"Joanna Wylde - Saurellian 5 - Jerred's Price" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wylde Joanna)

A glow of light appeared ahead of her. Was it a way out?
She headed toward it, trying to keep as quiet as she could. It wasn’t easy. Her
breath came in loud, harsh gasps that seemed to echo along the narrow metal shaft, and
every movement seemed to rattle the metal beneath her.
The light was coming from a metal grate. She reached it and peered out into a long,
empty corridor. She had no idea where she was, but they had to have discovered her
escape route by now. It was only a matter of time before they cut her off. It would be
safer to head back into the main areas of the station, to try and blend in somewhere.
With a sigh, she realized that she would have to leave her hard-earned savings behind.
Again.
Was she ever going to be able to keep the things she worked for? Was that really too
much to ask?
She shook her head—no time for self-pity. Pushing at the grate, she managed to
pop it free and crawled out into the corridor. She looked down at herself with disgust;
she was filthy. She brushed the dust off, wiping her hands down her clothing to get at
the worst of it. She twisted to reach her butt, and something poked her breast. Memory
came to her. Jerred, sticking his fingers into her cleavage and tucking something in.
How had she forgotten about it? Why hadn’t she checked earlier? She must have been
too rattled. Hopefully it was something useful. She reached down between her breasts
and pulled it out. A credit slip, wrapped around a plastic room key. There were
directions written on the slip, and her lip curled in disgust.
What a bastard.



16
 Jerred’s Price


But, she realized, he was an incarcerated bastard. Unless he was able to come up
with an enormous bribe, he would be in custody at least a cycle before he even saw a
magistrate. There would be paperwork, fines, all of that. Until then, his room would be
empty.
She smiled slowly, wondering if he had left anything valuable in it. Under normal
circumstances she would never consider robbing someone. But this was hardly a
normal situation. Her life was at stake, and he was at least partially responsible, she
reminded herself. It was his fault she’d been so late getting home. His fault she’d
witnessed the murder. The image of Sula’s lifeless body slumping in the corridor
flashed through her mind, and she cut it off ruthlessly. Sula was dead. Thinking about
her wouldn’t change anything.
She moved cautiously through the corridor until it branched with another. She
followed the larger branch until she was in territory that, while still unfamiliar to her,
was at least recognizable. Here were apartment doors and the occasional small business
with the shutters down. The only places open on the station at this time of cycle would
be the bars, the places that catered to drunken spacers on leave. Blessedly, everyone on
this corridor seemed to be asleep.
She ran through the corridors until she saw signs she recognized. She checked the
credit slip again, realizing how close she was to the hostel. There it was up ahead of her.
Deserted.
She walked toward it with a deliberately casual stride, then ducked into the