Heart of Steam & Rust (Empires of Steam and Rust) by Stephen D. Sullivan Page A

way of life.
    But would this crime really have been easier to solve on her world?
    “Let’s go to our room and freshen up,” Pyotr suggested. Thoughts of romance flashed briefly through his mind, but he tamped them down. “Then we can get some dinner and visit some of the taverns.”
    “Including the Black Dog.”
    A disquieting vision of Lina dead—a combination of who she was then and her current blonde disguise—flashed through Pyotr’s brain. He was worried about her, determined to do whatever he needed to keep her safe, but he only said, “Of course.”
     
     
    EIGHT
     
    They checked their room for signs of intruders with the efficiency of longtime spies, but found no indication that anyone had entered since they’d left earlier in the afternoon. That made them both feel better; their mission did not seem to have been discovered yet, which should make tonight’s investigations easier.
    Lina decided that she wanted to take a bath, to wash off some of the local grime and relax before they went to dinner.
    Pyotr offered—helpfully and with only a slight sexual afterthought—to scrub her back, but she declined, preferring to be truly alone and have time to collect her thoughts.
    Once the bathroom door was closed, she examined her body again. The blonde-dyed hair made her look even more like her original self, which was slightly disconcerting, especially since the “collars and cuffs” of her hair no longer matched.
    She’d read mixed feelings about her disguise in Pyotr. Had they been lovers longer, the change might have thrilled him, adding some spice to their familiarity. Their “relationship” was so young, though, that the blond hair twisted his emotions, making him feel as though he was lusting after a completely different woman—that he was betraying his Lina. Which, of course, he was , though not in the way he thought, since the mind in this body was not actually the woman he loved.
    Lina pushed aside the twinge of guilt that gave her.
    He could have his Lina—perhaps—once Lina Alexeyevna Ivanova returned home.
    She gazed at her breast, and, again, could only vaguely see the scar from her fatal wound. It was like looking at a faint star in the night sky, one that you could only see out of the corner of her eye. Why did it seem obvious to Pyotr but not to her? Why?
    Telling herself she would not solve this mystery by staring at her own breasts, she slipped into the tub, immersing all but her face. The last time she’d done this bobbed to the surface of her memory, but no explosion shattered her enjoyment of the bath this time.
    She let the warmth of the water caress her skin, felt the sensation seep into every fiber of her being, focused on it and quieted the unruly thoughts in her mind.
    Focus would allow her to solve this problem. Focus would allow her to find the assassin. Focus would allow her to find her way home.
    Home ... It had only been a few days, but already her former world, her former life, seemed almost dreamlike.
    A knock on the door.
    “Lina … Are you alright?”
    She heard the concern in his voice, felt the emotion even through the closed bathroom door. She sat up in the tub.
    “Yes, I’m fine.”
    Relief and happiness from the other side of the door.
    How long had she lain submerged in the tub? “What time is it?”
    “Nearly seven.”
    The better part of an hour.
    “We should get some dinner.”
    “I’ll be right out.”
    “Would you like me to towel you off?” A thrill of memory and anticipation. He was really such a sweet man—especially for a spy.
    Lina laughed, unused to such feelings. “There’ll be time enough for that later.” In fact, she found herself looking forward to it.
    Another happy thrill from beyond the door.
    She got out of the tub, wrapped herself in a towel, and opened the door a crack. “Hand me my green dress, would you?”
    He nodded and grinned, trying to catch a glimpse of her skin before he went to fetch the outfit.
    She closed the