She wasn’t letting go.
Chapter Three
Insanity.
One minute she was in her bedroom, sprawled out over the blankets reading the latest accounting reports and the next it was a world of fire and smoke, screaming and crying and yelling with Andy pushing her into some sort of coffin and tumbling head over heels and a ship surrounding her and a man staring at her through the thick glass and the pain, oh God the pain on her left side—
“Are you okay to walk?” The man leading her had some sort of accent. “Lean on me if you need to. We’re not going far.”
Irish. It was an Irish accent.
The hysteria she’d kept in check for so long threatened to bubble up and over, drown out any coherent thought. It took all she had to dig down into her inner strength and remind herself who she was and what she needed to do.
She was Catherine Rogers.
Breathe in.
She was a strong, tough woman. She wasn’t going to break down and cry, not in front of these strangers.
Breathe out.
She had a mission to complete and she couldn’t afford to wallow in grief for herself or her staff.
But she couldn’t let go of the medic’s hand. There was something about his touch, the warm fingers curling around hers as if they were old friends or even lovers.
She fought back the urge to latch onto him like a lost kitten seeking comfort.
There was no time for that.
First things first.
Where the hell was she?
She focused on her surroundings, needing to anchor herself. The hallway they were walking through held the doors to six cabins with lights above them. No name plates, no pictures on the walls or any sort of decoration. It was unlike any ship she’d ever been on.
“I forgot my shoes.” She wouldn’t give in to the hysterical laughter bubbling up in her gut. “I left them under my desk because they were too tight. I like the feeling of the rug on my toes.”
The rug in her cabin. Thick, dark blue to match the curtains.
Accounting reports spread out over the bed. Graphs, numbers and hundreds of words—
He chuckled, bringing her back to the present. “High heels? I’m not surprised. I’ve never understood why women torture themselves with them.”
Her favorite pair had been in her closet. Black with high straps around the ankles, just broken in.
The floor was cold, the metal plates flexing under her weight.
“You should talk to the captain about her shoes. She’ll swear by her combat mag-boots as the most comfortable to wear.” The man beside her laughed. “Sam would rather float ’round in zero G anyway. Less stress on the muscles and joints.”
“What is this place?” She stumbled over the hatch leading out of the hall. “What ship is this again?”
“This is the Bonnie Belle.” He led her to the white rectangular table in the center of the room. “And this is our kitchen, for what it’s worth. May I offer you a coffee while I bandage your wounds?”
She ran her tongue along her lips and tasted smoke and bile. “Yes, please.”
“I hope you don’t mind it being in a drinking tube.” He patted the tabletop. “Hop up here, if you don’t mind. It’ll make it easier for me to work on those burns.” He gave her a flirty wink. “I’m an old man who doesn’t like to go down on his knees unless it’s unavoidable.”
She shuffled onto the cool surface, suddenly aware of the growing pain in her left arm and leg. It was as if she’d fallen asleep under the tanning lamp just that bit too long and then been stung by a thousand annoying bees.
He moved to a panel and tapped a series of buttons. “If you’d like sugar and milk squeeze the smaller tubes on the sides. That’ll add them into the main shaft and you can spin the tube to mix it all together.”
“I’ve used those before.” Catherine resisted the urge to scratch her burns.
“Good.” He plucked the transparent tube out and handed it to her. “I’ve got some ointment that’ll take the sting out of those burns and start the healing process. You start on this and I’ll get it out.” He swung the olive-green canvas bag off his shoulder, the scarlet cross symbol clearly visible on the cover.
She tore the plastic top and took a sip of the black, strong coffee.
Andy used to add cinnamon to her morning cup. He’d bring it to her with breakfast and laugh when she offered to double his salary if he quit working for Global Transport and came to work for her as a private chef.
She’d never hear his laugh again.
“Here.” She looked down at the handkerchief he held out to her. “It’s okay.”
Her cheeks were damp but she didn’t remember the tears escaping.
The white fabric had a faint male musk about it, natural cologne. She resisted the urge to hold it to her nose and inhale deeply to chase away the scent of fire and death.
Instead she returned to the coffee, letting the hot drink clear her mind and erase the bad taste from her mouth.
The pain grew and intensified, daggers slipping under her skin to drill deep into her shoulder and arm.
Catherine clenched her teeth around the coffee tube. She wasn’t going to break down in front of this stranger. She had a job to do and was going to get it done.
She shredded the plastic between her teeth.
“I know this hurts but I need to get a clean view of your wounds,” he whispered. “Thank you for staying still.”
She was taken aback by the gentleness in his words. Usually her doctors had a brusque, no-nonsense attitude toward treatment.
The medic used scissors to clip away the fabric around the burns, keeping her decent as he stripped most of her left arm and leg of clothing. Her hip had escaped with nothing more than a light singeing.
“Good. Not too much of this after all,” he murmured. “It’ll hurt for a wee bit but you shouldn’t even have scars if we get enough medication on it in time.” He smiled. “Don’t want to be marking up that lovely skin, do we?” He put the scissors down and reached into his bag.
“This might be a little cold at first.” He showed her the fat tube before filling his hand with the white gel. “Let me know if it hurts too much and I’ll give you some pain pills now. There’s a numbing agent in the ointment that should dull the pain. If you can hold on until it kicks in, I’d much rather you not take the pills until you feel steady enough to keep them down without throwing up.” He eyed the coffee tube dangling from her lips.
She studied the man in front of her, trying to ignore the rising pain. He wasn’t much older than she was, maybe edging onto forty. Short black hair and deep blue eyes. Nice smile.
“What sort of ship is this?” She couldn’t help sighing as he spread the white ointment over the burned areas. “Touring? An acting troupe?” She could see him on the stage doing a soliloquy, maybe Shakespeare. The crew had, in the few moments she’d seen them, seemed to fit the image.
He looked up at her, his blue eyes twinkling. “A Mercy ship.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “A what?”
“My name is Sean, Sean Harrison. And this is, as we said before, the Bonnie Belle. A Mercy ship. We caught your emergency call and responded since there was no one else around.”
“A—” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
“A brothel. Whorehouse. Ship of ill repute.” He applied a thick dollop on her leg, concentrating below her knee. “It’s nothing we haven’t heard before. And a lot worse.”
“A Mercy ship.” She spat the words back at him. “Of all the—”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. Fate had it in for her, that much was certain.
A damned Mercy ship.
She resisted the urge to slap his hand away. Instead sh
e placed the coffee tube on the table before tugging his arm free, leaving the ointment in a messy smear on her skin.
“I’ll do my own leg.” Without waiting for a response she began spreading the white gel on her injured leg, ignoring her aching muscles.
“Of course.” He stepped back. “I’ll work on your arm. Get it done faster with two of us.”
“And you’re the doctor here?” She didn’t want to see him as one of them, one of those people. He’d been too nice, too gentle to her, and she’d actually started to like him.
But not now.
“I’m the medic.” He looked at her straight on, daring her to break away. “And I’m a courtesan, same as the others. Although my clientele is strictly female.”
“Oh.” Her tongue felt three inches thick. “Oh,” she repeated, not sure where the conversation was going. Her hatred of the Guild battled with the common courtesy of accepting help. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He moved to continue brushing the cream on her arm. “Does this feel better?”
Catherine nodded, her mind going as numb as her leg. She finished smearing the last of the cream over the burned skin.
This couldn’t be happening, this wasn’t—
She couldn’t afford to shut down right now. She needed help far beyond painkillers and burn cream. “I need to speak to your captain. And I need to call the UNS.”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “Easily arranged on both counts.” He raised his voice. “Belle, please ask Sam to come here.”
“Done,” the AI answered. “Is there any other way I can help?”
Sean hummed for a few seconds. “Please ask Jenny to set up the empty suite for our visitor here. She needs a place to rest and I doubt she wants to stretch out on the kitchen table.”
Catherine felt her cheeks begin to burn and not only from the injuries. A Mercy ship, of all things.
But she was still alive and that was a miracle in and of itself.
Now she just had to stay alive.
She wrapped her good arm around her middle, feeling the nausea return.
“Shock.” Sean stood. “Let me get you a blanket. I’ll be right back.” Before she could object he was at the hatch and gone, leaving it open.
The redhead who had welcomed her onto the ship strode through the same door, returning from the landing bay. The middle-aged woman wore a military jumpsuit with darker areas where the patches had been removed.
Veteran. Healthy, no limp or disability, no visible reason why she’d quit.
She’d walked out on a military career for some reason.
No makeup, cropped hair. She didn’t worry about appearances. Not surprising, given the composition of her crew. There was no way she could compete with professional prostitutes.
Catherine squinted, trying to reconcile the idea of a vet running a Mercy ship. What sort of woman would willingly take over command of a ship of whores?
“I’m Captain Sam Keller.” The woman approached the table and stuck out her hand. “How are you doing?”
“Fine, I think.” Catherine returned the handshake. “A little shaky but I’m recovering.”
Sam nodded. “Understandable. Most people aren’t prepared to be shot out of their ship in a life pod. You read the pamphlet and watch the vids but it never prepares you for when it happens.”
Sean reappeared, carrying a thick dark green blanket. He held it up as he came closer. “She needs this. And probably a drink or five.” He smiled at Catherine as he wrapped it around her. “Medicinal use only, of course.”
“I think I’ll stick to coffee for now,” she replied, retrieving the now lukewarm coffee tube.
“You said you needed to talk to me,” Sam started, ignoring Sean’s friendly overtures. “I’ve already sent out a message to your company telling them you’re alive and well. No response yet other than confirmation they received the news, but I’m sure they’ll call back.”
“Oh.” Catherine picked at the fringes of the blanket. “That may not have been such a good idea.”
“Why?” Sean interrupted.
“Because I’m afraid this wasn’t an accident.”
* * *
Sean had seen businesswomen before, perfectly dressed professionals sitting behind large desks dictating to their underlings with ice-cold expressions.
He’d also seen them run and hide in fear, quivering and pleading to get off-planet any way they could.
Catherine wasn’t in either camp and it intrigued him.
Here she sat, back ramrod straight as if she was about to make a presentation instead of explain how she’d escaped an assassination attempt.
He waited. There had to be something there, something under the calm collected surface.
She licked her lips and began chewing on her bottom lip, giving away her anxiety.
There.
The woman was human.
He resisted the urge to sit on the table beside Catherine and put his arm across her shoulder. The woman was pale enough and between the shock of nearly being killed by an exploding ship and now the revelation she thought it was no accident he was sure she needed some human touch and reassurance despite her attempt to stay as professional as possible.
Fortunately the logical part of his mind remembered her expressed disdain for Mercy ships and he held back.
“You what?” He could hear Sam’s teeth grinding together.
Catherine pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I can’t prove it but I suspect my ship’s malfunction was intentional.” She drew a shallow breath before lapsing into a coughing fit.
Sean got a water bottle from the cupboard. He snapped the lid off on his way back and handed it to her.
She nodded, then took a few tentative sips, still gasping for air.
Sam waited, arms crossed in front of her.
Catherine finally spoke. “I’m supposed to testify in a trial in two weeks.” He noticed how she chose her words with care, trying to find the right words without giving away too much information. “I don’t think this is a coincidence.”
Sam’s expression shifted from kind captain to hardcore infantry squad leader. “That’s a big accusation. But, given the situation, I’d agree. Who knew the route your ship was taking?”
“Everyone. It’s a company ship. We file flight plans like everyone else.”
“Did you notice anything strange about your crew? A change in their routines, a different attitude?”
“Nothing.” Catherine shook her head. “No one transferred in or out. No one called off sick.” She sighed. “That’s why I wasn’t worried. There were no signs anything was wrong until—” She stared at the floor. “Until Andy came and dragged me out of my cabin.”
“Give me the details on the case.” Sam glanced up. “Belle, send a priority message to Daniel. Tell him I need ears on right away.”
“Affirmative.”
Catherine let out a ragged sigh, almost a cry.
He hesitated, unsure if she’d accept his touch again. Tentatively he laid his palm on her back and waited.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t react.
He began to rub her back, using his palm to draw large circles on the green fabric.
She didn’t flinch under his hand, didn’t tell him to get away from her.
She’d accept this much from him for now.
“Daniel LeClair’s our friendly neighborhood marshal.” Sean ignored the killer stares from Sam. “He’s a good fellow. He’ll be able to help out.”
“Details,” Sam prompted.
Catherine rubbed her hands on her slacks. “You know Global Transport makes ships. Lots of ships, ships used to carry goods and people through the Inner Planets and all the way out here.” She drew a deep breath. “�
��Acceptable losses.’ That’s what it’s called when a transport doesn’t make it. Usually it’s easy to find the debris field and retrieve as much as we can, file the insurance claim and do the investigation to find out what went wrong.”
Sam nodded, encouraging her on.
“One aspect of my job was to approve the building of new ships. Scheduling and financing that sort of thing.” She gestured at the ceiling above them. “After a certain length of time spacecraft have to be retired due to metal fatigue and stress. We’d replace them with new ships. Sometimes you don’t pull the ships into dry dock in time and they die in space along with whoever’s aboard. One of the acceptable risks of space travel. But—” She chewed on her lip again. “The math wasn’t right. We were losing more ships than we were supposed to according to the statistics, more than a statistical blip. The numbers weren’t all that high, not enough to send off alarm bells to the stockholders but something seemed wrong to me.” She shook her head. “Too many critical hull failures. We calculate in a certain number of human errors, another amount for accidents, but this wasn’t acceptable. Not to me, anyway. So I began digging into the history of each ship. Where they were built, the routes they took, everything.”
“And?” Sean asked.
“It took me some time and I won’t bore you with the details but I discovered we were using substandard steel in some of our factories. Paid for high quality steel and got crap.”
“Okay.” Sean held up his hand. “I’m not a business major but you’ll have to explain this to me. Go slow.”
Catherine glared at him and rolled her shoulders in an attempt to shake him off.
He withdrew his hand. “Sorry.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m just—” She sighed. “I can’t say I ever planned for this scenario.” She cleared her throat and forced a smile on her face. “Don’t worry, I had to do the same speech when I spoke to the UNS. This is how it works.” She crossed her legs, looking every inch the business professional. “Let’s say Global Transport buys a ton of steel for a thousand credits.” She looked from Sean to Sam and back again. “Now that money’s for good, strong steel certified and manufactured to withstand the pressure of space travel. It costs more than the type you use to make cars from, obviously.”
In the Void Page 3
