In an attempt to keep the story moving, I'm going to change the posting schedule a bit.
Rather than hold to a full-chapter Monday, I'll be posting every section as we complete it through the book's final action. That could occur on more than just Mondays, so be sure to stay on track by visiting the Libra Gambit main page.
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Chapter 38 Pt. 2
“So sorry to disturb your conversation,” Rikert said as Mo, Jessyn, and Kaara turned to face him.
He was rumpled, dusty, and bore signs of a fight—Ray probably had something to do with that—but at the moment Rikert’s features had settled into what Mo supposed was his resting smirk face.
It was, she decided, an incredibly punchable face.
“How about this?” Rikert continued, clearly oblivious to the mental beating Mo was giving him. “Why don’t you get back in touch with Slater—or, rather, Scarecrow—and let him know I’m here. With you. I bet we can all find lots of things to talk about.”
So Rikert thought Ray was Scarecrow, which bode well for Harry, at least, but meanwhile Mo sucked in a breath, preparing to let Rikert know how playing bargaining chips in his personal war wasn’t going to happen.
But before she could speak, another shriek of flying monkeys whistled through the corridor speakers, causing all five of the men to start.
Then, before they fully settled, every one of them jumped again, their jaws dropping as they backed away from the three women.
Mo felt her own jaw drop, but Jessyn’s hand on her shoulder kept her from speaking as five pairs of eyes skimmed the corridor.
"Where did they go? " Rikert demanded, waving his pulser side to side.
Claude shook his head, risking the stability of the blue topiary he called a hairstyle.
Mo’s breath caught, and she risked a glance towards Jessyn. The empath’s eyes were clouded, her expression tight.
Probably because doing the ghost thing in confined quarters, less than a meter from a collection of antagonistic eyes, required serious effort.
How much effort, Mo couldn’t say.
Worse, she had no idea if Jessyn’s veil was strong enough to conceal their movement, should the three women attempt a retreat. Not that Mo wanted to retreat. She wanted to get to those ADs.
Maybe, with Jesssyn’s veil, they could overwhelm the hostiles barring their path. Besides, she reasoned, they’d just laid out three men earlier, and their only casualty had been one of Mo’s stiletto-heeled sandals.
She clutched her remaining shoe tighter, about to say the hells with it and start swinging her way through the party when Rikert gave a hiss.
“Screw this,” he said, raising his pulser and firing straight down the hall, his shot passing so close that Mo felt the heat of the plasma as it sliced between herself and Jessyn.
Then she heard the cry of pain and spun to discover Kaara slumping against the wall, one hand clutching at her side.
“Seems they didn’t entirely disappear,” Rikert observed as his security guards activated their shock batons and shoved past Claude. “Wait,” Rikert said, aiming in the general direction of Kaara’s cry.
Mo, unthinking, lobbed the shoe.
At the same time, Jessyn let out a soft, “No,” and as Mo watched, five sets of eyes once again widened in shock at the sudden appearance of the three women less than a meter away.
But that was nothing compared to the expression on Rikert’s face when he got beaned between the eyes with half a pair of couture footwear.
But at least she’d knocked the smirk off his face.