Breach of Peace (The Lawful Times #0.5)(25)

Years of training told Khlid to roll onto her back and point her gun back toward the rain-battered doorway she had fallen through. Training told her to pick herself up, shout a warning to the patrons, and vanish. Instead, all she managed to do was get on her knees and vomit. Several of those around her made sounds of protest. One man let out an uncomfortable chuckle.

Khlid noticed black worms moving within her spilled bile.

She could not regain herself. Panic overtook any tactical action. Her entire world was the ragged, insufficient breaths she managed to pull in, and the name Samuel, repeating in her mind. Khlid had no idea how long she knelt there on all fours. A panting, wild animal, chased by a predator, unable to flee any further.

Breathe in… breathe out. Breathe in… breathe out. No semblance of calm came. Instead, she began to shiver involuntarily as she processed more of what had happened. Sam.

A hand came to rest on Khlid’s shoulder. Finally, her training took over. Grabbing the hand, Khlid rolled on top of the assailant and brought her revolver up to their neck. She would have pulled the trigger, too, had the mass of pink frills beneath her not screamed to Khlid’s remaining rationality, not a threat!

The woman Khlid was now threatening displayed a remarkable lack of perturbation. The human face in front of her finally brought Khlid back into the moment, focused on something real. She identified red lips, dark eyeliner, rosy cheeks, and caution, but not fear. This was a woman used to dealing with sudden spurts of violence. Judging by the hard object Khlid’s knee could feel at the woman’s hip, she was prepared to do violence of her own if necessary, too.

One of the onlookers said, “Please, let our mother go.”

Mother? Khlid finally really looked around. Women in daring dresses, and men in various states of undress, crowded a common room. Drinks had been set down in favor of the small pistols favored by workers in the sex trade. Khlid had barged into a brothel, and judging by the tension in the air, the only reason she had not been shot was her soaking wet officer’s uniform.

“Mother,” or in some cases “Father,” was the term of endearment used by the heads of these legal brothels. The position was actually one of fairly high regard within society. It had to be. Who would dare cross the organizing force behind the workers most highly valued by certain members of the upper class?

Khlid’s mind refocused on exactly what had brought her here. She released the mother she had pinned beneath her. The mother, her hands raised in surrender, said, “I would show you our license, but something tells me this is not an inspection.”

Khlid’s eyes scanned the room, unable to focus. Normally she would evaluate her surroundings, process, and decide what to do next—but every face in the brothel was Samuel’s. Some bore the smile she loved; the rest, a blood-smeared oblivion.

The mother got to her feet. “Please, Inspector, lower your weapon.”

Khlid realized her pistol was still readied. She had been pointing it at everyone she turned to. She realized, too, that she was weeping silently.

The mother put her hand on Khlid’s wrist, pushing her gun hand to her side with the gentlest of suggestions. Khlid didn't resist.

“Dear, what happened to you?”

Khlid looked up from her pistol and met the woman’s eyes. “I am not safe.” Her gaze must have been unhinged; at these words, the mother took a full step back. “We are not safe.”

It took only a heartbeat for the mother to sweep into action.

“Grav and Triss,” began the mother, solid and commanding, “bar the door. Sitt and Hettus, clear the back alley; make sure the building isn’t being watched. If you work here, stay close and armed. The rest of you, we're closing early. Out!”

Khlid could not tell if it took minutes or hours, but soon she was in a back room of the brothel with a crowd of only two: the mother (she had introduced herself as Christi), and her second, a voluptuous, dark-haired man named Brev; both trying to get enough information out of Khlid to know what to do next. Every time Khlid tried to convey what had happened, her mind flinched away and her throat seized. Samuel! her mind screamed.

Christi let out a frustrated sigh and turned to Brev. “What in the hell are we caught up in?”

Brev only shrugged in response. It was quite apparent to Khlid that Brev was far from sober, and feeling the effects of something stronger than drink. His twitching and rocking hardly served to ameliorate Khlid’s own sense of equilibrium.

Christi closed her eyes and rubbed her temples before looking back to Khlid. “You’re an officer of God, all right. You fight like a tactician, not a brawler.”

Khlid noted perversely that this mother would make a semi-competent inspector.

“All right,” Christi said. “The bars on your shoulder make you an inspector, and the lines on your face tell me you’ve been one a while.” Her frown deepened. “Were you attacked?”

What could she say? Nothing. Nothing came to her mind as a reasonable response. Even if Khlid did somehow explain, why would they not just turn her over? She was a fugitive.

Khlid only nodded.

The mother abruptly turned, grabbed Brev’s chin and smacked him hard. She repeated the action twice more before the man finally felt it, moving back and covering his face with his arms. Then Christi grabbed him by the shoulders and made him meet her eyes.

“Tell everyone to get ready to run. Inspectors don't lose their composure like this; that means something bad is coming—bad enough to do this to her. We have to assume whoever they are, that they’re still watching, waiting for her to leave or get kicked out of here. The only way we can keep her safe is to all leave at once and head in different directions. Do you understand?”