Ain't Nobody's Business by C. J. Clemens & Daniel Martone & Laura Martone

Author:C. J. Clemens & Daniel Martone & Laura Martone [Clemens, C. J. & Martone, Daniel & Martone, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: NGU Publishing
Published: 2018-12-24T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

SHAW

Shaw cautiously opened her eyes, letting in a chink of light. Her heart raced, and thoughts dribbled into her mind, laboriously and painfully, but she knew enough not to make any sound. What had hit her? Some kind of stunning device. Was she otherwise hurt? No. The pain clustered in her head and her wrists.

Her pulse calmed down a notch. The last thing she remembered was staring down at Bechet, pointing her gun at him. Once again, the pesky pirate had managed to escape. But who the hell had knocked her out from behind?

Based on her limited perspective, she lay on her side atop a mattress in an unfamiliar hotel room. Likely in the Hotel Verilux, somewhere above the bar she’d last encountered Bechet. She tried to shift her arms, but they seemed to be secured to the thick metal bedframe. With a careful tilt of her head, she surveyed her wrists and recognized the type of handcuffs she’d seen in the sheriff’s office. OK, this confirmed her theory that Bechet was still working with the law.

Or pretending to.

A young, blonde woman sat in a chair beside the bed, gazing out a nearby window with an unawareness that indicated boredom and a tragic lack of experience. Shaw had seen her before… somewhere. Yes, she was one of Greyson’s deputies, though she didn’t appear to be in uniform. She, Bechet, the sheriff, and their irritating cohorts were all probably trying to blend in with the locals.

A stinging pain radiated out from the small of Shaw’s back, but she forced herself to focus on her right wrist. The artificial sensors weren’t identical to flesh-and-bone receptors, but they simulated familiar sensations, adequately informing her the cuff was loose enough for what she wanted to do. If she pulled her hand downward, she could flex it open while twisting at the wrist, which might, in turn, break the cuff. Whoever secured her with these cuffs hadn’t factored in the extra strength of her artificial hand. Very foolish of them.

Bechet should know better.

“No, she’s still out,” the deputy said, flicking her gaze to the bed.

Shaw quickly shut her eyes and feigned unconsciousness. The comms unit, presumably a hidden earpiece, would make her escape tougher.

“Yes, I’m sure,” the deputy continued in a piqued tone. “Her breathing hasn’t changed.”

Who was she talking to? The sheriff? And where was Bechet in all of this?

Shaw risked another peek through tiny slits of her eyelids. The woman stood up, stretched, and, with a leisurely pace, walked out of her line of sight. Her footsteps changed from padding on a soft, absorbent surface to clicking on something much harder. Apparently, she had moved into a different room, probably a bathroom, given the hollow sounds of the woman’s shoes.

This was the moment. Shaw tugged her hand downward, further into the cuff. She flinched as the pain receptors scraped the metal between the cuff and her hand. Biting down on the soggy gag in her mouth, she opened her palm and twisted her wrist hard.

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