Hope reared its wobbly head within her. Isa broke into a jog, heading toward the light. It was big and high up. A truck, probably. Visions of a carefree trucker, with tattoos running up his neck and into his ZZ Top beard flashed across her mind. Yes, and he’d offer her some hot chocolate from his flask, laced with whiskey.
Her steps faltered, the friendly trucker dissolving like a mirage. There was no noise. Despite the approaching brightness, the only sounds filling her head were her own breathing and the rasp of wiry heather scratching at her legs. Isa stuttered to a halt.
The light was blinding. Blue-white, it burned into her retinas, forcing her to scrunch her eyes and raise a palm in a protective shield.
It was almost on her.
This wasn’t a truck.
Obliterating light surrounded her in a throbbing incandescent wave. Energy ripped through her muscles and she dropped her purse, the light obscuring where it fell.
Isa reached out. Luminescence made the tips of her fingers blurry. Whatever it was, it was going to run her over. So close—
5
Heath waited in tense silence as the droids secured the last of the matte gray containers in the Annie Mae’s loading bay. From here, they would be secured in the depths of the cargo hold. The droids moved soundlessly, spaced apart in perfect synchrony controlling the six containers, which towered above him, their contents sealed, the locks blinking red in Heath’s face as they slipped past in silent mockery.
Jack scrubbed at his scruffy beard. “Who knew illegal shit could look so boring?” He plucked at his lapels. “Just another everyday interplanetary delivery, but black is so not my color.”
Heath ran a finger under his own starched collar. Buke’s company uniforms and the food supply logos emblazoned on the containers were a necessary smokescreen. They gave the shipment a semblance of respectability should they be stopped by any over zealous Galactic Officers, but it was a thin veneer that wouldn’t stand up to intense scrutiny.
His fingers tapped against his thigh, calculating a mental tally of everything that could go wrong.
“Not changing your mind?” Jack asked, interrupting around the thirty mark.
Heath dismissed his list. Over Jack’s shoulder, his attention was drawn to the sight of the disappearing blue-green of Earth. It was too late for any change of mind.
Heath rolled his neck from side to side, hoping to ease the increasing tension, but his muscles only crunched uncompromisingly. “I’ll just be glad when Buke and his cargo are off the Annie Mae.”
“Angie.“ Jack patted the halted containers and shooed the landing droids out of the way. “Cargo is in the hold.”
Her reply on the ship’s system was rapid. “Copy that.”
Heath hissed out a slow breath. The flight checks were making him antsy. He’d never worried about previous deliveries. He’d always been too busy with the logistics and making the delivery.
But this time? Something deep inside told him he’d missed the signs, that he’d overstepped the boundaries between what was right and wrong by a far bigger margin than he’d ever done before.
He just hoped he was wrong. “I’m going to manually confirm the cargo is secured, Angie. Complete all hyperjump flight checks. I’ll be up as soon as I can. I know exactly where all my chess pieces are. Don’t go rearranging them.”
Angie’s reply was matter-of-fact. “You always lose.”
Jack arched an eyebrow. “She’s right.”
Heath grinned despite himself and headed away from the freight hold doors to the walkway that edged the limits of the holding bay. Losing anything on this delivery wasn’t an option he would entertain.
A freezing draft rolled over him. Beyond his feet, the corkscrew layers of the Spiral rotated in a shadowy murmur, a continuous slow rotation that was the key element on powering the Annie Mae’s hyperdrive. Heath didn’t even pretend to understand how it worked. It powered the ship but the slices of the rotating corkscrew also provided the cargo space within the ship. Two for the price of one.
He brushed his fingers against the first nondescript container as it slid into the lower reaches of the Spiral. A hum of constrained power was barely perceptible under his fingertips. Whatever was inside required energy and maintenance. Refrigeration? Oxygen? Illegal plants? He stepped back. He wasn’t paid to know. Buke paid him to deliver.
“Heath.” Jack’s words disturbed his train of thought.
Buke was approaching them, his eyes tilted in amusement as his gaze flicked between the two men. Like a snake.
Heath exhaled a slow breath.
Buke’s swagger wormed under his skin, burrowing deeper every time he laid eyes on the man. His silver hair was perfectly coiffed, like he was about to have dinner at a gentleman's club not preparing for a space jump at hyperspeed to the far side of the Ellipsis. “Cargo is off-limits. I need your piloting skills. Nothing else.” Buke’s eyes were reptilian slits.
“The Annie Mae is my responsibility. You can hang out here alone with your boxes once everything is complete but I’m not going anywhere until Angie confirms the hold is secured.”
Jack harrumphed his support but Buke stared, his palm rotating on the silver cane. Only his white knuckles suggested any hint of frustration. The man was an expert player.
Finally, Buke spoke. “Very well. But the cargo remains off-limits once your walking computer has confirmed.”
“Hey.” Jack unfolded his arms from his substantive chest, his fists clenched with energy.
Heath’s blood pressure beat against the back of his eyes. He stepped between the two men. “Transportation on the Annie Mae doesn’t give you the right to insult my crew.”
“Please accept my apologies.” Buke dipped his head in acknowledgment and exposed long lupine teeth.
Was that meant to be a smile? Gods. Heath silently wished the man an early death. Preferably a slow one.
The final container was almost gone, swallowed by the gloom of the upper levels of the Spiral.
Heath touched the comms button on his lapel. “Angie?”
From above, the thudding shudder of cargo locking into place reverberated through the chill air.
Her answer was concise. “Cargo confirmed. Locked and ready for flight.”
Buke nodded, satisfaction rearranging the creases on his face. “Splendid.” He dismissed them with a flick of his wrist, the papery skin of his fingers sliding against each other.
Heath exhaled. He must have gouged holes in his palms by now, but pounding Buke’s face into the back of his head would not help.
He turned on his heel. “Strap yourself in. Hyperdrive can be choppy.”
6
Heath studied the chessboard.
Around him, the Annie Mae hummed with power, hyperflight engaged. They were making good time. If everything went according to plan, he’d have Buke off his freighter in less than three days.
On the board, his king sat alone. Once again, Angie had him in check-mate.
Heath tipped his king into submission. “Angie—”
The Annie Mae lurched and the entire bridge shuddered. The king rolled off the board and clattered to the floor. Heath scooped the piece up. “What the hell?”
Angie was already at her station, hands flying over the controls. Metal shrieked and the navigational control panels to the rear exploded in a spray of caustic sparks. Heath grabbed a console to stop himself from tumbling, then threw himself into the pilot seat. Safety restraints instantly snaked around his body. “Angie, speak to me.”
The central viewscreen was a maelstrom of diamonds hurtling toward the Annie Mae at lightning speed. The hull shook again, this time accompanied by the pained wail of wrenching metal.
Angie’s tone was clipped. “Ice storm.”
“Where in the Gods did this come from?” They were in the midst of it. Brilliant sparkling missiles overtook them on all sides. “It doesn’t make any sense. I triple checked the flight path.”
“Assessing.” Angie rema
ined unperturbed as shock waves rocked through the ship.
A shudder thrummed through the hull, reverberating deep into Heath’s bones.
“Density of storm is substantive,” Angie reported. “Estimated likelihood of Annie Mae exiting intact: forty-one percent.”
Diagnostics flashed, and an alarm whooped above his head, scraping against his eardrums.
Angie’s hands flew faster than it was possible to track. “The entire storm’s being dragged toward a magnetic breach.”
Heath dug his fingers into the seat armrests. “Show me”
The main screen shimmered, and a white slash appeared, cutting across the rift of space, sucking them into its hungry maw.
Angie’s voice sliced across the roar of the Annie Mae’s straining engines. “It’s an anomaly. We couldn’t have predicated it. Time before entering: sixty seconds. Initiating countdown.”
Sixty seconds shimmered red on the viewscreen. The numbers flipped to fifty-nine, fifty-eight…
The Annie Mae canted sideways and Heath grabbed the sides of his chair. “Angie, get us out of here.”
“I can’t do that. Navigational systems are disabled from a direct hit. Engines running at forty-five percent and failing. Attempting to slow acceleration and give us more time.” She glanced across at him, her silvered eyes almost glowing. “It’s the best I can do.”
The labored howl of the ship’s engines filled the air as comms connected.
“What’s going on?” Buke’s angry tones blasted the bridge.
The Annie Mae shook violently and a panel too close to Heath detonated. Sparks scorched the back of his hands.
Unfortunately, comms remained intact and Buke was still audible. “Heath?”
“Navigational difficulties, Buke. I suggest you strap yourself in.” Heath disabled the comms with grim satisfaction.
The swirling magnetic storm loomed closer, deceiving in its lethal beauty.
Three, two, one…
The Annie Mae plowed into the storm’s pitch-black center. Everything canted, and the world spun at nauseating speed.
“Angie?” Heath fought unresponsive controls to right the ship.
Her answer was a strangled groan. “She’s fighting me. Can’t bring her back on line…”
A flaming red planet filled the viewscreen and then disappeared as the Annie Mae tipped.
Resu?
Heath blinked sweat from his eyes. “Angie, confirm our position.” It wasn’t possible. They were three days from Resu.
Angie’s voice caught, her human side surfacing. “Mapping systems confirm it’s Resu.” The skin around her mouth was greenish-gray. “We’re being sucked into the planet’s orbital pull.”
Heath swiped through his controls, searching for escape options in the disintegrating ship. “Shields are failing. Compute emergency landing.”
The tight weave of his safety belt slammed against his chest. Pain sheared through his neck as the straps gouged his skin.
“We don’t have time for emergency maneuvers,” Angie shouted.
Crash landing.
Resu dominated the view screen, its scarlet stripes filling every inch.
Heath gritted his teeth. “Give me manual control.”
“I do not recommend manual control.”
“Angie.”
“As you wish. Emergency pod discharge on lower-level cargo hold.”
Buke. Cowardly fucker.
Rock pounded the hull. Damage lit up his console in an explosion of crimson light.
“Angie, get out of here.”
The screech of tearing metal ripped at Heath’s ears. The Annie Mae was being torn apart and there was nothing he could do to stop it. “Angie, you need to go now.”
“I’m not leaving you.” Anguish tainted her gaze.
He forced a smile, sweat soaking his back. “I’m right behind you.”
Angie remained motionless, but her silver eyes flared white hot.
“Go, damn you.”
With a grimace, Angie released her restraints, staggering to the back of the room where the escape pods were built into the flight deck walls. Seconds later, her pod vented in relative safety at the rear. Diagnostics indicated a second pod venting immediately after hers. Jack.
Heath skimmed his controls, fighting to squeeze the last from the Annie Mae’s failing systems and preserve Buke’s containers.
“Annie Mae, priority one to protect cargo.”
The computer continued in a monotone, even as it rushed to its demise. “Crash imminent. T-Minus three minutes. Adjusting crash landing within structural limits for maximum preservation of cargo.”
There was nothing more he could do. Heath unclipped his safety restraints and gave the bridge one last look. He loved this heap of junk.
Fuck it.
He launched himself into the narrow confines of his escape pod. The door sealed automatically, and his pod vented, the G force slamming his stomach against his throat.
Everything was noise and shattered light.
Then darkness.
7
Isa was drowning.
Her lungs pulled against an empty vacuum as her fists hammered something cold and smooth. Walls constrained her arms snug against her body. The animal part of her brain sounded the alert and detonated adrenaline throughout her system as reality registered.
She was entombed.
Isa spread her fingers wide, desperately searching for an edge.
There wasn’t one.
Sweet Jesus. Let this be a dream.
She bit down on her bottom lip, tasting salt and blood, but the solid walls remained. A milky glow surrounded her. She could see her feet if she wedged her chin against her breastbone. She splayed her hands, skimming the polished surface. There had to be a way out. Something. Anything. She’d take a small gap. Squash her body through.
Fucking anything.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, threatening to crack bone. The whoop of her breathing was deafening. Too loud. She’d use up all her oxygen in no time. How much air was there in a space this small?
Coffin.
She was in a coffin.
Her breathing accelerated at the speed of light.
Ohmygodohmygod.
She’d been abducted and some sick fucker had locked her in a coffin and he was probably going to rape her and then bury her in the ground and leave her, and no one would even suspect she was there until one day a hiker came past with his dog. It would stop and sniff the ground and he’d ignore the dog and tug on the lead, but the dog would be intelligent and it would whine and scrabble at the soft dirt and dig a hole—
Shut up, Isa.
Her lungs convulsed. It was too hot, her exhalations hovered against her face, damp and stripped of oxygen, suffocating her with moist warmth.
Air.
She needed air.
A scream tore from her throat, as she battered feebly at the sleek tomb. She couldn’t get any purchase or strength behind her hits; there was no space. But, the noise of her own voice made her brave. She was still alive. She screamed again, the raw sound bouncing around the enclosed compartment.
The coffin shuddered, an intense vibration that powered through her limbs, and then the lid cracked. Blazing light hit her eyes and the confining top was ripped to the side. Isa threw up her hands in defense, squinting against the needling white rays that pierced her dark-adjusted eyes. God, she was blinded but her lungs sucked in air. Sweet, sweet air, oven-hot, thick with the tang of smoke and fuel.
She could breathe.
Isa gulped deep breaths, her diaphragm cramping as her fingers locked around the edge of her tomb. She willed strength into her oxygen-deprived muscles, determined to pull herself free before her abductors slammed the lid back on.
Too late.
Someone grabbed her arm. Isa shrieked, and she jerked free of strong fingers, twisting and punching with her free hand. She jack-knifed upright, her legs pistoning for grip against the slippery sides. The tom
b was egg-like, long enough to accommodate her body but ovoid, wider at the top than at the bottom. The lid lay at an angle several feet away on churned ground.
Who’d removed it?
He lunged for her. Across the top of the egg-like coffin and he was fast, his hand grazing her leg as she tumbled away from him, out the other side.
Her ankle snagged something unforgiving as she hit the ground. She gasped as crunching pain shackled her anklebone, leaving her breathless. The height of the coffin still hid her attacker. She had a few seconds before he was round the side and on to her.
She was in mud. Soft clay. It oozed up between her fingers, sliding under her nails. She spat grit and pushed herself onto her feet. Isa pivoted, her hair loose and wild. Where the hell was she?
This wasn’t Dartmoor. Not even England.
A small stand of water was on her left, surrounded by thick red mud. Scrubby trees grew in stunted weather-beaten silhouettes in every direction, their wide roots stabbing earthwards like spears, the base of their trunks suspended above the ground. Her brain stuttered, still reeling from panic and lack of air.
She grabbed hold of the coffin-thing again as her knees softened and threatened to give way. A profusion of metal panels littered the earth, bent and twisted. Smoldering smoke wreathed filthy and rank around her. Something bad had happened here.
I’ll worry about that later.
A shadow slid sideways and there he was, near the end of the white coffin-thing.
He looked wild, with a shock of dark hair and his face smeared with oil. A few inches over six feet, broad shoulders that strained against a torn black shirt. Intense blue eyes stared straight at her from a raw-boned face, dark with stubble. Were those the eyes of a killer? Something in her hesitated, her breath hiccupping as her gaze slid lower. A laser handgun rested snug against one muscled thigh. His hand grazed the weapon.
Isa took off, her legs pumping. She was fit, but she was no athlete, and he was a big man. Movement out of the corner of her eye urged her faster, fear souring her mouth.
Hunted Page 3
