Read Crossing the Line for Free Online Page B

serious,” said Sandhu. He adjusted his shorts and jogged off up the Burma Road again, leaving her staring at his wobbling backside.
    So they were going to try every avenue to isolate the biotech.
    Lindsay pushed herself away from the bulkhead and broke into a jog again. Okurt should have told her they were checking her out. If they had found anything, what would they have done to her? She shuddered and tried to lose herself in physical exertion.
    That was the good thing about running: it helped you think things through.
    How were they going to get to Shan Frankland?
    Lindsay concentrated on each stride. The solution would come to her in its own good time. She thought for a moment how odd it was to see daylight in a windowless, skyless tunnel of metal and composites. The continuous strip of daylight lamp ran above her head like a glimpse of an explosion ripping open the deck above, a detonation frozen in time.
    She was one lap short of completion when she ran into the very last person she had ever expected to see again. She ran into him quite literally: he stepped out of a hatchway and she cannoned into him. He steadied himself and smiled, but it wasn’t affectionate or friendly or even welcoming.
    It was Mohan Rayat.
    There were definitely things going on that nobody was telling her.
    Â 
    Shan had never been much good at waiting.
    She lay on the thin mattress of folded cloth, staring at the open doorway and straining to listen for the sounds of anyone in Fersanye’s household who might try to stop her leaving. There was no door handle to try, because there was no door.
    The wess’har had taken the hint that she needed her space but they still had no concept of privacy. It was unnerving trying to wash or use the latrine when you couldn’t lock a door. The cold water that streamed from the ceiling when she yanked on a chain snatched her breath for a few seconds and then—she imagined— c’naatat kicked in and made her breathe normally again. It was still painfully icy. Dream-images of drowning in that dark room crowded in on her and she fought back panic.
    There were distant sounds of clattering glass and double-voiced conversations, and she could actually hear the speech patterns clearly now. While she dressed, she pursed her lips and said “wess’har” very quietly, just to try, and was caught out by the sudden emergence of two sounds, word and overtone. Oh my God . Even her voice was changing.
    Habit made her take her handgun out of her belt and check the clip. Nevyan, you’ll never make a copper. Fancy not searching me. The 9mm was very old technology, barely changed in centuries, but it worked, and it didn’t need recharging. If you maintained it religiously it never broke down. Then she reached in her grip and took out a directional-blast grenade.
    Royal Marine Sergeant Adrian Bennett—shy, loyal, but lethal Ade—had shown her how to use one in an idle moment. She had no idea why he’d left her a couple of the devices when the detachment pulled out. Perhaps he knew she might need one, and he’d been proved right. There was no point pissing about now. The only thing that mattered was securing a deal for Aras.
    Shan tucked the grenade inside her jacket and went in search of an exit. She passed males and children on the way, but they simply looked at her and let her pass. Perhaps they thought there was nothing a single gethes could do on her own in a strange city.
    One of the males stepped into her path. “Fersanye offers food,” he said, struggling with English.
    Shan took it at face value. “I’m going for a walk,” she said. “ Sve l’bir. Okay?”
    Outside, an alley lined with ashlars curved away in both directions. The tem flies hadn’t coated the shaded surfaces. The stone was still honey-gold, dappled in light and dark by the sun piercing a mesh of vines overhead, and therefore probably too cool to attract