It had been the third suicide in as many weeks, and people—too many people—were looking to her for answers she didn’t have.
Here, though, is work she can do; answers she can give; a place where she feels most comfortable and, if she is to admit deep secrets to herself, worthy as well.
Her reverie is broken by the sudden appearance of Dakota, approaching from the direction of the setting sun. The breeze blows the thick ink of her hair back from her brow, and her eyes snap and glow with a color that seems to emanate from within rather than without. Her muscled arms swing freely, fully exposed by the sleeveless flannel which flutters and jumps against a simple black tank she wears beneath. Her jeans, ripped and faded, cling in all the right places as her long limbed, almost cocky stride, brings her rapidly closer.
Looking upon her, this beauty with the sun at her back gilding her body in pure gold, Kirsten is struck once again by her exquisiteness—wild, untamed, much like the woman who wields it so easily. Her eyes remain fastened to the vision as if glued there, and she feels a curious pulling, a heaviness and a fullness that can be nothing other than desire. And yet, desire seems too coy a word for what she’s experiencing. High, sharp, almost painful, it is at its roots—and she lets herself finally admit this—lust. Pure and unfettered and so very compelling that she actually—and this is a first for her—feels her joints become weak, and yet hot, as if she’s being filled with liquid fire. It makes her want to do things that, frankly, she’s never considered before, and those thoughts are equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
“Well, that’s the last of it,” Maggie comments, coming to stand beside Kirsten and almost launching her into orbit unintentionally. She gives the younger woman a look as Kirsten gasps and holds a hand to her chest. “You ok?”
“Yeah, fine,” Kirsten hastens to reassure. “Just…um…thinking…about stuff.”
Taking in Kirsten’s high color, dilated pupils, and energy that seems to be rolling off of her in waves, she follows the direction of her heavy gaze, and smirks, suddenly having a pretty good idea exactly what “stuff” Kirsten is thinking about. “Mm. Hm. Gorgeous, isn’t she.”
Kirsten turns her head sharply, her face so full of naked emotion that Maggie instantly regrets teasing her. “Hey,” she says softly, laying a hand on Kirsten’s shoulder, “it’s alright. Really.”
“But—I—.”
“It’s okay. Promise.”
This eases Kirsten somewhat, and she nods, letting out a long breath of relief. “I’m not used to—feeling like this,” she confesses quietly.
“You’ll be fine. Trust me. I won’t say it gets easier with time, because we’re talking about Dakota here, and it would take a blind man not to see the sparks you two create just by being in the same vicinity, but I think you’ll be able to handle it just fine.”
“I hope so,” Kirsten breaths, girding her figurative loins as Koda gets within hearing distance. “I sure do hope so.”
“In and out from the west,” Koda declares, seeming to take no notice of Kirsten’s rather flustered state. “They were lying in wait just beyond that small ridge there, out of Tacoma’s line of sight.” The others follow the direction of her gesture with their eyes. “No way anyone could have seen them until it was too late.”
“A definite ambush, then,” Maggie grunts, hands on her hips.
“I’d say so. I could only track them down to the next road. Lost ‘em there.” Dakota sounds mildly disgusted with herself.
“But they were headed west,” Kirsten remarks.
“Yeah. Due west.” She looks at Kirsten, eyebrow raised.
“Just another piece of the puzzle,” is her answer. “I think we’ve done as much as we can here.” She looks to Maggie. “Do you think I can borrow a couple of your techs?”
“Borrow?” Maggie asks, grinning. “You can have ‘em with my compliments. The whole lot of them is so bored it’s driving me to the brink!”
“Well, I’ll only need two or three. The more closed-mouthed, the better.”
“You think we’ve got a leak.”
“A big one.” Kirsten sighs. “If we let whoever it is think they got away with it, we might have a chance at cracking this.”
“I know just the two, then. I’ll have them report to you as soon as we get back on base.”
“Thanks.”
“Not a problem, Dr. King. Not a problem at all.”
“We’re back to that now, are we?”
Her only answer is a wink.
*
The sun has been down for several hours when Kirsten spreads the last of the miniscule pieces of the former android out on the large table in a good sized, if barren, office Maggie has appropriated for her use. The number of bits of twisted and mangled metal is in the thousands, and Kirsten looks at it, dazed, unsure where to begin. She sighs heavily and runs a hand through her hair.
“Long day, huh?” Koda asks softly from the other end of the table.
“Longer night,” Kirsten replies, hefting one of the larger droid bits and fiddling with it before placing it back down on the table. “God, what a mess.” She sighs again. “If I didn’t think part of our answers might be hiding in all this…somewhere…I’d be tempted to bundle it back up and throw it in a landfill.”
“I have faith.” Pushing herself away from the table, Koda walks to Kirsten’s side. “C’mere.”
Kirsten willingly steps into the circle of Dakota’s arms, groaning in tired contentment as they close about her in a comforting embrace. “Thanks,” she mumbles, burrowing into the hug, and letting Dakota’s scent and quiet strength surround her like a living blanket.
“Anytime,” Koda replies, brushing her lips against Kirsten’s soft hair.
A tentative knock on the door causes Dakota to relax her grip, though Kirsten hangs on as if for dear life. “That’d be your techs.”
“Can’t we just pretend that no one’s home? Maybe they’ll go away?”
The knock comes again, stronger this time, followed by a “Ma’am? Ms. President?”
Kirsten groans.
“Ma’am? Are you in there? The Colonel sent us.”
Dakota gently disengages Kirsten’s grip, then lowers her head and presses a sweet, and in no way chaste, kiss to her lips. “I’ve got to look in on my patients,” she says after a long, wonderful moment. “Have fun, and I’ll see you when you get home tonight, ok?”
“Home?” Kirsten asks, head spinning. “Where’s that again?”
Laughing, Dakota touches Kirsten’s cheek, then turns and heads for the door. “Later.”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
KODA CHECKS HER watch as she takes the steps of the Rapid City courthouse two at a time. With her other hand she steadies the laptop where it thumps against her side, drumming counterpoint to the rhythm of her feet. To her disgust, she is late; the complete lack of loiterers and smokers on the arched portico tells her that she is very late. Swearing quietly to herself, she flings open the heavy glass doors that have by some miracle been spared by both uprising and vandals. Or—and it’s an encouraging thought she has no time for—they have been replaced in an awakening of civic responsibility. Score one for the rebirth of democracy. She jogs across the foyer with its semi-circle of bronze Great South Dakotan busts, boot heels ringing hollowly in the emptiness, then up more stairs. Even if it were not cordoned off by yellow tape, she would not gamble on the elevator when the electrical supply to the building is as iffy as a politician’s honesty.
Two stories up, she barrels out of the stairwell at speed, slamming the swinging door back against the wall. In the hall outside the courtroom a portrait of the (probably) late President Clinton hangs crookedly over the door, smiling out from behind cracked glass. Martinez and another corporal she does not know stand rigidly at attention on either side of the entrance. That other corporal apparently knows her, even if she does not know him; instead of blocking her path, each man grabs a door handle to let her through without slackening her stride. Koda tosses them a smile and a quick “Thanks, guys!,” jerking her hat off just as she passes under the lintel.