by C. Gockel
She sighed. “They weren’t all awful, but I had other issues.” Her glance flicked his way, then she looked away again.
What had it been like with the awful ones, he wondered. He stroked her face and she leaned against his hand as if it gave her comfort.
“And then I got into a fight in school. In the girl’s bathroom.” Her face softened. “With Evie’s daughter, LaShaunda. Evie came to my house to have a chat with my foster parents. She…”
Sara stopped and he saw color flood into her face again. Her lashes hid her eyes.
“Well, it was clear they weren’t interested. For some reason, she decided to take me in. She arranged it all. What Evie wanted, she got.” The memory of it made her smile, taking the bleakness from her face. She freed her hands, reaching past him to pull out a small book. She flipped it open and pointed to a figure on the page.
“That’s a picture of her.” Her voice and face softened. “She was a hair dresser. Someone who cuts and styles hair and does nails, things like that. That’s what Briggs was teasing me about that first day.” Her fingers stroked the picture. “She helped me find my music, too. Taught me piano and made me sing in the church choir. I bought my keyboard with some money she left me when she died.”
Fyn studied the picture. The woman looked small and she was very dark skinned. On the opposite page was a picture that could be of Sara.
“Is that you?”
She started and then sighed. “Yeah, Evie took it. I found it in her stuff after she died. Jeeze, I look awful.”
If that’s what Evie saw, no wonder she wanted to take Sara home. Her background, everything about the picture spoke of despair, from the shabby house in the background to the dingy clothes hanging off her too thin body. Her eyes were blank and closed and she had what looked like dirt or a bruise on one cheek. It was hard to reconcile this Sara with the woman sitting across from him. Even when she hid from the others, she didn’t hide this deep.
He looked up. “Why did you keep it?”
Her lashes lifted. “So I’d never forget where I’ve been. So when some jerk wants me to wear a dress, I can still be grateful to be here.” She smiled then, though her eyes were still shadowed by the past.
He could understand that. His past wasn’t in a book like this. It was hard for him to see Fiona’s face after so long, but when he killed a Dusan, it brought her back for a brief moment. It was only in those moments he felt any peace, until he met Sara. He wasn’t sure if this was better or worse. Maybe it was just a different way to mourn.
He turned the page. “Who’s that with you?”
“LaShaunda, Evie’s daughter. She was pissed when Evie brought me home. We never got on. Last time I saw her was at Evie’s funeral.”
Fyn looked up but before he could ask, she continued.
“She died two weeks after I graduated. Two weeks after buying me the dress. It’s the only dress I ever owned, after—well, people buy practical clothes for foster kids. If they buy them.” Her voice was matter of fact. Sara flipped a few more pages and showed him a picture of her, with an odd, square hat on her head and some kind of robe.
“That’s me in my cap and gown when I graduated. Evie was so proud. I probably wouldn’t have graduated if it weren’t for her.”
He didn’t know what that was, but could tell it was important.
“Where’s the dress?” He really wanted to know what it was.
“It’s underneath. No one ever saw me wearing it but Evie.” Sara rubbed her finger across the picture of her with Evie. “She knew I was different, but it never seemed to matter. She had a big heart. She was a good person.” She looked up suddenly, her gaze grabbing his. “She gave me a chance to make a better choice for myself, to have a better future.”
That’s why she was the way she was with him, he realized. It wasn’t blind trust, like he’d thought. It was a chance. A gift being passed along from this Evie. Fyn looked down, letting his hair hide him from her, feeling the sudden weight of it. He stroked the backs of her hands.
“What would Evie tell you to do about the dress?”
She chuckled. “She’d tell me to put on my big girl panties and deal with it.” She sighed. “It’s not like I have a choice. But it feels like the wrong play. You said women aren’t pilots here. He’s pimping us.”
Pimping? It sounded bad.
“Sorry, it means…oh jeeze, I don’t know how to explain it.”
She turned really red this time. He grinned, starting to get the idea. And she had a point.
“I’m not so mad at the Old Man, though he shouldn’t have made it an order.”
He could see pissed getting a foothold again.
“It was Kilburn’s idea and since he’s the diplomat, the colonel is going along. Kilburn’s an ass and he knows nothing about women.”
Fyn wasn’t sure any man knew anything about women.
“And this isn’t the time to play nice. You said the Gadi are better than the Dusan. Better than awful isn’t exactly an endorsement.”
“It’s a tough galaxy.” The sulky droop of her mouth was a bit distracting. She was quiet for a long moment.
Then something changed. He didn’t know how to describe what he felt, just that it made him uneasy.
“What?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”
“Huh? Oh,” her mouth curved dangerously, “about what songs to sing for the Gadi. Kilburn said pick something nice.”
“Sara….” He tipped her chin up so he could see her face.
“What?” Her eyes were innocent and wide, so wide he could have climbed in. But her smile wasn’t innocent.
“Don’t…”
“I have to follow orders.” She shrugged. “So I’ll be…nice.”
With a low growl, he found her mouth. That was nice. And she’d better not be that nice to the Gadi. When he lifted his head, he had a feeling she knew just what he’d been thinking. And her eyes weren’t innocent anymore. They looked smoky and sultry. It was annoying when her radio crackled. She listened, said yes, sir, and then sighed.
“I have to go meet Foster and get our stuff set up for tonight. Are you going to be there?”
He nodded.
“You should put all your stuff on.”
“All of it?” What was she up to now?
“As much as you can without injuring someone. I have it on good authority it makes you smoking hot.”
She grinned, then stood up before he could kiss her again.
“I’m glad you’re back.”
And then she was gone. And he still didn’t know what a dress was. He looked down, flipping another page and another, until he found a small Sara with two people who were clearly her birth parents. The snap was too grainy to really see what her parents looked like, but it seemed that Sara took after her mother. They all smiled at the camera. He saw a couple of her with another woman, the one Sara had called Miss Anne, maybe? She looked sad and a little lost in those. There was a gap, until Evie, he noticed. Then pictures of her in her uniform by various craft that looked interesting and unfamiliar. He also noticed that after Evie’s death, she was always alone.
Fyn had come as close as anyone could to making Sara feel beautiful, but basking in the light of a hot guy’s gaze was way different from leaving her room in a dress, parading it through the ship when everyone was already looking at her like she’d grown a second head. She hadn’t lived with Evie for three years for nothing. She knew how to do her hair and make-up. She knew how to spruce up her outside. Getting her inside in line was the hard part. The mirror in her room was too tiny for her to see anything but her face. She studied her reflection curiously, trying to see past her own preconceptions, trying to see what Fyn saw. The makeup helped. She’d dusted blush across her cheekbones and added color to her lids. A little liner and mascara made her eyes look almost blue and bit mysterious. Some lipstick turned her mouth full and pouty. Her hair was a little longer than she normally wore it and curled smoothly just under her jaw l
ine.
“If you believe it,” Evie told her once, “everyone else will, too. Sell it to yourself and the world will follow your lead.”
Sara looked down. This was not an easy dress to sell. It was cut in twenties style, with a flirty rows of fringe below the dropped waist. Evie said it was the perfect style for a tall girl. It hit right at her knees, which left a lot of her long legs still visible and it had a slit up one side that went about halfway up her right thigh. It was also flame red, picking up on one of the shades in her hair. Sara held out a foot. Evie said every girl should have a pair of red shoes. The heels added at least three more inches to her height and were as flirty and feminine as her fringe.
She could have been more feminine before now, but she’d been trying to sell herself to the Air Force as a pilot, not a femme fatal. There was something to be said for the feel of silk against your skin. The shoes made her feel different, too. Maybe it wouldn’t be totally embarrassing….
Fyn took Sara’s advice and donned his leather and armament, well, all except the sword he usually wore strapped to his back and the spikes on his wrist bands. As she’d said, didn’t want to accidentally injure someone. He’d been fortunate one of Sara’s people knew how to clean leather. If someone was going to recognize him, then so be it. He’d go as himself, not try to hide as one of them. Only Kalian knew his face, but a good agent would report the names of everyone at this dinner. And Kalian did know his real name.
The dining room Carey led him to was much more formal than the cafeteria, though with the spare details suited to a working ship. It had a series of long windows along one wall that provided a nice view of the cluster of moons that periodically circled Ashwa. Kikk was part of the other cluster and only visible from the other side of the ship. A long table was set with dishes and eating utensils. It was plain, but still looked nicer than the stuff they used in the cafeteria. In another place, there’d have been something decorative in the center of the table, but the only truly decorative elements were the four women Kilburn had assembled.
Fyn figured they were wearing dresses. He’d almost forgotten that women had legs. They looked nice. All the dresses were black and short, with varying degrees of sharing up top.
While the colonel performed introductions, Carey smiled at one of the women. “You look very lovely tonight.”
“Thank you, sir. I try to have a little black dress for special occasions. What woman doesn’t?”
The door slid open and Sara sauntered in and then stopped and looked around. Her dress was little, but it wasn’t black. She looked like a slender flame. She’d always been beautiful, but she’d done something to kick it up. Her eyes looked bigger. Her mouth was full and soft. The dress was perfect, both hinting at and hiding the curves of her body. The straps of her dress were thin lines across smooth, white shoulders and drew the eye to a hint of cleavage. She didn’t have as much up top as the other women, but it didn’t matter. And then there were her shoes. They were the same red as her dress and made her legs seem like they went on forever.
Fyn didn’t realize he’d moved until he was face to face with her. She was taller and he knew it had something to do with her shoes. He liked those shoes. A lot.
Her lips curved in a calm, little smile. “This is a dress.”
He looked down, taking his time when his gaze made it to her legs, then looked up again. “You have legs.”
A hint of amusement warmed her eyes. “Yes, I do. I’ve had them since I was born.”
He examined them again. “You should keep them.”
“I plan to.” Her lips twitched. Her gaze swept over him. “You look pretty good yourself.”
Carey came in on one side, with Briggs on the other. Carey couldn’t quite get a comment out, so Briggs stepped into the breach.
“Damn, Donovan, you look like a girl.”
She shrugged and the dress moved with her, like it was alive. Furious was buried deep, overlaid with a mysterious calm that made her an island in their midst. You can look, her eyes said, but if you touch, you’ll get burned.
“Kilburn’s going to step on that tongue if he’s not careful,” Carey said, with a grin.
Sara’s answering smile sizzled through Fyn.
“He’s dead to me, sir.” Her voice had lost its crispness. It was like a really, slow song. Even the angle of her head suggested she heard a song, he couldn’t.
“Without getting put on notice?” Briggs grinned. “That’s cold.”
“That’s life,” Sara said.
“Let’s get you something to drink,” Carey said.
Sara tucked her hand in the crook of Fyn’s arm. “Thank you.”
Fyn thought Sara standing was something, but when she went in motion—a slit in her dress became apparent. With each step, he got a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth, white thigh. Gone was the crisp movement of the warrior. Now she flowed to that slow song. The walk to the bar was far too short. The ensign manning it seemed unable to form a sentence.
“Just some fizzy water,” she told him, with a smile as slow as her walk.
He blushed up to the roots of his hair, but managed to hand her a glass of something.
“Donovan?” Halliwell sounded like Fyn felt.
Sara turned, the movement making her skirt ripple. He didn’t know how she managed it without falling off those shoes—
“Sir.” Her tone was cool, but respectful. “Sorry I’m late. It took me a little longer to get here than I thought it would.”
“You were worth the wait,” he said. “I appreciate the enthusiasm you gave to my order.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He looked at her almost warily. “You’re still pissed, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice still soft and smooth, but pissed simmering below her surface. It made all of her seem more fiery. More everything.
“Well, just be nice.”
Her lips curved up. “That’s the plan.”
Fyn looked at Carey, wondering if he felt the same tremor of worry. He did. Sara was always dangerous. She’d been well trained, she was strong and fast and determined. But this, this was a different kind of danger. It crackled in the air around her. And when she was dangerous—she could also be unexpected. He thought about the kiss she’d given him after booming. Which was the real Sara? The one who hid or that one?
The colonel seemed to sense danger, too, though he clearly didn’t know what to do about it. He held out his arm.
“Let me introduce you to our guests.”
Sara lifted her chin. “Of course, sir.”
Her hand settled lightly on his arm and he led her away. While Fyn didn’t want her to leave, he had to admit that the sight of her walking away was…
Briggs put an arm on his and Carey’s shoulders. “If you ever want to know what we’re fighting for, that’s it right there.”
“I think I hear a hallelujah chorus,” Carey said.
The room was small enough to hear the introductions and for Fyn to see Xever’s reaction to the meeting. For a moment, it seemed like there was recognition in his eyes, or at least something more than just appreciation for a beautiful woman—though there was a lot of that, too. As the man’s gaze surveyed Sara, Fyn realized how much he wished she were still in her uniform. Again he was moving before he realized it. He stood just behind her, his arms crossed over his chest, his feet planted. He’d meant to keep his distance, too, but suddenly he didn’t care if one of them was Ojemba.
Xever had Sara’s hand and it seemed like he didn’t want to let go. His eyes met Fyn’s and he did. Sara lifted her drink to her lips, but her freed hand reached back and found him, her fingers sliding between his.
“Captain?” Xever’s brows arched in surprise. “You are a soldier?”
“I’m a fighter puke—a pilot, sir.”
Was there a slight edge in her smooth voice?
Xever looked puzzled.
“Our women do not have to serve as soldiers.”
�
�None of us have to serve. We all volunteered and are proud and happy to defend our country.”
Oh yeah, there was an edge to her voice.
Xever’s smile got a little superior, Fyn thought, and felt Sara’s hand clench slightly in his.
“Why would any woman choose to be a soldier?”
“Some pukes in a movie said it best. I joined to travel, meet new people…and kill them.”
Kilburn and the colonel were, unfortunately, taking drinks right then and both choked it back into their glasses. Theirs weren’t the only choking sounds either. Fyn bit back a chuckle.
“What did you say?” Xever’s eyes got wide.
Fyn couldn’t see Sara, but he somehow knew her brows had arched.
“You wear the uniform of a soldier, sir. I don’t have to tell you that a soldier’s primary mission is to break things and kill the enemy.”
He nodded. “That is true, though I have never heard it put quite that way.”
“That’s not our—” Kilburn started.
Fyn didn’t see Sara look at him. He just saw the result.
Kilburn’s eyes widened and his jaw worked a couple of times, but no sound came out.
Dang. Fyn hoped he was never dead to Sara.
Halliwell was trying not to smile.
“I understand female pilots are rather rare around here?” Sara lifted her drink, watching him over the top as she took a sip.
“They are unheard of. We treasure and protect our women.”
“So there are no women on your vessel?”
Xever’s eyes widened a bit. “Well, we do have a few for…” he stopped, looking uncomfortable now.
She shifted slightly and Fyn could see the gently inquiring look on her face.
“For…?” She prompted him, a steely note to her voice that said she wasn’t going to let him off the hook.
Kilburn came to his rescue, his voice too loud and too hearty. “Since everyone is here, we should take our seats, sir.”
He gave Sara a look. Fyn watched it bounce off. He really hoped he was never dead to her.
