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"What's your name?" Margo asked.
"My name is Kri."
Jasmine regarded the woman with open admiration. "Are you a security officer?"
"I'm a Guardian, which is like a security officer on steroids."
"What does the steroids part mean?" Jasmine asked. "Special clearance? Better training?"
Pushing Frankie's chair in the same direction the nurse had gone a moment ago, Kri took her time to answer. "I have Special Forces training, which means that I'm way more lethal than the average security guard."
Given the size of the woman's shoulders and the fluid way in which she moved, Margo had no doubt that Kri was as lethal as she claimed. It was probably overkill to have Special Forces' trained people serving as ship security, but she was grateful for it. "Your bosses take security very seriously. Is there a special reason for that or just general paranoia?"
Kri laughed. "Both."
That didn't say much, but Margo had a feeling that Kri was a woman of few words, and she wouldn't say more no matter how many questions were lobbed at her. Hopefully, once she was alone with Frankie and Mia, they would explain what was going on, and why the owners of Perfect Match employed a large security detail with Special Forces training.
She followed Kri and the two wheelchairs into the elevator. "You still didn't tell me what's wrong with you and why you need to be wheeled around. I hope it's not out of solidarity with Mia."
"I had a procedure done," Frankie said. "But it's not something I'm comfortable talking about right now."
Translation—not in front of Jasmine.
What the hell could it be that Frankie was embarrassed to reveal?
Oh, wait. Frankie was tiny, and she always lamented about wanting to be taller. What if she had gone through something similar to what Mia had undergone, just instead of regrowing new legs, she was elongating hers?
Nah, that made no sense. Frankie had gotten up from the chair to hug her, so she obviously hadn't had her legs operated on. She was just too weak to stand for more than a few seconds.
What else could it be, though?
Maybe a boob job? Not that Frankie needed any help in that department.
Besides, she was wearing a thin T-shirt, and Margo could clearly see the bra underneath. It wasn't one of those post-operation contraptions she'd seen online. So that wasn't it either.
Liposuction, perhaps?
Whatever, there was no point in guessing. Once they were alone, Frankie would tell her.
After all, they were besties, and they told each other everything.
6
NEGAL
As Negal entered the cabin, his hopes for a few moments of solitude were dashed. Aru and Dagor were there, both still wearing Eva's makeup and so-called disguises, with Aru straddling a barstool and Dagor holding a whiskey bottle.
"What are you two doing here?" He walked past them, heading for his bedroom.
"Waiting to hear how it went, of course," Dagor said. "Are Margo and Jasmine okay?"
Negal knew what they were really asking about. "No one touched them."
Aru let out a breath. "That's a relief. I was worried."
They all had been.
"Thank the merciful Fates." Dagor lifted the bottle. "Should we drink to that?"
