Desperado (Murphy's Lawless: Watch the Skies Book 2) by Kevin Ikenberry (any book recommendations txt) 📕

to that safe spot, Aliza,” Bo had warned. “And then wait. If we’re delayed enough so that you can make another report, tell me where you’re going to be so we can try not to hit you.”

She had laughed. “That would be nice.” But even as she said the words, the mirth drained away. This was serious business. Not unlike Operation Markolet—the night of the bridges. Then, she had moved into deadly enemy fire for only the noblest of causes: freedom. Now, she had found another cause to follow. Right and wrong were not gray, shapeless causes, as her most recent memories before R’Bak had carved into her awareness. Rights must be protected, and those who saw them violated must stop the violators. She would risk her life to do both for those around her.

* * *

Just beyond the limit of the actual bazaar, Aliza looked up from a stall selling smoked kr’it and saw the man she’d dubbed “the outsider.” She knew enough about the locals to recognize he did not fit in. While deeply tanned, his features were not so weathered as others only half his age, but who had endured the relentless sun and wind-driven grit of the Ashbands since birth. And, if she had seen another pair of amber-golden eyes like his among the R’Baku, she would surely have remembered them.

Her stomach twisted on itself. Here was a man who did not merely stand out from the others; he hadn’t been born among them. He was a Kulsian, probably stranded here, and undoubtedly of the greatest possible interest to Colonel Murphy.

As she continued moving casually among the food vendors’ stalls, she studied him. He wore the same thick paint as the locals, but his was exceptionally ornate. Reflective layers of silver and gold covered his face but were more thinly applied on his scalp. Aliza saw his hair was longer than the natives’ and bright white in the early morning light. This man was no soldier. His clothes and markings marked him as an individual of considerable importance, whose status was evident at a glance.

She reentered the bazaar in order to keep him in sight, approaching him slowly through the growing late-day crowd. As a new surge of soldiers arrived to trade their weapons and other equipment, the outsider stood haggling with the owner of a booth selling carpets. The woven fibers from the helekaen were exceptionally soft. Carpets like these were luxury items. In her time spent in the bazaar, she’d never actually seen a person buy one. Most came to gawk at the incredible craftsmanship and the beauty of the textiles. This afternoon, though, the outsider was clearly in negotiation to buy a carpet, though she couldn’t quite make out his words. His voice was low, perhaps on purpose, but she heard enough of his dialect to confirm he was not local. He was undoubtedly a person of interest.

The bickering between the outsider and the merchant went on for a good ten minutes. At the end, the outsider raised a hand, tilted his head to one side and walked away.

“Yukannak? Silci, please!” the merchant called after him, almost pleading. Aliza quickly made her way toward the merchant’s stall to see what the man had said. The mutterings of disaffected merchants were almost always a clue to their dealings and temperament. In this case, she didn’t care. Aliza had the outsider’s name and his title as an envoy of the region’s Satrap. A careful glance over her left shoulder verified the young, dark-haired boy was still watching her. Which gave her an idea of how to deal both with him and still follow the person of interest.

While it was tempting to engage the merchant and learn more about her target, Bo and Murphy would have stressed following the outsider. Unfortunately, the boy’s presence made that impossible, at least from a clandestine standpoint. Aliza started toward the stall where the boy was loitering. As her idea crystallized, she hoped the boy would not to be harmed as a result of her actions. He was unlikely to be guilty of anything beyond wanting to earn some coins to keep himself—and quite possibly his family—alive.

Aliza lengthened her stride as she closed on him, working up some anger. She snatched the boy’s wrist and spun him toward her.

“Give it back.”

The boy’s eyes came up, locked on hers, and widened. “What?”

“I saw you steal it. Taking fruit from a vendor. I am disappointed in you. Your parents will be ashamed when I tell them. Give it back.”

The produce vendor, a tall burly man, came around the edge of the stall and glowered down at the boy. “You stole from me?”

Without another word, the boy spun out of Aliza’s grasp and ran for the gate to the Outer City, just beyond the bazaar. Aliza watched him sprint away with quiet satisfaction. She turned back to the merchant, who squinted at her.

“He stole nothing from your stall,” Aliza whispered.

“Then why accuse him?” The merchant’s hands rested on his hips as his brow furrowed. He wore a leather-hilted knife but did not reach for it. “Why cause trouble? Is there not enough here now?”

She knew what he meant. Soldiers had gathered around them. Aliza could hear their murmuring to each other. She let a smile crease her face to put the man at ease. “There is enough trouble here, friend. These soldiers try to have our own watch us.”

He continued to stare down at her. One corner of his mouth curled. “He spied on me? Or you?”

“Us,” Aliza replied. “I won’t stand for that. We must protect each other.”

“We must, sister.” The merchant smiled, showing a menagerie of dirty, crooked teeth. “I will watch for him.”

“I don’t think he’ll be much trouble now,” Aliza replied and turned to walk away. The crowd of soldiers parted with disappointed whispers. In the distance,