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  The prostie grinned nastily. “That's what you think, bub. Knew you had to be some kinda cop. You're the first guy who's come back here that didn't try to grab me.”

  “You're not my type,” Holt said dryly. The darkness was only inches behind him now, the glowing crimson eyes longing to devour. Sadie tried to move but her entire body was frozen. She realized in horror that she was going to watch Holt die without being able to do anything about it.

  “You're not mine either.” The prostie laughed, an evil tinkling sound like fairy music played off-key. “But I know somebody who'd like you just fine.” She leaned forward suddenly, moving much more quickly than anyone who'd drunk nearly a fifth of Flare juice should have been able to. Planting her delicate, flower-like hands against Holt's broad chest she gave a tremendous shove, tilting his chair and pitching him backwards into the waiting blackness.

  When the daemon's attention shifted entirely to the blond detective, Sadie suddenly found she was free. Without hesitating an instant or considering how suicidal her action was, she lunged forward into the room, crossing the line from light to darkness almost instantly, screaming Holt's name.

  Chapter 11

  Blakely whistled as he left the private office of Sheila Blex, madam of the biggest mixed-bag brothel on Iapetus and one of his and Holt's best informants. When they had first met Sweet Sheila, she was simply another working girl on the streets of New Brooklyn, Blakely's old stomping grounds. She had given them sound information more than once, mainly, Blakely figured, because she had a huge crush on his blond partner. Sheila had told them time and again that her intention was to get to the Outer Rings and make her fortune and damned if she hadn't done it despite the fact that Blakely and Holt both had tried to warn her off.

  Blakely grinned to himself as he looked around the plush interior of the whore house, taking in the choices available to the well-heeled miners eager to spend their credit for a night of companionship. The room was decorated in shades of crimson and black and there was a wide selection of humans and prosties both male and female lolling on the many plush couches in the waiting area. Luscious, ripe flesh was on display everywhere. Firm, naked breasts topped with pouting nipples, silky thighs and hot, wet pussies surrounded him. There were also plenty of thick cocks if that was your cup of joe and from a gilt-edged crate in the corner a forlorn 'baa' could be heard. Blakely shook his head; no taste too perverse indeed.

  A pheromone blower at the door ensured that every man who walked in was instantly horny as Blakely could attest as his own cock had been stiff from the moment he'd come through the door.

  “See anything you like?” The voice purring in his ear made him turn around to see Sheila standing right behind him, her curvy hips cocked in a sexy pose. “You forgot these.” She thrust a bundle at him.

  “Oh, thanks. Guess I was a little distracted.” He glanced around the room again. “Hey do some guys really go for that?” He nodded at the cage in the corner where the baa-ing had gotten louder.

  “Millie? She's one of our local favorites. Makes me more credit than any two prosties put together. You wanna give her a try? It's a wild and wooly ride.” Sheila's green eyes danced with laughter and Blakely shivered and shook his head.

  “No thanks, Sheila. I'm not into barnyard porn like some of the sick bastards around here.”

  She elbowed him in the ribs. “I know that, Blake, I'm just yankin' your chain. But maybe I could set you up with something a little more appealing.” She gestured to the couches full of lounging sex workers.

  “Thanks but no thanks, Sheila. I've gotta meet up with Holt. He went to The Slice without me.” Blakely felt a twinge of unease as he spoke of his partner and, unconsciously, he rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Oh yeah, I don't know how I could have forgotten that you two are a team when it comes to sex.” Sheila grinned at him, teasingly. “You shouldn't go making fun of poor Millie's johns when you and Holt are so kinky you always have to share. Listen, come on back after you pick your gorgeous blond partner up from The Slice. I'll do you together myself for free.” She ran one blood-red beautifully manicured nail along the bulge in his pants, causing the dark-haired detective to jump guiltily.

  “Don't think I don't appreciate the offer but no can do, hon.” In the past, he and Holt would have certainly taken her up on her invitation. It had been a long, lonely time since they had made love to anyone. His cock throbbed in his pants at the memory of fucking the gorgeous, curvy woman in front of him, of burying his cock to the hilt in her tight pussy while Holt rammed into her from behind and feeling the T-link widen to a river of pleasure, if only for a little while. Sheila was one of the few women able to handle the sensory overload caused by the T-link during their double penetration although she didn't have the correct brain chemistry to bond with them. Being a working girl and a friend, she was also one of the few women who wasn't shocked and offended when she learned of Blakely and Holt's unusual sexual needs.

  “Ah,” Sheila pouted prettily. “But I like being the filling in a Holt and Blakely sandwich. I can't believe you came all the way to New Gomorrah and you don't want to hook up.”

  Blakely could scarcely believe it either. They weren't often offered the chance for guilt-free, no holds barred sex. But things were different now. He looked around the room at all the flesh on display and then back at Sheila herself, with her wide green eyes and lush body. As hard as he looked, all he could see was a pair of honey-colored eyes and a long mane of hair to match. That sweet face he had picked out of a prostie line-up two weeks ago, the slender curvy form and the hot, addictive feel of her pressed tight between him and Holt. All he could see, all he could think of was Sadie. He knew Holt thought he was being foolish, that the little reporter from Io would never come around but the dark-haired detective couldn't help it; he was in love.

  “We just don't have time, Sheila,” he said, trying to make a plausible excuse. He needed to get back to Holt. “If what you've told me is right, we've got less than twenty four hours to get to the dark side.” He hitched the bundle she had given him up under one arm and tried to ignore his throbbing cock. “I'd better get goin'.” He rubbed the back of his neck again.

  “All right then, Blake, be that way. But come on back if you get a chance when you wrap up your business.”

  “Yeah, maybe we wi…” Blakely stopped in mid-word, frozen in place. Anyone who had been watching the dark-haired detective would have thought he had suddenly received terrible news somehow. His vivid indigo eyes widened and his mouth narrowed to a bloodless slit. “Goddess, no,” he muttered, half to himself

  “Blake, honey, what's wrong? You look terrible all of a sudden.” Sheila's voice was filled with genuine concern but Blakely barely heard her or felt her light grip on his tense bicep.

  “I gotta go.” Abruptly he shrugged off the well-manicured hand.

  “Blake, what…?”

  “Trouble.” He elbowed his way past customers and prosties alike and rushed out of the building, leaving Sheila to stare after him in disbelief.

  * * * *

  “Holt. Oh, Goddess, Holt,” Blakely muttered aloud, not caring that he was attracting attention and ignoring the threatening stares of the rough men around him as he pushed through the crowded sidewalk. Night had come to Iapetus, courtesy of the atmosphere dome, and he felt like he was stuck in a bad dream, struggling though the noisy, stinking darkness to reach his partner in time .

  He had, of course, felt the twinge along the T-link between them when Holt stepped into the daemon's lair. It was a wrenching feeling, a jangling along his nerves that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. But he could also feel Holt's calm, like a cool hand on the back of his neck. Holt believed he was in no real danger and they had been partnered long enough for Blakely to trust his judgment. The blond detective knew what he was doing.

  Then, when he was talking to Sheila, the feeling had grown stronger, like an itch in the back of his brain, making him restless to get back t