Soldier of Fortune
Chapter 11

While Mia and Jinna triaged the Ohmdahls, Freya explained how Killian Del’s man of business had hired them.

“The man said the mother of Del’s grandchild was sickly but too proud to accept his generosity,” she said, holding a cold cloth to Rolf’s temple. “Made it sound like we were doing a service for a girl in need.”

“We should have known better,” Rolf determined. “What risto is going to be hiring us?”

“Politicians.” Ulf spat the word as Jinna bandaged his cheek. He looked at Jinna. “I hope you can forgive us.”

“Give me a day,” Jinna said, but she managed a weak smile as she said it.

Soon enough, the triplets were cleaned up and, with a few of Gideon’s starbucks, limped off to sooth their consciences at their favorite pub.

Once he locked the door after the departing Ohmdahls, Gideon turned to Jinna, who was sweeping up the broken crockery. “Tell me about Killian Del.”

“It’s complicated,” Jinna said, blowing a strand of hair from her face.

He looked at Mia, who had found some leftover bacon in the kitchen and was now sharing it with Elvis, which was nice for Elvis but also reminded Gideon how hungry he was.

“Jinna had a thing with Liam Del—Killian Del’s son,” she began as he joined her at the counter. “And then their thing turned into that thing.” Mia nodded to the bulge under Jinna’s apron. “And Del thinks ’cause his son’s bits are involved, he should get the baby.”

Gideon looked at Jinna.

“Okay, so maybe not that complicated,” she admitted.

“Complicated or not, I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here,” Gideon observed, grabbing a piece of bacon from Mia’s pile.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Jinna said, focusing intently on the broken bits of plate she was brushing into a pile.

Gideon swallowed the bit of bacon he’d snagged. “No family back in Ford?”

“Lost in the ’forty-seven push.” She shrugged. “I’d already joined up, so I was in Epsilon, in basic training, when Macintosh fell.”

“What division?” he asked as she resumed her sweeping.

“Seventy-Second Airborne.”

“Recon?”

“Demolitions.”

“Cool,” Gideon said, swallowing the last of his bacon. “So how’d you end up in a diner in Nike?”

She visibly tensed, and Gideon waited for her to tell him to mind his own hive, but then she gave a short shrug and kept sweeping as she explained, “Peace happened. And soon after the accords were signed, our ’ship—Liam, Rory, and I all served on the York—moored in Nike for liberty. One night, after Rory headed back to the York, Liam and I, we—well.” She glanced up at Mia. “One thing led to another . . . and then another.” She nodded at her swollen belly.

“But the father—Liam—died,” Gideon guessed, and she nodded. “How?”

“The York flew a research team into the Amazons and never came back.” She pushed the last bits of Gideon’s broken chair into the pile of crockery. “The brass figured the ’ship ran into a storm, or a mountain. Either way, no one on the York got to enjoy the peace for very long.

“He was a good man,” she added, not looking at Gideon. “And so excited about the baby. Excited enough that he must have told his father, because only one day after I learned Liam was gone, Killian Del was at my door, demanding his heir.”

“And he’s not the type to take no for an answer,” Gideon surmised.

“I don’t believe the word exists in his vocabulary.”

“I’m familiar with the type,” Gideon said. “What about the law? Have you tried swearing out a complaint?”

At this both Mia and Jinna laughed, but not the ha-ha, funny kind of laugh.

Gideon looked from one to the other. “I can see I’m missing something.”

“You’re not from Nike,” Mia said.

“So?”

“So you probably don’t have much idea how things work here,” Jinna told him, reaching for the dustpan she’d set on a nearby table.

“No, I don’t.” Gideon stepped forward, took the dustpan from her, and knelt to hold it in front of the pile of broken bits. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

She managed a small smile, then began to sweep the mess into the pan he held. “It’s not the cops’ fault,” she began. “Most of them are like us, working people who want to keep peace in the city. The problem has more to do with district ministers who have a completely different idea of whose peace is being kept.”

“The ministers are on the take?” Gideon guessed, looking up at Jinna.

“Some of them,” Jinna said.

Mia, now spinning back and forth on her stool, snorted.

“More than some,” Jinna amended, stepping back from the filled dustpan. “And Killian Del isn’t just a district minister. He also sits on a number of committees, including law enforcement and budgeting, which means—”

“He’s got the police force, or at least the police force’s cash, in his pocket,” Gideon concluded, rising with the filled dustpan in his hand. He looked back at Jinna. “You can’t stay here.”

Jinna looked over the damage, and as he watched, the anger that had been sustaining her seemed to drain, leaving in its wake a sort of exhausted sadness. “I doubt I’ll be allowed to stay after this.” She looked at Mia. “Guess we won’t have the chance to be flatmates after all.”

“Ellison wouldn’t have let it happen, anyway,” Mia said, looking almost as deflated as Jinna.

“Let’s handle one problem at a time,” Gideon said. “The first issue is getting you somewhere Del can’t replace you.”

“You did hear what we said about Del’s influence?” she asked.

Frustrated, Gideon set the dustpan aside, shoved his hands in his pockets, and let his thoughts go to town.

Most of the thoughts—the sort that said this affair was none of his business—he let float along past.

A few, regarding potential exit strategies for the young mother, he discarded as being too risky, too expensive, and—given the long arms of Killian Del—too likely to fail.

What she needs, one thought said, clearing its throat enough to set the other thoughts to a dull mumble, is a friend in high places.

No shit, he thought back. Got a contact in the city parliament?

Not politically higher, the thought prodded. Literally higher. Then, as it seemed Gideon was unable to keep up with himself, added, Remember Rory?

Rory the gawky aeronaut? Rory who’s half in love with the girl? Rory who works on an independent—

“Freighter!” he said aloud and was rewarded by two pairs of eyes—three, counting Elvis’s—looking at him like he was talking to himself.

Which—no, no reason to let them know that.

“Rory might be able to help,” he said to Jinna. “We need to talk to him.”

Which also meant talking to Rory’s captain.

And at that thought, all the other thoughts fell silent.