Elizabeth Bonesteel - The Cold Between

Trey felt rather than saw her grow still.

“If they know it, why can’t they arrest you?” Foster asked him.

They could, of course. They could arrest him, and he could confess, and even on Volhynia—even in Novanadyr, where he had so few friends—no jury would convict him. “They cannot make a case,” he said simply.

“So instead, you’re just the guy they arrest whenever they need a warm body?”

Trey risked a glance at the woman; her eyes had gone wary, and he was surprised how much that stung. “In this case they were not without reason. I found your officer outside the kitchen of the restaurant where I work. And yes, Captain, it would be a remarkable coincidence, except that the body was moved there.” He had wanted to tell her earlier, when Ancher was still there, but something had told him this was as important a detail to keep secret as her relationship to the dead man.

“How do you know?”

Trey chose as few words as he could. “There was not enough blood.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I know death.” And he thought, captain to captain, that he would not have to say anything more.

“I think Luvidovich knows it as well,” the woman said. “Stoya is keeping him from investigating properly. I don’t know why, but Luvidovich isn’t happy about it.”

“I doubt that matters,” Foster said. “After your impromptu press conference, they’re going to start asking about you as well as Danny, and they’re going to spin it as a very neat setup. I can protect the chief, Mr. Zajec, but I have no influence over the treatment of Volhynian citizens. If you’d consent to visit Galileo, we could offer you protection.”

Her expression had changed, grown wary again. This time, however, Trey did not think she was being wary of him. There was more to this conversation than he was seeing. “Thank you, Captain,” he said formally, “but I prefer to take my chances. My family is here.”

“We could protect them, too, if it comes down to it. This whole thing should be cleared up in a few days, and it’d be one less thing for us all to worry about.”

Odd, Trey thought. First an offer of help, then manipulation . The woman was looking away, squinting into the afternoon sun, her lips thin. “I will consider your offer,” he said at last. It was the truth, at least. “But for now, I would like to remain home.”

“The offer stands if you change your mind. Chief, I’ll expect you back here in—”

“I’m staying, Greg.” She said it quietly, and with complete conviction.

There was a long pause. Based on Foster’s behavior so far, Trey would have expected the captain to start shouting again. Instead, when he spoke, his voice was immeasurably more gentle, and Trey began to wonder at the relationship between the captain and his subordinate. “We’ve discussed this already, Chief.”

“We haven’t,” she told him. Her voice was tight, as if she had swallowed something thick. “I owe him.”

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