Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

ZELDA

Amiron Yan lived in the penthouse suite in a tower that pierced the dome. The more expensive towers extended beyond the city's dome, using a haze field to keep the Martian dust out and the atmosphere in.

Malgraxon's vehicle rose into the sky, and the city below grew smaller. Beyond the dome, farms and homesteads shimmered in their enclosures, spreading out from the city in a tangle. Traffic in and out of Opportunity funneled through gates positioned around the dome. It was not a fast process. Surely docking in the tower's lower level and taking an elevator would have been faster than slowly inching their way up before finally being allowed to pass through the haze barrier.

Red dust surrounded the vehicle. Zelda's nose itched just imagining the grit trying to work its way inside, but not a single speck made it through the seals.

As the vehicle approached the tower's docking bay, the computer requested an access code. Briefly, the control panel went dark. After a moment, the vehicle's dash unlocked, and it glided smoothly into the bay. Once parked, the doors remained closed. Mal drummed his fingers on the controls.

"You are familiar with the plan," he said, not asking.

"Yes. Be bait." Zelda didn't like it, but it was the plan. "I don't see how that's a good plan."

"Walker is unlikely to make a move. Reconnaissance is required for a successful robbery."

"What if he just goes for a smash and grab?"

Mal scoffed. "Was the robbery at your museum a smash and grab, or was it carefully orchestrated?"

It happened after hours in the midst of the museum upgrading the security. New cameras were not yet online, and the staff ID cards opened doors without requiring a retina scan. Not a single alarm had been triggered. The entire affair reeked of an inside job. Someone told the thieves the best day to strike. Zelda looked so damn guilty she almost suspected herself.

"You made your point," she mumbled.

"Just be your charming self. You will distract the unworthy male and throw off the game," Mal said, patting her on the head.

Zelda smoothed down her hair and glared at Mal's retreating back, not appreciating the way her heart thumped at his compliment, even if its delivery had been haughty.

Mal swept through security, barely pausing to flash his invitation, and strode into Amiron Yan's penthouse apartment like a conquering king.

Or a demon come to claim a soul.

The penthouse was the peak of money and elegance. Glass walls opened the penthouse directly to the blue and violet sunset sky. The last rays of the sun caught in a crystal art installation over the center of the room, scattering a cool blue light.

The painting was the centerpiece of the room. It was subtle, the way the furniture was positioned to draw the eye to the small canvas with vivid yellow flowers hung over a fireplace. Guests milled about the room, purposefully ignoring the lost Van Gogh like it was nothing special.

Mal grabbed two drinks from a passing tray and handed one to her. "Drink conservatively. Be alert."

"More camouflage?" she asked, taking a sip. The wine was alarmingly tart. She wrinkled her nose. Was this considered fine wine? She wasn't a wine person and had no idea.

"Stay with me," he said in a quiet command, steering them through the room with a hand on her lower back. He greeted people with empty pleasantries. Zelda couldn't tell if Mal knew the people he spoke to or if it was all a show. She recognized a few faces from the museum—the art world on Mars was small, after all—but no one acknowledged her, but she heard the whispers.

"What is she doing here?"

"I thought she went back to Earth."

"Poor thing. I heard she's working in a pawn shop, of all places."

Zelda's jaw clenched as she struggled to hold her tongue. Geneva's shop wasn't glamorous, but it was honest. Well, honest-ish. Fine, fine, the shop was shady, but Geneva would never whisper about someone behind their back. She'd give them a piece of her mind right to their face.

Mal's fingers dug into her back before relaxing. "Ignore them," he murmured.

"They're not wrong. I shouldn't be here," she said, taking another sip of wine.

"They are jealous," he said. Before she could protest and claim that no one in this rich person's soiree was jealous of her, he said, "You are interesting and unexpected. Notorious. People can't resist discussing you. What is interesting about them? Nothing. The number of credits they have in the bank, that's all they have to discuss."

"Being notorious is not all it's cracked up to be," she said, faintly amused.

Mal paused by the fireplace and the painting, allowing her to take a closer look without being obvious.

"What do you think? Would you like it? I'll steal it for you. Just say the word," he said.

Zelda gave him some side eye, not convinced that he was joking. Reminding him that they were there to stop the painting from being stolen, not to steal it for themselves, seemed like the sort of thing she shouldn't have to say. Still, better safe than sorry.

"It's a gorgeous painting," she said. "Too bad it's fake."