* * * *
"Wait! You don't understand, Commander. We have a problem. Captain Scott was a maternity client."
"A what?" Gabriel Merriweather, Commander of the Guild Diplomatic Corps, skidded to a sudden halt. If he had the power, he would have fried the doorman with his gaze. His glare must have been sufficient because the Dome's employee hurriedly whined, his thin voice ringing high and loud in the corridor.
"She—the captain—Captain Scott paid for a—a sperm donor.” The last word squeaked past the man's throat that Gabe now held tightly in his fist. Thoughts whirled in his head and all the events of the past night played forward. Damn it, he should have known. Oh gods, he had known something was amiss from the start, but he hadn't wanted the night to end. Now he had to face the truth. Words barely got past the obstruction in his throat.
"And I paid for a sterile playmate, so what you're telling me is basically that she—Captain Scott—stole my sperm for procreation.” He shook the Dome's employee like a rag doll. “That about right?"
The man nodded, and Gabe dropped him back to his knees.
"Well, she can't have it.” He jabbed a finger in the doorman's face and roared, “Get her back here, and tell her she can't have it.” Bands of warrior red anger flashed behind his eyes. He felt his nostrils flare under the deep breaths that he drew. He calmed his breathing, fighting to reach his center. He hadn't been this upset in a decade. His Chakkra bloodlines demanded that his anger be freed, but within moments, he had snuffed out his rage. The doorman, oblivious to how close to death he had come, puffed out his chest at Gabe and shook his head.
"I'm afraid we can't do that, Commander. The sperm—you gave it to her willingly. We—” The Dome's employee pointed to the blonde then back to his chest. “—we both heard you say you were more than satisfied with ... well, the service you received, so our contract was fulfilled. Our hands are tied.” For further emphasis, he turned his empty palms up then prudently hobbled on his knees out of range. Gabe thought that particularly wise of him. At the moment, Gabe's temper teetered on the edge of violence. He only managed to control his half-breed Chakkra warrior side by using his empathic ability. The doorman was clearly terrified. Fear came off him in waves. The idea that he had caused such fear made Gabe feel sick. He felt the man cringe at his words.
"You will have the captain's address ready for me by the time I get dressed. Is that clear?” Gabe didn't shout, he didn't rave, all he did was glare at the Dome's employee who backed farther down the hall with the blonde tugging on his arm, trying to keep up. Both looked wide-eyed and nodded silently before turning and running to the end of the corridor. They obviously knew that he wasn't a man to be trifled with. How wrong he was.
Gabe later learned that Elise, the Pleasure Dome's best playmate, put in for a transfer to Faro's Hump and caught the first ship out. And, for some unknown reason, the manager of the Pleasure Dome also felt compelled to take an indefinite vacation. But Gabe would make someone pay for this mistake. No matter how long it took he would find Captain Soledad Scott and correct the problem.
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Chapter Four
"What do you mean, you can't find her? How hard can it possibly be to find one retired captain of the Spacing Guild?” Gabriel, who never yelled, yelled at his assistant's reflection on his wrist com link. “I want the address of her next of kin,” he growled from between clenched teeth then added in a much lower and better controlled tone. “And, Tetra ... I want it yesterday."
"Yes, Boss,” the wrinkled green face on his link managed to squeak before Gabe disconnected. How could Captain Soledad Scott have just disappeared? Gabriel knew he should have stopped the sexual charade when he had discovered his playmate was a Guild retired captain, but by then, he was in too deep—so to speak. He hadn't wanted to stop, would never have stopped, even if the Dome's protection had shattered over his head. It was as if his tainted blood had found an answering kinship with her. Never had his empathy talents been so totally blanketed and in such sexual heat. More than that, Captain Scott had rendered complete warmth and comfort from the outside battery of emotions that normally bombarded him in a place like the Pleasure Dome. No one had ever granted him such peace—and responded with such sexual enjoyment. Soledad Scott was unique.
In the beginning, all Gabe could do was wallow in the silence and the serenity Captain Scott had offered. He knew he should have identified himself. Law dictated that he had to state that he was a registered empath, a half-breed Chakkra, but surely she knew. Didn't she? She had stared long enough at the registration tattoos on his chest and arm. And the captain was old enough and militarily experienced enough to know she was a tranq, a person who neutralized an empath's ability to read all emotions except those of deepest nature. In return for the comfort the captain offered, all Gabe had wanted was to bring a little happiness into her sad eyes—and maybe get off on doing it. But her projected suffering had eaten through her tranquility, eaten away his problems, until all Gabe felt was the captain's great need, her raging desire, the sucking pull of her heated satin walls. Those emotions had only heightened his own.
But the connection was more than physical. Even now he couldn't get her out of his mind. For weeks he had searched the Straits for the retired Captain Soledad Scott only to find nothing. The damned manager of the Pleasure Dome had also disappeared, and the robotic staff left in his place gave no information except to eagerly press more colorful brochures of their special “extra” services that were available for the right price. And for some reason, they were eager to give him a discount.
Good gods almighty, Gabriel couldn't believe he had ever gone to the Dome in the first place. Due to his empathic abilities and the swamp of sexual influences that swept over him in the confines of such an emotion-racked place, he had never before frequented the brothels of the Straits. The roaring savage of his Chakkra blood held too much influence over his sex drive. Most of the time, Gabriel held control over it. But the pleasure he had received with Captain Scott nearly undid him. She somehow possessed the ability to draw his empathy and swallow his pain, and she had certainly relieved the awful numbness of his last failed mission. In her company, the icy cold isolation was gone. Even back in the midst of conflicting outside emotions, Gabriel still felt alive again, definitely alive. For one night, the captain had muted the external fields and raised him to such sexual heights with her demanding spirit that he forgot his own regrets and recriminations. And Gabe's spirits, along with his sex drive, had definitely needed lifting. He had been too attuned with failure.
The treaty he had negotiated between the Illrullians and the Narhanyahs had collapsed almost before the first month ended, resulting in the Illrullians being nearly wiped out. And Gabriel felt responsible for every death—had heard and felt each and every scream in his head. At the peace conference table before the massacre, he'd known that the agreement between the two worlds was too shaky. He couldn't exactly read their thoughts, but his empathy senses never lied about the emotions being projected. Deceit reigned rampant in the room, with a hollow, sour smell. The Narhanyahs had concealed something behind their smooth, bland expressions. Gabe should have insisted on more time with the leaders, but the Guild refused to allow for anymore delays. He had done as the Guild governor ordered; coerced them into a treaty that was worthless.
As a result, the Illrullians were dead or, at least, dead for another twenty years until their surviving young could rebel against the Narhanyahs who had enslaved them. And rebel they would. The grim little fighters would claw their way out of the ashes of their defeat like the proverbial phoenix. Another war was inevitable, and this time, they would blame the Diplomatic Corps instead of the Spacing Guild for their lying interference. Again, Gabe had failed to bring a lasting peace. The taste of that defeat had rested like cold ashes in his mouth.
Damn the Guild and their meddling ways. He should have fought the governor harder for the right to negotiate a lasting settlement. Well, he hope
d the governor was suffering guilt as badly as he. He had told her that the failure rested with her.
Gabe kicked an offending desk chair that interrupted his long strides out of his way. The chair's adaptable mold fitted itself into a “U” from his boot print. It would stay that way until he sat again. He glared at its offensive sight and continued his pacing, at least as much as he could in the cramped confines of his miserly office. With all its expensive shielding, he could afford nothing bigger—not that he wanted larger quarters. He rarely stayed here. His savage nature longed for open vistas where he could roar at the skies in private. He knew better than to keep his beast confined for too long.
Where was Captain Scott? Gabe knew he should be working, but thoughts of the captain kept him from thinking straight. Her vision in his head haunted his days at work as well as his nights. Never had he met anyone who had such a soothing effect on him and was such an itching irritant at the same time. It was as if the captain was a part of him, attuned to his thoughts as well as his body. Without her, he felt as if he was missing a limb. He obsessed over her smell on his skin, refusing to bathe for days. When he had brought the captain pleasure that night, he'd only heightened his own. Never had he felt such release, as if all his self doubts and recriminations fled at her touch. She shouldn't have that power over him, no one he knew did. And the captain wasn't in the Guild's Registry as a tranq or a person with Chakkra blood. He had checked that the first thing upon reaching his office. Then why did she affect him so? Damn it. Soledad Scott was soothing and, conversely, upsetting at the same time.
And she had tasted so sweet. Gabriel thought he could still taste her on his tongue. Ahhh, gods. He flushed hotly at the thoughts of the things they had done together in the night. He wasn't a notable lover. The few females he had taken in the past were quick to tell him so. But the captain had brought out the best—or possibly the worst—in him. His Chakkra blood sang under her touch. Her need had urged Gabriel to perform inventive sexual acts he'd only fantasized of doing and had never been brave enough to try. She had responded to every one of them. And just the thought of those acts—of remembering her response—made him hard again. Gabe cursed, adjusted the bite of his pants and walked off his stiffened cock in jerking paces—back and forth. He tried to focus on his next assignment. Hell, there was always work to be done in the Corps, diplomatically trying to keep the Universe's varied species from killing each other or from blowing up the entire surrounding area. Surely he had plenty to focus on.
But despite all that turmoil, all Gabriel could think about was Captain Soledad Scott. All he saw in his mind was her strong, sensitive face, with those dark, troubled eyes that flashed a golden hue not unlike that of the aged whiskey he loved. All he saw was her toned and muscled body and those long, long legs that went up nearly to her neck. And that bare mound of hers. Jesu! Gabe swallowed his next curse. He would never forget the feel of her, the smell and the sweet taste. She had been like a ripe, sweet fruit in his mouth. And he had loved soothing her with his tongue, with his hands, with his cock. In some places on her long body, her skin had felt so perfectly smooth, but beneath, in the deeper tissues, Gabe had sensed the scar tissue ridge line of healed battle wounds. That thought sickened him, that she had been hurt. The captain welded such strength, but inside, she oozed such hot passion and tenderness. Gabe broke out in a sweat just thinking about her. And just that one thought was enough to make him rock hard again. The rise of his pants cut into his groin.
Good gods, he hadn't been this randy since his early Academy days. Being able to read women, at least most women, was both an asset and a curse. With Captain Scott, Gabe got just enough reading to tantalize and still have her remain a mystery. A mystery he longed to solve.
The feeling had to be lust. Empty Chakkra lust. It couldn't be anything permanent. Gabe didn't have the time or the inclination for anything permanent. But if it was just lust that kept her image alive, why did he still see the shadows in her eyes? Why did he long to make them disappear? He knew he had pleasured her. He had seen it, and by the good gods, he had felt it—more than once. Just where the hell was she?
Thanks to his Mulanian aide, Tetra, Gabe had spent the entire morning after going over the captain's thick military records. He was surprised by her brilliant war tactics for one so young. She had won her captain bars at the age of eighteen, the youngest officer of that rank in the Guild's history. And throughout her twenty-year career, she had never failed to use the best strategy to avoid excessive loss of life, almost as if she knew that the Diplomatic Corps would be doing their damnedest to create a peaceful settlement.
And the medals she had earned were astounding. Soledad Scott became the most decorated captain in the fleet's history, but never once did she use her record for advancement. The reason why she was retired at a captain's rank instead of being promoted and moved up in associated services was not stated in her records. Someone or something had kept her from advancement. But he, Gabriel Merriweather, was indirectly responsible for the captain's retirement at the age of thirty-eight.
Years ago, as a new ambassador anxious for recognition, Gabe had recommended his captain-replacement idea to Dushaw, the assistant director who had the governor's ear. The governor liked Gabe's recommendations that due to slower synaptic responses in humans over thirty-five years of age, they should be replaced with younger officers. A Guild captain must make snap decisions based on conditions at hand—those in the Guild's best interests. But the real reason for their displacement was that if the captains remained too long in service, the mature officers began to think too much on their own. Independent thinking was dangerous, forbidden. The Guild wanted unquestionable, blind obedience to their orders, but most of the early retired officers were given a chance to move up in the ranks in other branches. Captain Scott must have done something rebellious for her not to have been transferred and advanced further in associated services. Hmmm.
Gabe tapped the screen again, just to make sure, but no further documentation was forthcoming. Having spent the night with the captain and getting sketchy memory impressions from her deepest emotions, he knew she didn't want a life without the stars. He had felt the brunt of her simmering rage, her grief at the loss of command. If she had stayed with him, Gabe would have helped her somehow, despite her age. Hell, he was Commander of the Diplomatic Corp. He could have used her as his captain.
Gabe grinned at the thought. Come to think of it, he had used her as his captain. Heat bloomed on his neck and across his shoulders, but he ignored the returned hardening of his body. He was getting used to being in a constant state of full arousal. He frowned as a firm fact taunted him. Soledad Scott had been at the Dome for procreation purposes. She had gotten what she'd contracted for at the Pleasure Dome. Gabe's sperm count was potent. That's why he was always careful to request sterile partners, especially human females, but Scott shouldn't have gotten his tainted genes. Well, Gabe consoled himself. The captain would probably abort once she knew he was a half-breed Chakkra. No one wanted that connection to those savage warriors who were elusive mercenaries isolated from all but their home world.
But out of curiosity, Gabe circumvented protocol and searched the Pleasure Dome's fertility bank files. He found that he did meet many of the other requirements that Sol had listed. Certainly not his Chakkra blood, nor his independent nature—he'd much rather say independent than jack-assed stubbornness—weren't on the list. But he was very, very close to the captain's specifications. He didn't know why that thought pleased him. He didn't want children when he couldn't even bring lasting peace to two ignorant species that had fought for centuries. Not when his Chakkra nightmares haunted him with visions of his mother and father and their violent deaths.
Children, anyone's children, should be born to a better life, one without all the strife of war. Yes, to a much better life. So why was he still trying to find out all he could about Captain Soledad Scott?
Strangely, even in his official capacity, he wasn't able
to access the captain's genetics, although he tried several different queries. Master blocks encrypted her files. Why?
"Boss?” Gabe's com whistled again in Tetra's high Mulanian lyrical tones.
"Tell me good news, Tetra. Please.” He ran a hand over his head.
"Captain Scott has a sister. A registered Academy breeder.” Tetra's words lisped from her multiple mouths, and Gabe wanted to kiss all three stuttering lips in gratitude. A Space Academy breeder bred with highly ranked officers, mixing the best genes for the best of the best in offspring. Surely Scott's sister would know where she was. And if she didn't fork over what she knew, pressure could be brought to bear for the information, even on one of the protected breeders. In this instance, Gabriel would use his rank to get whatever he wanted. Blood pounded through his pulse, thundering in his ears.
"What's her name and address?"
Tetra's deep face creases deepened further into a darker green. Her multiple wide, frog-like lips pouted. “That information is restricted—Military and Academy protected. The captain's sibling only uses sperm donors; all rights, all genetics, confidential. It is noted that she has produced several highly decorated cadets and has friends in high places. The file is encrypted, sentry posted.” The Mulanian hesitated then hastened to add. “But I am still working on it, sir."
Gabe's heavy hand disrupted the slick order of his hair. One loosened section fell over his face, and he longed to rip at it in frustration, but one didn't hurry a Mulanian. If he pushed Tetra any harder, he'd have to listen to an hour long lesson on proper patience etiquette. He didn't have the time for a lecture.
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