“I got this,” Nolan told Tanis. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his bruised arms, he wheeled himself into the car and spun the chair around to face the doors. He tensed as the elevator gave a loud clank-thump. “What the shit?!” His grip tightened on the railing of the steel car. “What kind of death trap is this?”
Tanis just laughed. “Yeah, I always forget about that. Noisy as hell, but it’s never killed me yet.” She shot a sidelong grin at him. “Then again, maybe with all that extra weight you’re wheeling around, today’ll be the day.”
Nolan scowled up at her. “That’s two.” He held up a pair of fingers. “You get one more crack about the chair, then I start kicking ass.” Or, better yet, he’d hit her up for some credits—enough to pay for a taste of something to dull the aches and shakes.
“I’d better use it wisely, then.” Tanis’ grin only widened. “Last thing I need is for you to start kicking my ass!”
Nolan rumbled a growl in his throat, but he couldn’t truly be mad at her, especially when her ringing laughter set the walls of the elevator car rattling. The next second, any hint of anger at her faded as the elevator gave another terrible clank-thump and jerked to a shuddering stop. “Bloody hell!” he snapped.
Tanis pressed a finger to the button, and a red blinking light switched to solid green. “Ahh, you’ll get used to it.” With a little ding, the doors slid open.
Nolan rolled his chair out of the elevator, and whistled as he caught sight of the room beyond. The elevator door was set next to a well-appointed kitchen, which opened into a dining room and living room that, unlike his own single-room den in the Bolt Hole, had actual furniture—a soft-looking couch, table with chairs, and a couple of shelves actually made from wood. Not that prefab shit that fell apart after a few years, but real, carefully treated wood.
“Damn, Tanis!” Nolan whistled as he looked around. “You live here?” The apartment wasn’t exactly clean—empty takeout cartons, bottles, and wrappers littered the table and couch—but it was far neater than his place. There was a strange odor he couldn’t quite place, a mixture of old food, sweat, and something metallic. All in all, though, it seemed Tanis’ military discipline hadn’t quite gone to the dogs quite as far as his.
“Yep.” The woman strode toward a closet near the apartment’s front door and began rummaging. “Got a pretty sweet deal on the place when the last owner had to jump off-world in a hurry. Makes it easier to get to work every night, too.” She emerged from the closet with a folded towel that appeared and smelled far cleaner than the bit of rag Nolan had been using the last few months. “Here. Bathroom and shower is through the bedroom, there.” She gestured toward the only other door visible, a room opposite the front entrance. “And before you get any stupid ideas, no, I’m not going to help you shower. That’s one battle you’ll have to fight on your own.”
Nolan grinned up at her. “Damn, and here I was thinking I might need the help of a trained medic.”
“Oh, you’ll need it, all right!” Tanis frowned down at him. “The lip’s not too bad, but I want to give you a proper once-over to make sure nothing’s too bad.” She grimaced. “But if my service taught me anything, it’s that if you have a choice, you only touch filthy Silverguards after they’ve bathed. So get clean, pour yourself a drink—” She gestured to a pair of glass bottles that stood on one of the wooden shelves, along with a quartet of tumblers. “—and I’ll be back with a first aid kit and hopefully some clothes in a couple of hours when my shift’s done. Think you can stay out of trouble that long, Garrett?”
Nolan’s smile dropped to a scowl. “Get stuffed, Janssen.”
Tanis grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She thrust her chin toward the bedroom. “So get gettin’. Last thing I need is my apartment smelling any worse than it already does.”
Nolan obeyed, wheeling himself toward the bedroom, though he paused long enough to give her a one-fingered salute.
“And if I find out you went rummaging through my delicates,” Tanis called after him, “I’ll break every one of your fingers!”
Nolan couldn’t help laughing at the idea. Not that Tanis wouldn’t carry through on her threat—of that he had no doubt—but that there was anything delicate about the woman who had just saved his life.
As he wheeled into the bedroom, he heard the elevator ding behind him, followed by the clank-thump of the car descending. But the moment he reached the bathroom, all other thoughts faded beneath his absolute astonishment.
The apartment appeared simple, but the bathroom facilities were more high-tech than anything Nolan could have imagined. Smart shower with an overhead rainfall system, double-sized tub complete with water jets and massaging setting, steam vents, a heated rack complete with plush full-length towels—the bathroom had every technological luxury he’d want.
It seemed impossible—Silverguards received half-decent pay during their years of service, but unless they remained on active duty until retirement age, they got no pension or discharge bonus. Somehow, Nolan doubted a bouncer made enough to cover the exorbitant cost of such bathing extravagance.
As he dragged himself out of his wheelchair and onto the edge of the fancy tub, one question flashed in his mind. How the hell can she afford all this?
Chapter Three
It had been a long time, longer than he cared to admit to himself, since Nolan had felt this clean. He’d washed every inch of himself in the bathtub—an Old Terran luxury far too uncommon on Exodus VI—and even given his wheelchair a rinse to clean off the muck and grime caked on over the last few months. The waterlogged cushions squelched as he dragged himself back into his seat, but at least it—and he—no longer reeked. That was a drastic improvement to his situation.
He’d abandoned his pants, boots, filthy socks, ragged coat, and shirt in a pile beside the tub. Now, he sat in underwear still damp from a wash and wring, staring at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on one wall of the bathroom. The sight sent a shiver rippling down his spine.
Gaunt was the only word that adequately described his body. The dark circles around his sunken eyes appeared even darker thanks to the bruises forming on his cheeks, which stretched tight over cheekbones that had grown sharper and more prominent since the last time he looked in the mirror. His beard had long ago passed unkempt to turn ratty, his hair lank and wilted, even after a heavy dose of shampoo. Thankfully, his underwear covered the needle marks in his thighs, and those in his arms had faded from view—courtesy of his strange healing ability.
The muscles of his upper body, once hardened by the rigors of being a Silverguard operator, had grown soft. Only the efforts of wheeling himself around had stopped the muscle-wasting caused by the Blitz, and even then, he’d lost a great deal of mass.
He hated the man who stared back at him from the mirror, hated who he’d become. Yet, as ever, his gaze went to his useless legs. Legs that had once carried him through the obstacle course faster than anyone on Warbeast Team, or that had propelled him across the battlefields of Proxima Centauri B and Terra Omega toward the enemy.