Cape Storm Page 0,33

feet shoved into slippers that flopped around hilariously as he tried to right himself. He struggled up to a sitting position as David shut the door behind us and repaired the lock with a minor pulse of power.

There was a bottle of Perrier-Jouet champagne sweating on the coffee table, along with two full flutes of sparkling liquid.

"I see we're in time for happy hour," I said, and settled myself in the tapestry armchair across from the sofa. I poured myself a glistening flute and then appropriated the second one for David. We sipped. Mr. Cole, a bulky sort, grabbed at the flapping hem of his robe to avoid giving me a Full Monty as he swung his feet to the floor. David settled himself in one of those intimidating poses the Djinn had perfected several millennia ago, literally guarding my back.

Cole, uncertain what to do, leaned back on the sofa. Slowly. "You can't just barge in here," he said. "I've got rights, whoever you think you are." The champagne really was excellent."You think those rights include shooting anyone who walks through your door?" I asked him. I craned my neck a bit to look up at David.

"Speaking of that, you okay, honey?"

"I'm fine," he said. He held out a fist. I opened my palm, and he dumped three perfect bullets into it. "Souvenirs."

"For me? Thanks." I fluttered my eyelashes at him, and got a slow, hot smile. We both loved this part. I focused back on Cole, who was staring at us like we were straight out of a big-budget special-effects movie. "You need these back? Maybe you recycle?" He shook his head. I put them in the pocket of my jeans. You never know when you'll need a good bullet.

"Now," I said. "Thanks for seeing us, Mr. Cole. We'll only be a minute. First question: Why do you feel the need to go all Wild West Show on friendly visitors? Bonus question: Why are you still on this ship? Because I think anybody who doesn't have to be here must have a really good reason to be staying."

Trent Cole was not accustomed to answering questions of any kind, much less from a plebeian like me. He struck me as nouveau riche, probably something to do with hedge funds or stocks or porn. Someone who had a lot of cash and was tremendously impressed with it.

He kept darting admiring looks at David. I was familiar with that. I just wasn't so familiar with seeing it in a man.

"I was just defending myself," Cole said. "I'm sorry. I got rattled." While he was speaking, I allowed myself to drift just a bit out of my body so I could examine him in Oversight. His aura was muddy and indistinct - so, a genuine regular human-type guy, no surprise there - and bloody around the edges with guilt and nerves.

"Rattled?" I repeated. "You looked pretty calm to me. Good grouping on your shots."

"Center mass," David supplied. "Very well aimed."

Cole looked from one of us to the other, then fixed on David. His whole body relaxed.

"You're wearing a vest, right? Of course."

For answer, David unbuttoned his shirt and displayed part of his bare chest.

"David, stop teasing the man," I said. And me. "Mr. Cole. Look at me, please." He did, not with any great pleasure, and I deepened my focus to get a better look at the inner Trent.

Not a terribly good experience.

"You're protecting yourself," I said aloud. "That's why you didn't leave the ship. You know you're an obvious target if you do. You're running from something." He flinched, but he didn't move otherwise. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Do you know a man named Robert Biringanine?" This was the money question, but I got nothing from him. Just a continuing roil of anxiety and fury. He didn't know Bad Bob, at least not by name.

David took his cue. "He looks like this." And he transformed himself into a perfect replica of Bad Bob, from his flyaway white hair, bloodshot blue eyes, and pug-Irish nose to his bowlegs. In fact, it was so good that I pulled in a startled breath and clenched my fingers on the arms of the chair, then deliberately relaxed. It was just an image, nothing more, and David dismissed it with a flick of his fingers when Trent Cole shook his head.

"Okay," I said, and tried to slow down the fast beat of my heart. "Who's after you?"

"None of your business," Cole barked.

"It is if you