency response kit to his chest. “What do we do?” he whispered.
“Is there another way out of here?”
“Rear exit is right through here, but the door is alarmed. They’ll know if we try to leave.”
“Can you disable it?”
“I—I think so. From the master terminal in my office.”
“Good. Now listen carefully. You’re going to get out that door and find somewhere to hide, but you’re going to wait at least ten minutes before you call the police. My partner and I have things handled here.”
“How—”
Aroska held his hand up, putting a stop to the argument, though he was still trying to figure out all the details of the ‘how’ part as well. “Trust me.”
The manager hesitated a moment longer before nodding, passing him the emergency kit, and hurrying off into the darkness. Aroska looked down at the case, unsure how he could feasibly get it back out onto the restaurant floor at this point. Now that he was in the kitchen—and now that he had a weapon more substantial than the one he’d brought—this was the best place he could be. And the vigilantes were down a man, at least for the time being, leaving one less out on the floor to guard the hostages. If he could get another couple of them to come after him on his new turf, it could help even the odds for Ziva. So perhaps approaching footsteps wouldn’t be so bad.
No sooner had he processed the thought than he heard that very thing. He hadn’t heard any back doors open or close yet, so the first step would be to keep whoever was coming from getting any further down the hall toward the manager’s office. The kitchen had no shortage of useful tools; knife blades and other implements glistened in the glow of the emergency lighting panels. The problem was that these things were lethal, and he had no desire to kill or even seriously injure any of these men here tonight, unless their methods changed and more drastic action became necessary. Even popping a couple of kneecaps felt out of the question for now, and he stashed the commandeered pistol and the emergency kit in an empty pot.
The kitchen was vast, full of counters and shelves and appliances, so he wasn’t immediately visible when the two—two!—militia men appeared in the hallway and began examining their fallen comrade. They spoke in hushed tones, but the fact that the man was no longer armed was an audible topic of their conversation, and they advanced further into the kitchen, their own weapons raised.
Aroska crouched down below the counter and quietly shed his dress jacket, taking a moment to roll up the sleeves of the equally dressy but less restrictive shirt he wore underneath. Considering how the evening was turning out, he couldn’t blame Ziva for wishing she was wearing different clothes, and he was beginning to feel the same. On the bright side, the coveralls these intruders wore might put them at a slight disadvantage in terms of mobility. They were by no means amateurs; like so many Haphezians, they’d no doubt spent some time in the military, but their emotions were in control here tonight, rendering any rusty combat skills they still possessed even rustier.
He stole along the floor, still crouching as he moved, and settled into position to intercept the two men in the inevitable event that they heard the manager leave, something that should be happening any moment now. To his left lay a long refrigeration unit with glass doors that revealed fresh produce and meats. To his right, a shelf of various dry baking ingredients. Unsheathing the knife from his ankle, he sliced into a sack of powder—some sort of flour, based on the texture—and scooped out a handful of it. The very moment he did so, running footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway, and one of the vigilantes swore. Aroska braced himself and stuck a leg out into the aisle just as the man rushed by, sending him sprawling to the floor and his rifle clattering away. The handful of flour went directly into the face of the second man, blinding him for a moment and giving Aroska time to get to his feet.
He couldn’t help but notice the second man was making no attempt to shoot him, reinforcing his theory that these people truly didn’t want to hurt anyone except Devry. Still, he had no desire to risk them changing their minds and went for the gun while the vigilante was still attempting to blink white powder out of his eyes. A solid strike to the man’s wrist was enough to knock the weapon away, but the first thug had recovered from his spill to the floor and came at Aroska from behind, taking hold of him under the arms. With his arms immobilized, he leaped up and struck out with his legs, catching Flour Face squarely in the chest and sending him tumbling backward over the counter. The impact threw the man holding him off balance, opening up an opportunity to shove him back hard against the glass refrigerator. He released Aroska’s arms, stunned, and sagged to the floor, where Aroska slapped one of the cuffs from his pocket over his wrist and affixed the other to the leg of a sturdy shelf.
He turned and rose just in time to block an incoming blow from the vigilante who’d gone over the counter. The man had made no move to recover his fallen weapon, a good thing, but there was no way this scuffle was going unheard, and he feared how Harless might react if—when—he realized he was losing control of the situation. It was time to end this.
The man came at him again, desperation in his eyes. Aroska deflected the shot and caught the man’s arm in the crook of his elbow, locking it back and hooking his free arm around the man’s throat.
“Don’t fight this,” he whispered, shifting his arm around until he was applying pressure to both sides of the man’s neck. “I’m not your enemy here.”
The thug struggled for a moment, but he seemed to react to the words and relaxed a bit…or else it was just the sleeper hold taking effect. After another several seconds, he stopped moving altogether, and Aroska lowered him gingerly to the floor.
The noise in his immediate vicinity had been enough to drown out some sort of commotion that had begun out on the restaurant floor, and he hurried to recover the pistol and emergency kit. He hadn’t really had a solid plan when he’d gone into the kitchen, but at least he’d managed to whittle down the militia’s numbers. Four men remained, and if both he and Ziva were sufficiently armed, well…he liked those odds.
As he moved back out into the hallway, the sound of soft footsteps reached his ears, and he raised the stolen pistol toward the shadows in front of him. But then he recognized Ziva’s scent, and when he saw her—barefoot and walking backwards—he lowered the weapon.
And when he saw what she was doing, his eyes went wide.
The moment Aroska disappeared into the kitchen with the manager and the militia man, Ziva turned and surveyed the floor again. Even with only six vigilantes remaining—and with Harless thoroughly distracted by Devry—there weren’t enough gaps for her to move about freely. Here in the center of the room, she was significantly closer to the mezzanine than she’d been even at their dinner table, and that was at least a start. But getting up there was going to be another matter entirely.
The woman who’d been shot managed to pull herself into a more upright position with her back against the overturned table Ziva had taken the linens from. Her leg was shredded where the multiple projectiles from the shotgun had torn into it, but the bleeding was already showing signs of slowing. If any action was going to be taken, however, Ziva couldn’t afford to waste any more time sitting there putting pressure on the wound.
She reached over and snatched a cloth napkin from the pile of things that had spilled from the table, rolled it into one long strip, and wrapped it around the worst of the lacerations on the woman’s thigh. Her patient let out a quiet whimper as she tied it into a knot and pulled it tight.
“Quiet,” she snapped, hoping the sound hadn’t attracted any more attention than she’d already drawn.
Despite the pain she was in, the woman managed a scowl. “You’re not really a doctor, are you?”
It was all Ziva could do to keep from lunging forward and clamping a hand over the lady’s mouth. “What makes you say that?”
“You don’t have a particularly stellar bedside manner.”
Ziva ignored her and turned to survey the room again. Aroska had effectively hijacked her plan—if it could even be called that—by going into the kitchen himself, though truthfully she hadn’t had much of an idea what would come next once she made it to the center of the room and asserted herself a bit. Harless was her main concern at this point; the men with him had looked to him for every little thing thus far, so she doubted any of them would act without his explicit order. But six against one was still dicey, and if she moved too fast, someone might panic and pull the trigger.
It was at that moment she heard an odd ruckus coming from within the kitchen, followed by a metallic crash and what sounded like something shattering. Harless paused his threats long enough to listen, then turned and found his nearest men. “Find out what the hell is going on!” he roared. “We do not have time for this!”
On that, they could agree. Ziva felt her heart rate rise in anticipation as she watched two of the vigilantes hurry away toward the kitchen corridor. That left only four in the room, something she could work with if she played her cards right. Harless still stood between her and Devry, but the other militia man who’d been positioned on the mezzanine moved down onto the floor to circulate through the crowd of hostages with the other two men. Timing would be everything from this point on.
She abandoned the makeshift tourniquet and sat back, carefully beginning to work the laces loose on her sandals as she looked for a pattern in the vigilantes’ movements throughout the room. When doubled up, she estimated that the two laces would stretch to at least two meters in length, adequate enough for…something. She turned back and eyed the necklace the wounded woman wore, a string of tiny beads similar in color to the restaurant’s marble floor.
“Give me your necklace,” she hissed, eyes fixed on Harless even as she secured the knot connecting her two laces. When the woman didn’t comply after a moment, she turned and found her clutching at the beads, eyes defiant. “Give it to me if you want to live.”
The woman’s eyes darted around for a moment, then she hesitantly reached up and unfastened the necklace, sliding it across the floor. Ziva palmed it and slid it in behind the leather girdle around her waist, then, casting her sandal soles aside, crawled over to the nearest table leg and began tying one end of her tiny rope around it.
“The people of Salex can’t even go to the police!” Harless was hollering in Devry’s face. “Corruption follows you wherever you go!”
It was repetition of similar arguments he’d already made, but to an extent, there wasn’t much more he could say. Devry had cheated these people, and that was that; now he was refusing to admit it. A dozen threats and torture techniques that were virtually guaranteed to make him talk ran through her head.
She sat motionless while one of the patrolling vigilantes passed, then crept over to the next table and looped the string around the center shaft, pulling it taut so the trip line hovered about ten centimeters off the floor. Next, she pulled the necklace out and tore the clasp off with her teeth, pinching the end of the string to keep the beads from sliding off for the time being. Then it was back over to sit beside the woman she was supposed to be treating, though she kept her legs folded under her, ready to spring up and move at a moment’s notice.
That moment came sooner than she expected. She heard the grunts and telltale sounds of a brawl in the kitchen a couple of seconds before Harless and his men did, attuned as she was to that sort of thing. If Aroska had a plan when he’d gone back there, it was no doubt shot to hell now, which meant they were out of options. It meant there was no time left to think.
The second all four remaining men turned their attention to the kitchen, Ziva was on her feet, darting between tables, watching for movement with her peripherals as she zeroed in on the mezzanine. It took less time than she’d hoped for the vigilantes to notice her; one of them shouted, and the three who’d been circulating around the floor began to close in. The first man followed her exact path, just as she’d expected, tripping over her laces in his haste and crashing to the floor. His forward momentum toppled the two tables the laces had been fixed to, bringing the second man to a halt and forcing him to find another route. She could see the third man coming at her from the left, and she quickly released the necklace string, allowing the beads to spill to the floor in her wake. The thug hit them moving full speed and slid a couple of meters on the stone floor before losing his balance and falling against another table.
That left only Harless. She didn’t slow down as she leaped up onto the balcony and plowed headlong into him, knocking him to the floor before he could turn his weapon on her. She somersaulted out of the tackle, got back upright, and skirted around the table, and by the time he and his three comrades managed to right themselves and close in, she’d drawn her concealed pistol, yanked Devry to his feet, and had the barrel of the weapon pressed to his temple.
“Listen up,” she said, staring Harless down past the governor’s head. “I’m in charge now.”
“The hell?” one of the vigilantes muttered.
She kept Devry’s body flush with her own, presenting herself as the smallest target possible just in case these men got desperate and tried to shoot. There was no way they’d hit her without hitting the governor as well, especially with that damn shotgun.
“Now here’s the deal,” she said, teeth clenched as she shifted the tiny pistol down to Devry’s neck. She began to shuffle sideways, dragging him along with her. “You need him alive, which means you’re not going to shoot him or me while we walk out of here.”
“Please,” Devry stammered. “I have money. I can—”
“Shut up!” she growled, driving the pistol barrel into his carotid artery. “Walk.”
“I can’t let you take him,” Harless said, advancing several steps toward the two of them with the shotgun raised. “You don’t know what he’s done to us!”
“But you know I’m right. You can’t afford to fire that weapon, because if he dies, you’ll never get what you want.”
“I can sure as hell shoot to wound. I’ve already done it once.”
“She wasn’t using the only person who can get you what you want as a shield.” She reached the edge of the mezzanine and carefully descended the two short steps, turning slightly to keep Devry’s body between her and the vigilantes on the main floor. “Now back up. Back the hell up!”
She allowed her legitimate displeasure for the situation to assume control of both her tone and countenance, and she could only imagine what kind of crazed lunatic she was coming across as. That was fine; the more convinced these people were that she would actually put a plasma bolt in the governor’s brain, the better.
Harless lowered his weapon, his vindictive tough-guy facade crumbling to reveal the desperate, heartbroken citizen he claimed to be. “He can’t keep getting away with this!” he screamed.
Ziva merely smirked and kept moving. “Who says he will?” Then she sobered, reestablishing the more menacing expression that had done a decent job of compelling them to comply so far. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen next. We’re going to walk out of here, and then you and your people are going to get out of here before HSP catches wind of this. And then the rest of you…” She glanced at the hostages, many of whom had begun to stand up and move around now that the vigilantes’ attention was sufficiently directed elsewhere. Devry’s two bodyguards appeared ready to rush her and rescue their boss, but they halted their hesitant advance when she made eye contact. One of Harless’s men followed her gaze and approached with his weapon at the ready, convincing them to sit back down.
“The rest of you can do whatever the hell you want,” she finished, picking up her pace as she continued backing toward the hallway. Harless still appeared unsure, but he held up a hand, ordering all of his associates to stay put.
As she approached the kitchen, she could no longer hear any signs of whatever insanity Aroska had been involved in, and she hoped with all her heart that he wouldn’t come barging out with some new idea and totally botch this precarious thing she had going here. She risked a glance behind her as she entered the shadowy hallway and found him approaching, pistol in hand, the emergency kit tucked under one arm, his black clothing covered in some sort of chalky white dust.
He stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded. “What the hell is going on?”
“Things were getting out of hand,” she answered, spinning Devry around and shoving him forward down the corridor. “Where’s the exit?”
“And things aren’t out of hand now?” he muttered, turning back and taking the lead.
Her bare feet slapped against the stone floor as she continued forward, doing her best to ignore him. They skirted around one of the vigilantes sprawled on the ground, and as they passed the kitchen, she caught sight of two more, one cuffed to a shelf and the other also unconscious. The lucid one began to yell when he spotted them taking off with the governor, but they were out the door within seconds.
The cool evening air coming off the nearby Tranyi River felt heavenly compared to the air in the restaurant that had become stuffy and reeked of sweaty, nervous bodies. But there was no time to enjoy it as she reestablished her grip on Devry’s shirt and directed him toward the parking lot.
“That was some act,” the governor panted. “They really fell for it. Thanks for the rescue.”
His tone was upbeat, but he’d spoken the words almost like a question. Ziva brought him screeching to a halt and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Governor, you know good and well this isn’t an act.”
Without any further ado, she took a step back and brought the little pistol down hard against the back of his head, then watched as he crumpled to the ground.
When Devry awakened, the first thing he was aware of was the fact that it was dark wherever he was. He could see—grayish light shone from somewhere in front of him, and when he felt the comfortable seat under him, he realized he was sitting in the back of his town car, looking forward at the privacy shield that separated him from the cockpit. The vehicle’s windows were set to maximum tint, leaving him only able to make out faint shapes and light sources outside.
He blinked and shook his head as his mind continued to reorient itself, but when he reached over and pulled on the handle to let himself out, the door wouldn’t budge. He slid across and tried the other door, achieving the same results. It was at that moment that all the evening’s events came flooding back. The last thing he remembered was being hustled out the back door of Ed Finhet by a man and woman before, what, being knocked out? He was vaguely aware of the fact that both of the strangers had been diners at the restaurant, but once Harless and his crew had come crashing into the scene, his attention had been on them and only them. Even when the woman had made a break for the mezzanine, she’d moved so fast and his focus had been divided between her and the militia men. All he knew was that she was perhaps the strongest woman he’d ever encountered. For a moment he was positive he could still feel her muscular arm around his neck.
The privacy shield slowly descended, drawing his attention to the front of the car. Both the pilot’s and copilot’s seats were occupied, and he recognized those occupants as being the very two people he’d just been thinking about. They were hardly more than silhouettes against the city lights shining in through the windshield, so he still didn’t have a good view of their faces, but he found he no longer cared about their appearances when he recognized his personal computer sitting on the center console between them. The system was unlocked—they’d no doubt used his fingerprints to gain access while he was unconscious—but even more horrifying was the realization that the holographic interface was currently displaying all of his finances.
He leaned forward, ready to protest, but the man cut him off. “Do not speak, Governor Devry. As you can see here, we’re taking a look at the highly illegal encrypted account where you have deposited the credits you’ve stolen from Harless and those like him. Our terms are simple. Unlock this account and authorize the transactions to repay these sums to everyone you’ve taken them from, just as Harless requested. But you clearly care more about money than you do about people—that much was evident in the way you allowed a woman to be shot this evening rather than comply with the militia’s demands—so we’re going to try a different approach to ensuring your cooperation. If you don’t do as we ask, we can just take this nice, robust, non-encrypted personal account you’ve got over here, and…”
He could see the silhouette of the woman’s hand moving across the holographic screen. “Oops, there goes ten thousand credits to an anonymous account on Niio,” she said.
It was all he could do to keep from shrieking. “You can’t do—”
“Twenty thousand.”
Devry sat back, attempting to regulate his breathing even as he felt beads of perspiration accumulating on his forehead. “Sheyss, you people are cold.”
“You know what they say about revenge, Governor.” Her hand moved across the screen again. “The Haphezian embassy on Chaiavis thanks you for your generous donation of fifty thousand credits.”
“Stop!” he exclaimed. “Just…stop, okay? I’m sorry! I’ll do as you ask.”
“And just for good measure, here’s another fifty grand earmarked for even distribution among the accounts of those you owe to.”
He’d accused her of putting on an act in the restaurant, but was beginning to think she was truly psychotic. He lunged forward before she could transfer any more of his precious personal funds, reaching desperately into the cockpit until she passed him the portable terminal.
“Look, I’m decrypting my account, and here it is all going back to the appropriate people,” he said, tapping at the keyboard and indicating each account on the display as he authorized the transfers.
They both watched in silence until he stopped typing. “That’s everything?” the man asked.
Devry hit one last command, feeling almost sick to his stomach as he authorized the transfer of the additional funds the woman had initiated. “Yes,” he sighed.
The man lifted a communicator to his ear. “Check your account,” he instructed whoever was on the other end of the transmission. “Is it all there?” A beat. “Good.” He clicked off and turned slightly, his face cast in severe shadows. “Thank you for your cooperation, Governor.”
Devry collapsed into the back seat, tugging at the collar of his shirt as it suddenly felt extremely restrictive. “You two are going to pay for this,” he muttered. “I will find out who you are, and—”
“No, you won’t,” the woman said, “because frankly, we don’t exist. And if you make any attempts to look into this, we’ll know about it. I would simply remind you that we now have access to all of your account information and can clean you out with the press of a button. And if that’s not incentive enough to forget you ever met us, well, let’s just say you’re not a particularly hard man to find.”
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Governor,” the man said.
Before Devry realized it, the privacy shield was rising, and by the time he managed to jump forward, he was forced to pull his hands away for fear of getting his fingers crushed. On the other side of the barrier, he heard each of the car’s front doors open and close in turn, and then all was quiet.
“Hello?” he called, pounding on the barrier and then sliding over to peer through the heavily tinted windows. “Hey! You can’t just leave me in here!”
But he was met only with silence.
“‘You know what they say about revenge’,” Aroska chuckled. “Classic.”
They left the car sitting in a docking area on the far end of a little park on the riverfront, the sound of Devry pounding on the windows fading away behind them. Technically the park grounds closed at dusk, so it was most likely that a local HSP patrol would be the first to stumble upon the vehicle, or else they’d manage to track it there after someone from the governor’s entourage at the restaurant reported him missing. Whatever the case, Aroska found himself wishing he could witness how that interaction would play out, but they’d gotten what they needed from the man, so above all else he was glad to be walking away right now.
“It seemed like the appropriate thing to say,” Ziva replied, “and it makes me wonder if Harless and his gang had the same idea coming after Devry in a restaurant.”
Aroska laughed again, ever fascinated by her dry, often ironic sense of humor. He briefly stepped off the path they walked and moved down close enough to the waterline to toss the governor’s little computer into the river. It would be no means stop him from re-accessing his accounts on a different device, but removing it from the car at least ensured he wouldn’t be able to renege on everything he’d just agreed to before they had a chance to bring the situation to the director’s attention. The HSP officers in Salex may have been in Devry’s pocket, but if the higher-ups at HSP Headquarters caught wind of what he’d been up to, he’d be finished.
He scrambled back up the short riverbank and rejoined Ziva on the trail. “Erasing evidence of our presence?” she said, gesturing at the water.
“Nah, it just brought a sense of closure.”
They’d already spent a while discussing the fact that they didn’t need to worry much about leaving evidence behind. Ziva had been totally right in telling Devry the two of them didn’t exist, and after the subtle threats she’d made, chances were high that he wouldn’t bother coming after them. But even if he did call for an investigation and someone got a hit on any prints or physical evidence they’d left, both in the car and at the restaurant, their files were sealed and the only thing anyone might learn was that they were in one of the agency’s operations divisions. And even if Emeri somehow managed to trace this evening’s events back to them, what was the worst that could happen once they brought Devry’s corruption to his attention? The director might be pissed with them, but that was nothing new.
As far as Harless and his crew went, Aroska planned on doing what he could to ensure their punishments—if they were caught and tried, that was—were as lenient as possible. There were enough extenuating circumstances behind their actions that he imagined it wouldn’t be too hard to argue in their favor. ‘Harless’ was no doubt an alias anyway, and all the men had been wearing masks. The only exceptions were the two vigilantes who’d been posing as repairmen, at least when they’d first arrived, and it was doubtful any of the restaurant patrons had been paying enough attention at that point to remember their faces. In the event of a trial, it would be nigh on impossible for prosecutors to get consistent witness testimony.
The two of them strolled along in silence for a moment, their surroundings illuminated by the soft lights along the path as well as the ambient light from the city. Ziva’s bare feet slapped gently against the pavement, and Aroska snorted. “So what happened to your shoes?”
“I, ah…had to improvise a bit,” she answered, some thought bringing a hint of a smile to her lips. “It ended up being easier to move without them anyway.” She turned and gave him a once over, then indicated his rolled up sleeves. “I like this rugged chic look, but what the hell did you get all over your shirt?”
He grinned. “I, ah, had to improvise.”
“It did sound like you were having quite the time in the kitchen.”
He sighed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they walked, and he was pleased when he felt her arm slide around the small of his back. He imagined they would be a humorous sight if anyone came across them, dressed up for a fancy dinner but barefoot and covered in white dust, with mussed hair and a few bruises to boot.
“I’m sorry tonight didn’t turn out the way I’d planned,” he said.
“This was more exciting than a dinner date anyway, and we nailed Devry, so I’d say the night was a success.” She cleared her throat. “But if you ever suck me into something like this without telling me what’s going on again, I’ll—”
Aroska stopped. “Oh, you’ll what? Flay me alive? Castrate me? I’ve heard it all before, Payvan.”
She whirled to face him, but when she saw his teasing smirk, her own lips twitched as she ground her teeth in a lame attempt to keep from smiling. It drove him mad when she pretended to be angry like that, and he snaked his hand around to the back of her neck, pulling her close and pressing his lips to hers. She relaxed and accepted him, and he kissed her with renewed fervor for just a moment before pulling back and simply resting his forehead against hers.
“So,” he purred, staring into the deep red of her eyes, currently rendered a dark purple by the bluish light surrounding them. “What shall we do now?”
One corner of her mouth curled upward. “Honestly?” she whispered, leaning over to bring her mouth to his ear. “I’m really hungry.”
He pulled away and tilted his head, ready to ask if she was serious, but despite her faint smile, there was a certain steeliness about her features that told him she wasn’t kidding.
“What?” she said. “We never really got to eat, and you’re the one who insisted on dinner. I think you owe me that much.”
Aroska laughed out loud. “All right, all right.” He slipped his arm back around her shoulders, and they continued on their way, Devry and Harless and Ed Finhet all forgotten for now. “There’s got to be something that’s still open around here.”
FIN.
Catch up on #Ariva’s REAL story in the Ziva Payvan series. Check out excerpts, reviews, and more right here on my site, or find the books in paperback and wherever ebooks are sold.
