Hunt the Heavens: Book Two of the Shadow Warrior Trilogy Read Online Free PDF Page B

and behind her a planet’s curve arced. She’d evidently been told to look happy for the recorder and was trying her best to comply, without much success.
    Wolfe blanked the background and the jewels at her throat, and studied her face. “I think so. From the war?”
    Cormac nodded.
    “Little bitty thing? A first looey … no. Captain.”
    “That’s her. She was my log officer. Rita Sidamo.”
    “Okay. I’ve got her. What’s her problem?”
    “She’s married to a shithead who won’t let her leave.”
    Wolfe lifted an eyebrow. “No offense. But that’s a little thin these days. It’s too easy to just walk out … or scream for help.”
    Cormac didn’t respond to that, but went on. “We were, well, pretty friendly for three or four months before the war ended. Against regs, naturally, but who gave a damn? It was pretty intense, actually.
    “Since the war ended so quickly, it kind of left us hanging. We weren’t sure whether we wanted to stay together, or what.
    “She took her discharge, went back to her homeworld inside the Federation. We sent a few coms back and forth, and then all of a sudden she stopped writing.” Cormac picked up his drink, tasted it, and grimaced. He went to the cooler and came back with a beer.
    “I got over it. Or thought I did, anyway. What the hell, we all kid ourselves about things.
    “Three months ago, I got that pic and a letter. She said she had to pay someone to get it out for her.”
    “Out of where?”
    “The reason she stopped writing is that she got married. Real quick, for no good reason, she said. I guess it was because the guy was good-looking and rich.”
    “This isn’t sounding any thicker, Cormac.”
    Cormac’s lips tightened. He opened his desk again, took out a microfiche, stuck it into the viewer on the desk, and spun the device until the plate was facing Wolfe.
    An image was onscreen:
    A man about Joshua’s size, dark-haired, harsh features, staring into the recorder lens with a challenging look.
    “His name is Jalon Kakara. He’s a merchant fleet owner. Has his own shipyard.”
    Other images, starting with a tab’s screamer:

BEHIND THE MASK: JALON KAKARA’S PRIVATE SINWORLD
    “He’s got his own planetoid, which he calls Nepenthe. It’s inside the Federation,” Cormac said. “I don’t know about the sin part of it. But it looks pretty spectacular.”
    Wolfe nodded absently, watching images flash past: a long spaceyacht; two mansions; a gleaming high office building; a domed, irregularly shaped planetoid; a spaceport with its pads about half full, all of the ships with jagged crimson streaks down their sides; laughing, richly dressed people at some sort of party; then a picture of Kakara and the woman, both wearing swimsuits, sitting on the rail of an antique hovercraft.
    “He’s a shit,” Cormac said flatly.
    “I’ve never heard of the guy,” Wolfe said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. The pics make him look rich, all right. Sorry I said what I did.”
    He drank and Cormac refilled the snifter.
    “I’ve done some research. Had some friends inside the Federation get what they could on him. Kakara does most of his business from Nepenthe,” Cormac said. “When he goes offworld, he has his own yacht. Actually, it’s a full-size
Desdemona-
type freighter he had laid down in his yards and modified to his specs.
    “Sometimes he lets Rita go along with him. But mostly, she’s stuck on Nepenthe. Especially now.”
    “I’ve known people who’d like to be stuck like that.”
    “His biggest thrill is getting in the pants of his friends’ women,” Cormac said. “And he’s a hitter.”
    Wolfe’s face tightened.
    “She wanted out, told him so, even managed to file divorce papers. He got to the records and blanked them. Told her she’s his, she agreed, and that settled things. Period.
    “She said he likes it better now that she’s a prisoner.”
    “Are you asking me to do something about it?”
    “No,” Cormac said. “I