Mike Shepherd - Audacious

No manuscript becomes a book without a lot of dedicated work from wonderful people. Ginjer Buchanan deserves a special thanks for all the support she gave a writer she discovered in the slush pile. The gang at Ace has been wonderful to work with. Jennifer Jackson is all the agent that a writer could hope for. And there is no better first reader than my wife, Ellen.

And I will never pass up the opportunity to thank those of you who tell me your stories. Those of you who go ''down range'' to help folks who hardly know they need helping and may have no idea how to say thank you. You know only too well that Kris Longknife is not the only one whose good deeds never go unpunished. Thanks for sharing.

Lieutenant Kris Longknife, sometimes styled Princess of Wardhaven, hated running in high heels. To make matters worse, the street here was paved with uneven cobblestonesand they were wet!

The street was also empty. The brick buildings were five-and six-story-high relics of New Eden's early days four hundred years ago. Rehabilitated and converted to government offices, they'd emptied at the close of business with amazing speed. The restaurants and small ''shoppes'' that serviced them had also closed down for the day.

Kris had the place to herselfexcept for tonight's assassins.

The ratcheting back of an arming hammer on an automatic weapon reminded her that she was once again the hunted.

Kris dodged to the right, heading across the street. Forcing assassins into a deflection shot had often kept her alive. One ''shoppe'' had an open alcove for an entrance. She sharpened her angle and redoubled her speed despite complaining ankles

And ducked inside the cover not a second too soon.

A spray of rock shards told her the stone front of the store was real. Only scratches showed on the large display windows where they'd repulsed shots as well. A glance at the name on the glass told Kris she'd been luckyagain. Brevel's Fine Jewelry had paid for bulletproofing.

Kris took all this in as she dropped to the ground and reached for her service automatic.

Abby, Kris's erstwhile maid, had insisted that she show off her figure tonight. ''Let the newsies see it once, then we can do what we want.'' The clingy burgundy sheath had been padded, so Kris almost looked like she had a bust, and it fit nicely over Kris's armored underthings. The short slit up the side reminded her to take graceful little princess steps tonight. Now it was a much less modest long rip; Kris easily got at her weapon.

Kris rested her automatic on the brick pavement and edged it around the corner, then waited for Nelly, Kris's pet computerworth more than several blocks of the surrounding real estateto paint a sight picture on the retina of Kris's eyeball.

Nothing happened.

N ELLY, WHERE'S MY TARGET ?

K RIS, WE ARE STILL BEING JAMMED. I CANNOT READ THE GUN'S TRANSMISSIONS.

S TILL! Kris spat in dismay. S HORT-RANGED PERSONAL NETWORKS CAN'T BE JAMMED.

Y ES, MA'AM. I KNOW, K RIS, BUT WE ARE . The computer voice in Kris's head conveyed disappointment at her failure, but Nelly was absolutely sure of her conclusion. Between woman and computer there was a direct hookup. Kris hadn't known when she signed for the hardwire that she'd face this, but she was grateful she had.

Scowling at what couldn't bebut wasKris waited. When the next blast of rapid fire ended, Kris risked using her own eyeball to draw a bead on the gunner. In formal black tie and tux, he seemed a bit chunky for the tights he wore in place of the more conservative pantaloons that were in this year for men in Garden City.

Kris put two rounds in the center of his chest.

That only drove his aim high. His next burst smashed windows above Krisgovernment offices didn't rate armor. Shards rained down on Kris, including one that speared her gun hand.