The Domino Pattern

And so it was. Retired or not, he’d been genetically engineered to be a cop, and the absence of his badge and gun didn’t change that.

I looked back at Kennrick. His arms were crossed over his chest, a righteously indignant expression plastered across his face, a hint of a smirk lurking behind his eyes. Was Worrbin’s interference the back door he’d been counting on? “You want proof, Esantra Worrbin?” I asked. “Fine.” I held out my hand toward Kennrick. “Your reader, please.”

Kennrick’s expression didn’t change, but the subtle smirk was suddenly gone. “Why?” he asked.

“Give it to me and I’ll show you,” I said.

“Not a chance,” he said flatly. “All my personal records are on it.”

“Consider this a subpoena,” I said. “Let’s start by showing them who Whitman Kennrick really is.”

Kennrick looked at the Fillies. “Esantra Worrbin?”

Worrbin looked at him, then at me, then back at Kennrick. “Give him your reader,” he ordered.

Kennrick’s lips puckered, but he nodded. “Fine,” he said. “But let it be noted that this is under protest.” He reached his right hand into his jacket, got a grip on something, and started to pull his hand back out.

And without warning, he leaped in front of Bayta, his left fist snapping in a short punch from the hip into her solar plexus.

She gasped and bent forward, grabbing for her stomach. Kennrick kept moving, sidestepping around behind her, and I saw now that he was holding a pair of small cylinders in his right hand. As he turned back to face me he flipped one of the cylinders to his left hand, his hands tracing a quick pattern over and around Bayta’s head. As I belatedly started toward them, he jerked both hands back toward his face, Bayta’s head snapping backward in perfect synchronization.

And as her hands grabbed at her neck, I saw the glint of the thin wire wrapped around her throat.

“Careful, Compton,” Kennrick warned, his voice quiet and deadly, as I came to an abrupt halt. “That goes for the rest of you, too.”

“Do as he says,” I croaked out through a suddenly dry mouth, my heart pounding in my throat. Oh, no. God, no. “Take it easy, Kennrick.”

“Take it off easy, did you say?” Kennrick asked. He twitched the cylindrical handles of his garrote a little, making Bayta twitch in response.

“Damn it—” I broke off, clenching my teeth, fury and terror bubbling in my throat. Bayta’s face was tight and pale, a hint of pain in her eyes from Kennrick’s gut punch, her fingers trying uselessly to force their way between the wire and her throat. “Don’t hurt her.”

Kennrick smiled, a cold, evil thing. “Say please.”

I took a deep breath. “Please don’t hurt her.”

“Good,” he said, his voice brisk and almost businesslike. “Well, this is awkward, I must say. Any suggestions as to how we should proceed?”

“You want trouble, I’m available,” I said, holding my arms away from my sides. From the positioning of his hands, a detached part of my mind noted, the garrote wire had to cross itself behind Bayta’s head, meaning the loop completely encircled her neck instead of just pulling against the front and sides. It also meant that all Kennrick had to do was pull his hands apart to kill her. “Let her go, and you can do whatever you want to me.”

“Oh, I know,” he said brightly. “That handy little gadget of yours, the one you used on Logra Emikai two nights ago. Where is it?”

“I have it,” Bayta croaked.

“Where?”

“Here.” She reached for her right front pocket.

And gasped, her hand darting back up to her throat as Kennrick twitched the garrote again. “No, you just hold still,” he ordered. “I’ll get it.”

I felt a surge of adrenaline. In order to get into her pocket, he would either have to let go of one end of his garrote or else hold both handles in a single hand. Either way, it would mean a brief chance to get to him before he could use the wire against her. If I was quick, and lucky, I might be able to get to her in time.

But he was already ahead of me. Watching me closely, he slid the wire around Bayta’s throat, adjusting the positions of the handles, until the one in his right hand was back by his own throat. A quick twitch of his fingers, and he’d clipped the handle to his jacket collar. With his left hand still applying pressure against Bayta’s throat, he reached with his right around her hip and pulled the kwi from her pocket. “There we go,” he said, deftly wrapping it in place around his knuckles before unclipping the other garrote handle. “I think that officially leaves me holding all the cards.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

“For now, to go back to my compartment,” he said. “The lady goes with me, of course.”

“Take me instead,” I offered again.

He smiled tightly. “I’d rather bed down with a Malayan pit viper,” he said. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt her. Not unless you force me to.”

I focused on Bayta’s face, searching desperately for inspiration. The last thing I wanted was to let him get Bayta behind locked doors, with access to whatever other tricks he might have smuggled aboard. But with the wire pressing against Bayta’s throat, there was nothing I could do without risking her life.

“Patience is a virtue,” Bayta murmured.

“She’s right,” Kennrick seconded. “Your move, Compton.”

I took another deep breath. “Go,” I said.

“We’ll talk later,” he promised. He glanced once over his shoulder, making sure the path was clear. Then, holding Bayta close, he started backing toward the front of the car. I watched them go, my hands curled into helpless fists at my sides, still trying to come up with something—anything—I could do.

They were halfway to the vestibule when Krel Vevri quietly detached himself from the wall where he’d been standing and began moving silently to intercept.

I felt my breath catch in my throat. Vevri’s eyes were shining with determination, a slight but unmistakable sag in the scales around his hawk beak. It was the Modhri who was currently in command of that body, coming to Bayta’s rescue.

And about to get her killed.

I watched the unfolding drama, my brain and muscles paralyzed by indecision. Should I warn Kennrick of the approaching Juri, thereby temporarily protecting Bayta’s life but destroying any chance the Modhri might have of stopping him? Or should I keep quiet, cross my fingers, and hope the Modhri’s million-to-one shot actually came through?

I was still frozen in uncertainty when the decision was taken out of my hands. Abruptly, Kennrick spun halfway around, swinging Bayta around with him like a full-body shield as he lifted his right hand over her shoulder. I saw his thumb shift its grip on the garrote handle and squeeze the kwi‘s firing switch.

Without even a twitch, Vevri collapsed to the floor with a thud and lay still.

Before anyone else could react Kennrick swung himself and Bayta back around to face me. “I’ll be charitable and assume that wasn’t your idea, Compton,” he said. “If it happens again, there’ll be consequences.” He lifted the kwi again slightly. “This really is a handy little gadget.”

And abruptly my spinning mind caught the tracks again, my eyes shifting to the unconscious Juri Kennrick had just shot with the kwi. The kwi that could only be activated by Bayta or one of the Spiders.

How the hell had Kennrick gotten the damn thing to work?

If any of the other passengers had it in mind to intervene, Vevri’s failure convinced them otherwise. No one else so much as blinked as the killer and his hostage backed into the vestibule and vanished from sight.

The door had barely closed before Emikai started toward the door, a glint of fire in his eyes. “No—let them go,” I said quickly.

“We cannot let him get to his compartment,” Emikai said.

“How are you going to stop him without getting Bayta killed?” I demanded.

“He will not harm her,” Emikai insisted. “Without a hostage, he is dead.”

“So he kills her and grabs someone else,” I snarled, my legs literally shaking with the overwhelming urge to go after Kennrick myself. “Don’t you understand? This man is a professional, and he’s clearly thought this through. We