Heart of the Spider's Web Read online

  Heart of the Spider’s Web

  JC Hay

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Blurb

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  From the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also By JC Hay

  Blurb

  Sheri Tyler had a simple undercover assignment: work the docks at Nobu Station, monitor the illegal trade, and report everything back to Intelligence Command. Now a botched robbery has forced her to hide among a crew of smugglers and put her on the run from the Spider Queen, one of the TriSystem’s most dangerous crime lords. Worse, it’s left her working alongside a brooding security officer who reminds her of everything she shouldn’t desire.

  Rayan Barr only wants three things: keeping his ship secure, his friends safe, and his pet goanna well-fed. None of those include overseeing a dockrat whose stories don’t add up, and who has a mad idea to sell their illegal cargo in one of the largest black markets in the Three Systems. Now his captain has demanded he keep a close watch on her, something his eyes are already all too eager to do.

  Forced to rely on each other, Rayan and Sheri get pulled deeper into the Spider Queen’s web of deceit. And while Sherri might let Barr get a glimpse of the real her she’d kept hidden away, she also knows it’s only a matter of time before the lies she hides behind come crashing down. Without that protection, there’s no telling how badly they'll both get hurt.

  Copyright © 2019 by JC Hay

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Metal Pig Press

  4301 NE 4th St., #3016

  Renton, WA 98059-9998

  www.metalpigpress.com

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, places, and incidents are either fictional or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons or terrestrial goanna, living or dead; actual events, implanted memories; or current events and organizations is coincidental.

  Editing by Sasha Knight

  Cover by Kim Killion, The Killion Group

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  One

  Few things were more satisfying to set up than a good sting operation. Of all the games Operative Sheri Tyler led as part of the TriSystems Joint Forces Intelligence Command, the ability to lure in a fool and skewer them on the pike of their own hubris nourished her like little else. Though sometimes the reward meant getting dirty. Literally.

  “Stop that daydreaming, Tanz, or I’ll dock more’n your pay!” The shift chief’s shouted threat devolved into a wet, hacking cough that pained Tyler to hear it. She adjusted her respirator and muttered a silent prayer that it would be more effective than the chief’s had been. Lung fungus had been spreading through the stevedores that worked Nobu Station’s docks, and a combination of outdated and ineffective filters on the respirators was a likely culprit.

  She hooked her arms through the brackets on the next crate in the stack and lifted. The augment-unit on her back and arms whined as it adjusted to the weight, but she shifted the heavy box into the shipping container at her station through brute force as much as technology. Lock the other dockworkers, her loader hooks sat unused near the palette loader. Using them made the job easier by working with the docking bay’s built-in MagLev technology, but they were finicky to align properly, and attaching and removing them from each crate took too much time. Like standing around, failing to meet shift quotas for filling containers could get pay docked.

  Not that she needed the money. IntCom paid her well, especially for dangerous undercover work. But it would look suspicious if she was the only one of the stevedores who didn’t care about their numbers, and that interfered with her ability to hide in plain sight. She wasn’t about to let anything so obvious blow her cover.

  As usual, Nobu Station’s docking bays were a cacophonous hive of activity. The station maintained a tight orbit at roughly forty degrees off the stellar plane. That made it a convenient refueling station for cargo haulers who jumped between the giant planets that formed the core of the Three Systems. It also made the station appealing to those people who worked on the fringes of legal trade. Or the ones like Ariadne Rybar, who only put the barest façade of decency on her illegal activities.

  All of which made it an ideal place for Intelligence Command to get an undercover operative. Smugglers supported larger criminal enterprises, including Triptych, and having someone placed to disrupt that flow could help unravel the syndicate from the inside. With luck, the drop she'd planned with IntCom would earn a little trust and get her in good with some of the smugglers.

  Sheri slid another crate into place, back aching as her augment-unit failed to adequately adjust its support. She leaned against the side of her shipping container and hoped she could avoid the shift chief’s watchful eye for thirty seconds. A high-pitched trill sounded above and behind her, and she shoved away from the container with a gasp of surprise.

  A goanna leapt from the top of the shipping container to a stack of crates nearby. The lizard tilted its head slightly, blinking both pairs of eyes in sequence before issuing another trill-like call. The coloration on the animal was unmistakable—bright-red scales, intersected by a pattern of white-and-black-mottled stripes. Sheri only knew of one like it, and that meant its owner couldn’t be far behind.

  She imitated the creature’s trill as best she could, and the goanna called back at her, its pale neck wattle shivering with the noise.

  “There you are!” The booming voice walked a tightrope between affection and irritation. The voice’s owner stormed around the edge of the container, and any positive expression on his face evaporated as soon as he saw her.

  Rayan Barr was, ostensibly, the head of security for the Sentinel of Gems, one of the trade vessels she’d been watching. Given that the Sentinel only had a crew of seven, it was hard to believe he had more of a team than himself.

  Then again, given how his shoulders and chest were barely contained by the black T-shirt that some lucky bastard had painted onto him, Sheri supposed he didn’t need much in the way of backup. She faked a smile and her best defenseless face. “I thought that goanna looked familiar.”

  He sniffed as though something offended him, then thrust an arm past her shoulder, sending her ducking out of the way. “C’mon, Darcy. I’d hate for her to drop a crate on you, or worse.”

  Pride burned in her cheeks and raced like fire up her spine. “It was two months ago. Can’t you let it go?”

  “For you maybe,” he grunted. “Captain said the damage to the contents of that crate cost us each nearly a full share.”

  “I’m sure you could have bought a lot of solace for that money too.”

  “If by solace you mean someone to warm my bunk, dockrat, you’re godsdamned right.” He smirked as the goanna leaped onto his outstretched arm and clambered up to perch on his shoulders. “So yeah, I’ll hold a grudge. Thanks.”

  It was the kind of opening she’d waited a month for, and she tried to sound casual as she took it. “What if I can make it up to you?”

  He snorted. “You’re not my type. Too—”

  “Intelligent?”

  “—Stringy, I was going to say.”

 
; Sheri leaned forward. “Good, because sleeping with you was the last thing on my mind.”

  “The last thing we’d be doing is sleeping.” His wicked smile was all seduction, and it surprised Tyler how easy it was to imagine how he’d be as a lover, with his thick arms and large hands. Clumsy, in a perfect world, and too quick by half. Anything else would feel like he’d received an embarrassment of riches.

  “I’m talking about a score, a chance to make up some extra for my having cost you a share. Something hot is coming in. The powers that be think it’s all quiet-sided, but the stevies know what’s up when there’s a chance for extra pay and an unregistered shift. Of course, you’d have to be okay with a little below-board activity.”

  “I need more than that to go on.” His eyes had brightened, though, and she suspected she might have him on the hook.

  “And I need to protect my plans in case you say no." She paused for effect. "You know Teeters?”

  He rolled his eyes, which made sense; there was no way any of the crew visiting Nobu Station didn’t know about its seedier bar scenes.

  “Good,” she continued. “Meet me at Teeters at the start of the second dog-watch, and I’ll fill you in.”

  Barr narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sold, and if it’s not worth my while, I’m walking.” He reached up to scratch his goanna’s neck. “But Darcy likes you for whatever reason, so I’ll hear you out.”

  “Fair.” She turned and grabbed the next crate to move, squatting down to snag the handles. “Now piss off so they don’t dock my pay.”

  He snorted again but did as she asked, while she focused on hefting the next crate into the container. The jump in her pulse and the tingle in her nerves was the most alive she’d felt in weeks. This was her chance; she just knew when she had a mark on the hook. Even before they did.

  As soon as the crate was in place, Sheri tugged out her omni and used two thumbprints to access the hidden set of tools it contained before jotting a quick message to Intelligence Command. Get the cheese in place. I’ve got a rat.

  LAST DOG WAS EARLY for an establishment like Teeters, which tended to do the majority of its business during the station’s first and middle watches. Despite that, there were a few patrons around, scattered in ones and twos and drinking to forget whatever horrors they’d seen in the big black. Sheri took a table where she could keep a wall behind her but still have a clear view of the door. Not that she could miss Rayan if he showed up. His ego alone would shade out the place like an eclipse.

  When he showed, she corrected. Because she knew she had him. She’d been doing this too long to be uncertain.

  IntCom hadn’t replied to her message, but it didn’t matter. They’d arranged all the parameters well in advance—an unmarked skiff, a few decoy crates, and then one for her to “steal” with some Old Earth artifacts inside. They’d fetch a pretty price on any market and would be easy enough for IntCom to trace when they went back into circulation. Meanwhile, she’d have proven her usefulness to the crew and could start to integrate with them. A win across the board.

  Rayan stepped through the door, his goanna perched on his shoulder like a scaly bird, with its long tail curled around his waist. With him was a woman in casual clothes whose stare could have frozen magma. Sheri recognized her as the captain of the Sentinel, Mira Barnes. Her file was suspiciously blank outside the very recent past, which was never a good sign.

  Barr spun a chair around and stepped over it to sit with his arms crossed on the back. “Captain? This is the dockrat I was telling you about.”

  Sheri started to object to the slur, but the captain’s cold assessment made her clamp her jaw shut instead. The woman didn’t sit, but stood at Rayan’s left shoulder and ran her fingers along the goanna’s spine and the lizard stretched into her touch, eyes closed. Her voice, though quiet, cut through the bar chatter with the familiarity of being heard and obeyed. “I hear you’ve got a line on a job.”

  “It’s like I told your lapdog,” Sheri replied. Seeing Barr bristle won back some of the ire she’d fostered at his insult to the stevedores. “Guard shifts are changing without it going in the logs. A few of us are getting the offer to make some bonus scrip on the side if we want an extra shift. Again, off record.”

  “That could mean a lot of things,” Barr said. “What makes you think it’s noteworthy?” He rubbed his goanna’s throat, and it closed both sets of eyes and churred happily.

  The tenderness caught Sheri by surprise. It wasn’t the sort of behavior she would have expected of him. She focused her attention on the captain. “There’s not a ship arrival scheduled for when we’re supposed to be unloading, which means it’s a surprise arrival or unregistered. Either of those mean the cargo’s not going onto any manifests. That makes it easy to misplace a few of the crates. There’s plenty of places to hide them in the warehouse district, and then transfer back to your ship.”

  Mira folded her arms across her chest and scowled. “And if I decide to grab the whole thing and leave you out?”

  “It doesn’t happen if I’m not there.” Sheri fought the urge to smirk at the truth in that. IntCom wouldn’t come in without her say-so. “Without me, you’ll never know which crates to snag. You could end up with a case of toilet roll.”

  “I know some places where a case of toilet roll could make good money. But regardless, why are you bringing us in on your little secret?” She leaned over the table, her two-strand twists swinging as she leaned into Sheri’s personal space.

  Sheri refused to be intimidated, standing her ground against the advance. “I’ve seen you around the station. You put money where it will do the most good, even if it’s not always best for your crew. I fucked up and cost you some cash, and I feel like I owe you. But also, you seem like I can trust you.”

  The captain studied her for a long minute, turning her head in a fair imitation of the lizard perched on Barr’s shoulder. After what felt uncomfortably long, she straightened back up and touched Barr’s biceps. “Help her. And if it smells shifty, dump her and get out. Got it?”

  Sheri resisted smiling, but victory crowed in her chest like a proud falcon at Barr’s quiet, “Aye, Captain.”

  Two

  “I feel ridiculous. No one’s gonna buy that I’m some dockrat.” Rayan’s growl of displeasure curled in Sheri’s blood like a languid cat. There was something delicious about the basso rumble of his voice, and it annoyed her how much her body wanted to respond to it.

  “Stevedores. Or dockworkers if you’re feeling formal. Don’t say rats or everyone will know you don’t belong.”

  He grumbled something under his breath as he unwound the goanna from his shoulders and set it on the floor. The lizard skittered off to explore the station as Barr tugged at his lapels with an Irritated frown.

  Sheri had to admit his complaints weren’t without basis. The gray dockworker’s coveralls barely fit his bulked-out arms, and there was no way the jumpsuit would close around his chest. Given all the time he spent in space, the weight room on the Sentinel had to be top-notch for him to maintain that kind of physique. “I’d say rip the sleeves off, but your arms would be a dead giveaway. Pull the hat down and put on a respirator.”

  Sheri did the same, counting on the fact that any local guards would discount the uniform appearance of a pair of stevedores and not look past the respirator to the face beneath. If they asked for ID, she had a few hacks built into her omnidevice to handle just such a situation.

  “This thing reeks. Is it even working?” Rayan adjusted the valves on his unit, brows crushed together in annoyed concentration.

  “Doubtful. For what it’s worth we shouldn’t need it long enough for you to be dependent on it anyway. Be thankful you’re not on my end working with these lousy offcasts.”

  “That’s bullshit,” he growled. He looked at her, and the strange combination of concern and righteous indignation that warred in his gaze sparked an odd warmth in her blood. Sheri wasn’t used to people taking offense on her behalf,
or for any of the stevies if she was honest. In another life, she’d be tempted to ask him about it. But now wasn’t the time.

  He wasn’t the person. Just a mark, that’s it. A means to an end. Once operatives started to feel kinship with their targets, they may as well hang up their pistols for good.

  She shrugged. “It’s life, for a stevie. C’mon.” Before he could ask more questions, she stepped out of cover and strode toward the far berth in the docking bay.

  Middle watch had barely started, which put the time at somewhere after midnight, standardized. Like most permanent space bases, Nobu used watches instead of standard time. Stevedores, and most of the crew, were used to operating in twelve-hour blocks—four working, four sleeping, and four for themselves.

  The transport skiff docked at the far bay looked as though it wouldn’t even make the short voyage back to the ship that had brought it. Sheri had to give IntCom credit but almost felt sorry for the crew. Whoever had drawn the short straw and ended up piloting this crate deserved hazard pay.

  Station security milled around the end of the dock with weapons holstered, as well as a few well-armed soldiers in plainclothes. She didn’t recognize any of them, which hopefully meant their reactions would be authentic when she sprang her plan.

  “That’s a lot of people to trick.” Rayan leaned close, and she imagined she could smell him through the dubious seals on her respirator.

  He wasn’t wrong, and it made her nervous. IntCom wasn't that big an organization. She should recognize at least some of the ship's crew. Doubt nipped at the back of her neck, and she smothered it with a wry smile. If she scrapped the mission, she'd lose her mark. That could set her undercover work back months. IntCom hadn’t told her the mission wasn’t a go. That meant it was. Sheri punched Barr in the shoulder. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. Trust me.”

  “Not like I have much choice.”

  That made her pause. “Just because your captain told you? It’s a ship, not a sentence.”