That seemed to accomplish what neither the striper’s assurances or Kaidee’s mental pleadings could. Devin and Trip turned to Barthol.
“Of course,” Devin said. “Uncle.” He put one hand under Barthol’s elbow. “Officer, if you need a statement from us, leave word at the front desk.”
So that was it, then. She was on her own. “Good luck, gentlemen,” she called after them, as if they really were strangers, people thrown together by happenstance: a bar fight, a chance proximity of their table and hers. Not as if she was someone who’d been in their employ for several years, who’d shared meals, laughter, shopping excursions …
That was a different lifetime. A different Kaidee.
This Kaidee’s life was in shambles. She imagined Devin was now very glad that Captain Makaiden Griggs was no longer in GGS employ.
She turned back to the trio at the deskscreen, ignoring the retreating steps of the trio behind her, the scrape of a hatchlock door. Then the sounds faded. Her sadness over losing Devin’s respect flared to anger, adding a sharp note to her words. “I wasn’t trolling for passengers.”
The striper shot a quick glance at the closed hatch door, eyes narrowed, then back at Kaidee. “I have witnesses here,” she said, “who say you were.” She took a step toward Kaidee, hands on both hips now, chin lifted in defiance.
What in hell? “You have no proof of that.”
“We have plenty.” The striper looked over her shoulder at the Taka. “Let her hear it, Norga.”
The Taka tapped at the deskscreen.
“If she offered you passage off station, yeah,” the female striper’s voice said clearly through the unit’s speakers, “there is a problem. Because she’s not rated for that.”
“She offered.” That was Devin’s voice. “Yes.”
A chill raced down Kaidee’s spine and settled, hard, in the pit of her stomach. Norga had been doing more than researching her ship’s status on her deskscreen.
“This young lady said she could get us out. Me and my nephews,” Barty’s voice said.
Then from Devin: “Officer, if you need a statement from us, leave word at the front desk.”
The striper’s smile was slow, confident, and damning.
Kaidee met her gaze without flinching. “What do you want?” Her voice was deliberately flat. Inside, she was screaming, kicking over the Taka’s desk, pounding smarmy red-haired Gustav to a pulp, and smashing the deskscreen over the striper’s head.
The smirk widened to a smile. “What do you think? Nice, law-abiding captains don’t go around owing money to the likes of Orvis. Even before Norga found that info, you gave yourself away with those hatch codes. That guy from Aldan, what is he? A new buyer? He sure wasn’t happy to find out about the lock lien, was he?”
“What,” Kaidee repeated, “do you want?”
“That ship of yours is a sweet Blackfire. Fast. Probably got some even sweeter modifications.”
Gustav snorted out a laugh at the striper’s words.
“Or you wouldn’t even be working for Orvis,” the striper continued.
I’m not working for Orvis, she almost said but stopped. One, she knew the woman wouldn’t believe her, and, two, if the striper or Norga dug deep enough into their obviously less-than-legal databases, they’d find proof that, yes, at one time the Void Rider did have ties to Orvis’s pirate enterprise.
Kiler’s death severed that connection but not the debt.
“If you think I’m going to turn my ship over to you rather than face charges of illegal passenger transport, I’ll take my chances with the latter,” Kaidee said.
“No, no, you got it all wrong!” The striper chuckled. “I don’t want your ship, Captain Griggs. We’re here”—and she flashed a quick look at Norga and Gustav—“to offer you our special services. Protection.” She stressed the word. “You know how it works. We’ll keep your little secret, keep the authorities from hassling you so you can continue your, uh, lucrative business. All we want in return is a small fee. Say, four thousand a month.”
It was a shakedown. No wonder the striper hung out at Norga’s desk. Just like Pops, Norga had the data on ships docking here. The striper had the muscle. Kaidee wondered how many other captains were already paying a “protection fee” based on words gleaned from ordinary conversations in Norga’s office, then twisted into incriminating statements.
She also wondered if the CFTC knew about this. Or, not unlikely, was in on it.
“And if I say no?”
The woman’s eyes went hard and cold. “Then illegal-passenger-transport charges will only be the beginning. Trust me on that.”
“We’ll keep your little secret, keep the authorities from hassling you so you can continue your, uh, lucrative business.” The striper’s voice, sounding a bit hollow, echoed into the room, and not from Norga’s deskscreen. Kaidee jerked around, looking for the source. So did the striper, Norga, and Gustav.
The hatchlock to the old access tunnel swung open. Devin Guthrie crouched on its edge, microcomp in his left, Carver in his right. Shock surged through her. Why had he come back? Surely not for her sake.
“Two can play at this game, Officer.” His voice was light, but he wasn’t smiling.
“All we want in return is a small fee. Say, four thousand a month,” the woman’s voice continued, but from a different direction.
Kaidee spun. Barthol stood in the main hatchlock to the hotel corridor, also with a microcomp and a Carver. “I would advise against any sudden movements,” he said, all traces of age and infirmity gone from his voice and stance.
Devin’s boots hit the decking. “Back away. Over there.” He waved his weapon at Norga and Gustav. “Now.” He clipped his Rada back onto his belt as he took the seat Norga vacated.
Barty moved toward Kaidee. “Captain Griggs, I could use your assistance.”
She was already reaching for her L7. “Gladly.” She didn’t know why Devin and Barty had returned, but she was damned glad they did.
“Hands out, turn, face the wall,” Barty ordered.
The trio grumbled but complied.
Barthol pulled the striper’s pistol from its holster and then tossed it across the decking toward Devin.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kaidee watched the weapon skim the floor. She could see Devin’s Carver on the desk, his focus and fingers on the deskscreen as he altered or erased whatever data Norga had on Kaidee and, possibly, others. The Guthries were known to be generous, but she wasn’t sure how far their generosity extended in this situation or how long it would extend to her. She knew what Devin had heard; she could guess at what he was thinking. That made her consider for a moment why he was even helping her. But then, she’d been associated with GGS. Scandal of any sort—especially with Philip Guthrie’s current renegade status—wasn’t something GGS wanted.
Suddenly the striper dropped down, swinging out with one leg, her boot making contact with Barty’s ankle. He stumbled, falling backward. Kaidee fired, her shot hitting the striper in the hip. Not center mass—not enough to fully stun the officer—but enough to put her flat on the decking, her eyes blinking rapidly as her body went limp.
Barty rolled onto his back, Carver gripped with both hands. “Freeze!”
Norga froze. Gustav bolted, throwing himself at Devin as Devin turned in the desk chair. They crashed against the desk, grunting, swearing, the chair’s deck lock keeping it and them upright. Kaidee took aim, but there was too much movement for her to get a clear shot. Devin grabbed Gustav’s shoulders. Gustav shoved him back. Coffee mugs flew, spattering liquid. A basket of datatabs upended, clattering as they hit the sides of the desk, then the decking. Gustav tried to pin Devin against the desktop, but Devin swung at him, his fist catching Gustav’s left ear with a smack. Gustav fell sideways against the desk, then sprang just as Barty fired. Barty’s shot grazed the desk where Gustav had been a second before.
Someone shifted in Kaidee’s peripheral vision. She switched her aim from the struggle
at the desk to Norga. The tall Taka held still, all but radiating with intensity. The striper near Norga’s boots groaned, swearing, but her limbs were motionless—at least until the effects of the stunner wore off.
Which could be any second now.
Oh, hell. Kaidee flicked her stunner to full charge and fired again at the striper, catching her center mass this time. Then, before Norga could react, she hit the Taka with a blast in the chest. The Taka collapsed next to the unconscious striper.
Kaidee swung around toward Devin, aware of Barty now on his feet. A high-pitched blast zinged by her. Gustav arched back, his right hand splaying outward, a knife Kaidee hadn’t seen until that moment falling from his fingers.
Devin angled himself up from the desk, his glasses skewed, blood staining the left shoulder of his sweater where his jacket had pulled away.
Kaidee’s heart caught in her throat. God and stars, no, not Devin.
She shoved her L7 into its holster, then grabbed his arm, steadying him as he tried to stand. “Devin!”
“Fuck. That hurts.” His voice was low, his words slurring.
“I suggest,” Barty said, grabbing Devin’s other arm as he swayed toward them, “we get him up to our room, quickly.”
Kaidee shot a glance at the unconscious striper as she put one arm around Devin’s waist. He leaned heavily on her—all lean, wiry muscle. “But she knows—”
“Nothing. The room card he gave her was bogus—an old trick I’ve used dozens of times. Plus, I erased her datapad, and he should have deleted any traces they did on you.”
“But she … They know my name, my ship’s name.”
“You hit them on full charge, didn’t you? Then we have at least four hours before they wake up. With a little luck, given what we know about them, that’s not a lead they’re going to want to follow.”
A little luck? How about an enormous, galactic-size dose of luck? Something Kaidee never had, not in her entire life. She only had Kiler. Then Orvis and Frinks. And now one very pissed-off striper.
And one very injured Devin Guthrie.
Fucking slagging son of a bitch! A dozen more epithets crossed Devin’s mind but not his lips as he lay on the bed in his hotel room, with Barty working what he called “field medicine” on the wound in Devin’s shoulder. Field medicine meant antiquated methods of dealing with the deep gash, because getting to a med-tech right now would require answering questions they didn’t want asked—considering there was an unconscious striper in The Celestian’s supply office three floors below.
Field medicine also meant pain—in spite of the copious amounts of Lashto brandy Barty had poured down Devin’s throat—but it was a pain Devin would not voice, because Makaiden was a few feet away in that same hotel room, her soft brown eyes filled with worry and compassion.
At least he hoped that’s what it was. With his glasses off and the brandy in his gut, he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.
So he was taking it like a man, just in case it was compassion. Just in case she might be as … irrevocably intrigued by him as he was by her.
She’s married, his conscience reminded him.
But that doesn’t mean she couldn’t feel compassion, he argued back. Maybe she’d even grant a dying man his last wish. Except he should save that for when he was actually dying. Not just feeling as if he was dying.
“Did that hurt?” Barty the torturer asked.
“Not really,” Devin lied through clenched teeth.
“I need another towel.” Barty glanced up to where Trip—looking a bit pale and tight-lipped himself—stood next to Makaiden.
His nephew nodded and loped quickly for the lav, then returned as quickly, towel in hand.
“Put pressure on his shoulder right here,” Barty instructed. “I have to dig those barbs out.”
Oh, yeah, the knife the bastard shoved into his shoulder was barbed. Lovely.
Trip paled even more.
Makaiden grabbed the towel. “I’ll do it.”
Then she was next to him on the bed, arms reaching across his bare chest, hands pushing on his shoulder, her hip against his side. He liked her close. He could see her face more clearly. Her eyes, her mouth, the column of her neck, and the swell of her breasts against the gray fabric of—
“Fuck!” Pain jolted him, blinding him momentarily, leaving him gasping for breath, his right hand fisting against his chest.
“That’s one,” his torturer said.
A small, warm hand slipped into his. “Hang on to me, Devin. Squeeze my hand tight.”
His panting slowed. He focused on the feel of her fingers wrapped around his and was ashamed by the way his arm trembled. Ashamed he couldn’t be stronger, braver. And she was leaning so close …
“Come here often?” His voice was a low rasp as his mind sought for a diversion from the pain. The pain in his shoulder. The pain in his heart.
She was married—
“Only by special request.” Her smile was soft but didn’t reach her eyes.
—to Kiler Griggs, who obviously had thrust them into a world of financial shit. The name Orvis meant nothing to Devin, but he knew what a lock lien was. The old whispers about Kiler Griggs surfaced again through the haze of brandy fogging his mind. Gambling? His mind couldn’t focus, but it had to be something like that. So Kiler Griggs had gambled away their money and their ship, and here was Makaiden, toughing it out. Because she loved her husband and stood by him.
He probably should suspect her of involvement in the plot to get Trip, but he couldn’t. Not only had she saved their asses twice over, but … she was Makaiden. All he wanted to do was take her shopping. Buy her the galaxy, wrap it in ribbons, just for her.
“Need new sweater,” he managed. His old one was in shreds on the floor.
“Yeah, you do.”
“Help me find—” He choked on the word, pain searing, flaring down his chest, his arm, exploding into his brain. He was sure he was crushing her hand, but the only groans he heard were his own.
“That’s two,” said a voice as Devin’s world dropped into darkening shadows.
The lights came on behind his eyelids. He slitted them open. “Makaiden?”
Pressure on his fingers. No more pressure on his shoulder. She was there, yes, still beside him, still holding his hand. Barty was …
… a blurry figure across the room, talking to another blurry figure he recognized as Trip.
Devin licked his lips. His mouth was dry. He had a blistering headache.
“Welcome back,” she said.
He must have passed out. Oh, real good, Dev. Big, strong, manly thing to do. Philip, he knew, would never pass out from pain. “How long … what time …”
“Not long. Fifteen minutes or so. Barty got the rest of the barbs out and sent a transmit to your father that Trip is safe.”
His ego gloated for a moment, visualizing his father’s, Jonathan’s, and Ethan’s surprise that, yes, Devin rescued Trip and they were all—somewhat—safe on Dock Five. Depending on how the transmit was sent, it could be anywhere from hours to days before they heard back from his family. His imaginings would have to do for now. He made a mental note to send an update himself and to request an update back on the Baris–Agri deal.
“You want something to drink?” Makaiden reached for a translucent white plastic cup on the nightstand.
Devin’s stomach rebelled, and all thoughts of his sweet victory fled from his mind. “Don’t ever want to see Lashto brandy again.”
She laughed and passed the empty cup to Barty. “I meant water.”
He heard Barthol snort. Then the thud of footsteps and Trip’s face came into view. His nephew looked as tired and pained as Devin felt.
“Uncle Devin? I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean … I didn’t think any of this would happen. I’m sorry.”
Barty appeared behind Trip and held out the cup of water. “I told him about Halsey.”
“Halsey was fine, alive when I left. I swear.” Trip’s w
ide eyes held confusion and pain.
Devin angled up to accept the water. It was cool, went down easily, and didn’t make noises about coming back up.
Barty was shaking his head slowly. “Trip last saw Halsey alone in the kitchen, slicing an apple for a late snack. Trip said he was going to study in his room, then go to sleep. Using a loud music vid for cover—Trip’s done this before, you know—he climbed out his window, then into a friend’s apartment. They’d swapped security codes.”
It sounded as if Trip had been taking lessons from his uncle Ethan. Except Ethan always got caught.
“I left a message on Halsey’s private comm before I boarded my flight,” Trip said, a defensive tone in his voice. “I didn’t tell him where I was, just said not to worry, that I’d contact him in a couple days.” He hesitated, the foolishness of his actions now very apparent to him. “I only wanted to reach Uncle Philip before they could stop me.”
Something surfaced through the fog that was Devin’s mind. “We checked Halsey’s comm messages. There was nothing.”
Barty was nodding. “Someone listened and erased it. And either got someone to the spaceport or had someone waiting here on Dock Five. We don’t know because Trip didn’t realize he’d been followed until Captain Griggs questioned him.”
“Kaidee,” she put in, correcting him.
“Kaidee and Trip,” Barty continued, taking the empty cup from Devin, “got a good look at the men—Fuzz-face is what she calls the ringleader. He tried to tag Trip with a Lockpoint. Trip ditched it, but they found him again anyway. So did Kaidee. She got him to Trouble’s Brewing, which is where we found them.”
It was a quick, concise recounting. And, Devin suspected, far from the full story. But his brain honestly couldn’t handle much more.
“We don’t think our striper friend and Norga are a related problem,” Barty said.
“That was my error,” Makaiden said softly. No, Kaidee. She always called herself Kaidee. Why? Makaiden was such a beautiful name. He had a hard time thinking of her otherwise. He decided not to try.
He squeezed her fingers, which made her look at him and made him realize how irrevocably lost he was. His head was spinning, and not just because of the brandy. He cleared his throat. “The lock lien. Have … tell Kiler I can—I need to talk to him about that.” He stumbled over the words, not sure where assistance became insult.
Rebels and Lovers Page 11
