“Problem?”
“I hate self-destruct filters. Especially when they’re sloppily set.” He sat back from the display, then ran one hand through his hair, making it stick up in short spikes on the right side. “Whoever did this has just enough training to be dangerous but not enough to know how stupidly he could fuck—” He shot her an embarrassed glance. “Sorry.”
“Fuck things up?” Kaidee snorted softly, amused by his discomfort. “I grew up on the docks, Devin. I’ve heard worse.”
A half smile played over his mouth. “So I guess we’re friends?”
It took her a moment to catch the line of his thought. Devin. She’d called him Devin. She damned her lapse and the heat she could feel creeping across her cheeks. It had always been so easy to be with him. And so easy to forget why she shouldn’t be.
“I respect all the Guthries. And that includes you.” But that sounded lame, even to her ears, and he was still smiling.
Then his smile turned wistful. “I hope that respect doesn’t fade when I ask you to be my partner in crime.”
For a moment alarm flared. But he was pointing to the Rada’s display, and she knew it had to do with Trip’s pocket comm and not her heritage.
“I need to do a little, um, creative coding here to disarm that self-destruct. But it will involve altering, temporarily, your ship’s comm link relay—”
“You want to create a Corrinian parabola.” She didn’t try to keep the slight but noticeable smug tone out of her voice. She might not have his talents, but she wasn’t ignorant. Especially of things less than legal and more than helpful, thanks to her uncle. Knowing those kinds of things improved your chance to survive, as long as you didn’t get caught. “I grew up on freighter docks,” she reiterated. “I’ve spent a lot of time on Dock Five.”
He arched one eyebrow. “Maybe GGS should have hired you as security, not a pilot.”
Except a security position would have required a deeper background clearance. Something she couldn’t afford. “Those were my uncle’s skills. Not mine.”
“Why do I think I’d like your family?” he drawled. Then, before Kaidee could voice her disbelief, he pointed to the suspended display. “In the meantime, we have work to do.”
That work—much of which would have drawn praise from her uncle and Kiler—took a little over an hour. Trip brought tea and bottles of cold water, but Devin wouldn’t let him help with the programming.
“He doesn’t need to know this at his age,” Devin said, after sending Trip down to sick bay to watch over Barty.
“How old were you when you learned to hack system codes?”
“That’s not the point.”
Younger than Trip, then. She wondered if Philip had taught him, but, no, she never remembered Philip Guthrie having much of an interest in that area. Laser pistols, yes. Computers and data pathways, no.
She returned to the bridge, the last bit of encryption on a datapad in her hand, and dutifully sat at the communications console, entering it on cue. As before, she knew enough to know that a professional had programmed this, bypassing security traps and hard walls that were supposedly impenetrable and wrapping it all around and into the smaller but equally complex systems of Trip’s pocket comm.
Or something like that. She knew it was used to extract security-locked information, but since it had little to do with piloting a ship, she’d never paid much interest to it or to other hacks her uncle had excelled at.
Now, in a way, she wished she had. It might have made her feel on a bit more of an equal footing with Devin.
Why? So you could be friends, like he said? Do you really think you could be friends with Devin Guthrie? His pilot, his bodyguard, sure. His mistress? Hell, what was it Kiler always said? If it pays well enough …
But anything more than that, you’re kidding yourself, Kaid. J.M. would find out about your family and have you fired and spaced. And not necessarily in that order.
A noise in the corridor by the lift made her turn from the console: Devin, alone, his fingers wrapped so tightly around Trip’s pocket comm that his knuckles were white. His mouth was a tight line.
Kaidee’s gut went cold.
He took the seat next to her at the comm, then tossed the pocket comm with a careless ferocity onto the console’s wide work area. The rectangular unit hit with a sharp clink, spun three quarters of the way around, then stopped, wedged against the edge of a keyboard.
“What?” she asked, meaning who, where, and why as well.
He seemed to understand. And the answer, she could tell, wasn’t easy for him.
“My father,” he said finally, putting a hard pause between the two words. “The indomitable Jonathan Macy Guthrie the First. The man who always has the right answer. The man who will not be disobeyed.” He dropped his gaze for a moment and clenched his hands together, elbows on his knees. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.”
“Your father wanted Trip kidnapped, Halsey killed?” It sounded bizarre as she said it, but she understood his grief. As a child, she loved her aunts and uncles. Then she found out what they did for a living.
He looked up, pain on his face. “I don’t know about Halsey. But the ransom message on Trip’s pocket comm was originally created on my father’s personal system. There are … hallmarks. Telltales. And they’re there.”
“Why would he do that?”
Devin barked out a harsh laugh. “Because he will not be disobeyed. And if he had to create a crisis to ensure that, he would. Except Trip’s leaving ahead of schedule completely skewed his plans. As for the purported kidnapping, I’m guessing it would have been something easily solved but it would have manipulated certain people into the positions he wanted. Instead, he had a real crisis. And no easy solution.”
“How would Trip being kidnapped make people do what he wanted?”
“Maybe he saw that as a way to force Philip to come home. Or maybe he thought that would encourage Tavia and—”
Kaidee waited for Devin to finish his sentence. He didn’t. “Tavia?” she prompted.
He shook his head. “Another minor family problem. Non-problem, actually.” He shoved himself to his feet.
Kaidee thought he was leaving the bridge, but he paced over to the empty pilot’s chair and stood there, hands loosely on the chair’s back, staring out the blanked viewport. There was nothing to see in jumpspace. It didn’t matter. She had a feeling Devin was seeing things he didn’t want to see.
His father setting up some childish game with Trip’s supposed kidnapping? All because he wanted Philip Guthrie to return home? Or was it over some other family problem Devin hinted at? It didn’t matter. It was a stupid and dangerous thing to do, and Devin knew that better than she did.
“There’s more.” He angled around and looked at her over his left shoulder.
Kaidee leaned forward in her chair, the grimness in his voice making her gut clench.
“There was a stealth pointer embedded in Trip’s pocket comm.”
A stealth pointer was an expensive and complex long-distance locator program. For the Guthries with a rambunctious teenager, it could make sense. “Trip’s parents probably thought it was necessary—”
“It doesn’t report back to Jonathan or Marguerite. It goes back to a location on Aldan Prime. Actually, an Imperial aide’s office. Does the name Pol Acora mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“He works for Tage. I didn’t recognize the comm address, only that it was a government one. But because we’ve handled supplies for various Imperial shipyards, GGS has a listing of key contacts. I ran it through my Rada to confirm it.”
“Why would Tage or this Pol Acora care where Trippy is?”
“You’d have to ask my father that.” He turned back to the blank viewport. “The stealth program was uploaded when the ransom note was.”
Kaidee sat for several moments in stunned silence, the implications of Devin’s information circling in her brain. “Your father’s sending the Pr
osperity to Port Chalo. Do you still think it’s wise to meet up with the ship?”
“Reading my thoughts again, Makaiden?” Devin answered without turning around. His shoulders were stiff, his posture radiating pain. “My gut instinct is to say no, we shouldn’t. But maybe this is what Ethan was hinting at. Maybe this is the real reason my mother’s in the hospital.” He shook his head slowly. “And for the next three days, all we can do is chase suppositions.”
Kaidee glanced at the time stamp on the comm console. It was late and, considering all that had happened today, felt even later. “No. For the next two and a half shipdays, we can go over what we know and make well-thought-out plans. Contingency plans.” She had one, but it was hugely risky. It could save them, if this was indeed a trap. But it would also damn her.
She shelved it for now. There had to be other, safer options. “We’ll need them if your father’s playing some kind of game.”
Devin twisted around to face her. “If my father’s playing some kind of game where he’s willing to risk his own grandson’s life, then any contingency plans we come up with won’t be good enough. Trust me on that.” He jammed his hands into his pants pockets and looked at her levelly. “Can you leave the bridge?”
“Why?”
“We need to go see if Barty can give us a crash course in ImpSec tactics. If my father and Tage are planning another crisis, Port Chalo would be an excellent place to stage it.”
The dim lighting in the Rider’s sick bay told Kaidee that there would be no strategy session with Barty for several hours yet. They found Trip half asleep as well in the armchair near Barty’s bed. A tray with an empty soup bowl was on a table behind him.
“His levels dropped,” Trip said quietly after Devin roused him. “The unit said he needed another regeneration sleep period, and it knocked him out”—he glanced at the wall console—“about forty-five minutes ago.”
“Looks like you need downtime too,” Kaidee told him. “We all do. There’s nothing that has to be solved in the next few hours, unless …” She glanced at Devin. He’d made no effort yet to tell Trip about his grandfather’s scheme.
Devin gave his head a small negative shake. “Things will seem clearer if we’re all rested.”
Trip must have heard the weariness and frustration in Devin’s voice. “What’s wrong?” he asked, rising.
“Makaiden and I have been playing with a bunch of scenarios, that’s all.” He cuffed his nephew lightly on the shoulder. “Tired minds doing too much thinking. Let’s get some sleep.”
Kaidee followed Trip and Devin into the corridor, stopping when Trip turned left into the small mess area that led to the crew bunks. Devin hit the palm pad for the larger passenger cabin on her right. The door slid open, but he stood there watching Trip, then turned his gaze to her when the door to the crew bunk area thumped closed.
“Are you going to tell Trip about the message source?” She kept her voice low, even though Trip couldn’t hear her.
Devin nodded grimly. “Eventually I have to. He needs to know that … things are not as they seem. That people he’s trusted all his life may no longer be trustworthy.” His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he shrugged one shoulder, as if pushing off the burden Kaidee very clearly felt he carried. “But not tonight. It’s been a very long day. For all of us.”
It had, but it wasn’t just fatigue she sensed from him. She tried to put a hopeful tone in her voice, because she knew Devin was worried. “Tomorrow Barty will be awake and able to help.”
Another slow nod. Then a sigh. “Makaiden …”
There was something about the way he said her name, something about the low rumble of his voice underscored by the quite thrumming of the ship’s drive. It caused a little flutter inside her, a flutter she couldn’t afford.
She took a step away from him. “It’s late. Everything you need should be in the cabin or here in the galley.” She made an aimless motion with her left hand.
The way he was looking at her was far more direct. “Thank you.”
She took two more steps toward the lift. “Good night,” she said, and turned quickly, before his smoky gaze and her growing flutters compelled her to stay.
Kaidee’s eyelids drifted open into darkness that shifted—as her muzzy mind looped in perplexing circles—to a not-quite-so-dark darkness. There was a faint glow coming from the lav across from her bed, as there always was when she had her quarters set to shipnight. The low-pitched humming of the jumpspace drive was an ever-present reminder of her ship’s location. No alarms wailed, chirped, or beeped.
So what was wrong?
The dream came back to her, a jumble of images and emotions. Fleeing down dimly lit tunnels. The narrow-eyed gazes of suspicious stripers. These were dreams she’d had before, but, this time, Devin was there. Devin of the quiet strength, the unshakable surety, the deep loyalty …
Devin who owned her ship.
She rolled over with a groan. She’d slept only two and a half hours. Her mouth felt like tacky sandpaper and she craved a cold bottle of water or, perversely, a mug of hot tea. There was an ache growing between her eyes, and her mind would not stop. Devin. Trip. Barty. Orvis. Dock Five. Frinks. Stripers. Devin. Sleep was not going to return at this rate.
The hell with water or tea. She needed a beer.
She slept in an old long-sleeved gray thermal shirt that was several sizes too large. Normally she’d head down to the galley just like that, barefoot as well. But she had guests. The ship’s owner was on board. She rummaged through a drawer, found a pair of dark-blue sweatpants, then pulled them on. She should check on Barty while she was down there.
She doubted he’d care that she was barefoot.
After a perfunctory perusal of ship’s status from the console in her quarters, she stepped out into the corridor, then padded down the stairs. She didn’t want the rumble of the lift to wake Trip or Devin and, besides, the stairs led directly to the small mess hall. No need to pass Devin’s door. But halfway down the stairs she hesitated. There was a noise that didn’t belong. She frowned, listening more closely. A click or a snick; a small sharp sound. Another. Then a quick series of three.
Then silence.
She moved softly, damning the fact that she wasn’t armed, but, hell, this was her ship. In spite of the spike in her heart rate, she knew an intruder or stowaway wasn’t a possibility. But something leaking, a loose piece of power conduit tapping against the wall—that was always a possibility and could be equally dangerous.
Another series of soft snicks. Then a ruffling sound, as if someone shuffled a deck of playing cards.
Shit. She peeked around the corner of the bulkhead wall adjoining the mess hall and stared straight into smoky-blue eyes framed by silver-rimmed glasses. Devin, alone at the table next to the galley entrance, shirtsleeves rolled up haphazardly. Playing cards were fanned between his fingers. A bottle of beer was on his right.
The only consolation was that he seemed as startled as she was. A few of the cards fluttered away from him, falling to the tabletop. Then the stiffness of his shoulders relaxed. He scooped up the wayward cards. “Trip’s had a hard enough day. Barty’s sleeping peacefully,” he said, his voice low. “His stats all look fine.”
That would explain why he was awake; it didn’t explain the cards or the beer. Then she realized he was giving her an excuse. Not I’m worried, I can’t sleep, I’m upset. All of which were arguably true for herself as well, but not something she was comfortable admitting—and he seemed to know that, damn him.
At least he didn’t know that his appearance in her dreams was also a cause of her restlessness.
“Thanks for checking in on him.” She matched his tone so her voice wouldn’t carry beyond the mess area and stepped toward him, the layout of the cards catching her eye. Zentauri. But Zentauri-Jir, the solo game, set up in casinos as player versus banker. Not the multiple-player version she’d shared with him so many times in transit.
Devin had been blind-dealing
, acting as both player and banker. She eyed the positions of the cards, doing a quick tally. Something told her that was better than discussing why else they were both awake and in the mess hall with very little sleep. “You should have held back the two and put the six here instead.” She pointed to the shorter line of cards on his right, just under the half-empty bottle of beer. He’d been here for a bit. Long enough to roll up his sleeves and unbutton his shirt halfway. Or else, like her, he’d failed at sleep and tossed on some clothes before heading for the galley.
“The gate shows a three low,” he said, using one finger to tap the middle stack of cards, in between the stack called the orbit and the one called the dock.
“Right, but you can double on a low gate in Jir.” She slanted him a glance, not missing the fact that Devin actually did disheveled well. “So much for all my lessons.”
He peered up at her over the rim of his glasses. “It’s been a while. Refresh my memory.”
Her mind screamed no. Her body and heart considered what was right and rational and pushed those all away. She held his gaze for a moment longer than was prudent. “Let me get a beer.”
——————
“The whole concept of Zentauri-Jir is control, not competition like regular Zentauri. The banker is a position, not your adversary.” She dealt the newly shuffled deck as she sat across from him, watching the cards and not his face. Two, three hands, she made herself promise. Enough to be social, yet not enough time to get talking about anything other than the game. But three hands went quickly and he was asking questions—good ones.
She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed playing cards with Devin Guthrie.
One more hand. But one more meant one more cold beer.
When she returned from the galley, grasping two chilled bottles, Devin was standing. “Let’s move to my cabin. I don’t want our chatter to wake Trip.”
Her steps slowed.
Devin spread his hands in an innocent gesture. “Or not. Sorry. If you feel threatened—”
“Threatened?” She didn’t hide the derision in her voice, because she knew it was expected. It wasn’t that she felt threatened exactly, but—
Rebels and Lovers Page 20
