Mila's Shift

by Danielle Forrest

  “Didn’t you say he was found in his bunk?”

  “Yes, sir. But the body was guaranteed to be found post haste. After all, his roommate only had to return to find it. If he was taking on a new identity, he wouldn’t leave it there. Also, the kill is too clean.”

  “Too clean?”

  “Yes, sir. Military precision. The medical officer says it’s classic special forces.”

  “You think it was someone on this ship? Someone who’s supposed to be here?”

  “Yes, sir. Perhaps one of the conspirators? Someone trying to cover the trail to himself?”

  Tristan shrugged. “It’s as good a guess as any, at the moment.”

  Hours later, Tristan finally made it back to his quarters. He sighed, closing the doors behind him. The long day had drained him both physically and emotionally. He thought of Mila sleeping in his bed and a smile crept onto his face. He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “You are a damned fool, Tristan Faulk.”

  Tristan walked across the room to his bedroom door, his steps lighter the closer he got to her. Darkness greeted him as he crossed the space and sat on the bed. But his heart sank as he ghosted his hand over the rumpled bedding, massaging the unoccupied space. She’d left. He shivered, the ship’s pervasive chill affecting him for the first time since he found out the truth about her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Tristan arrived at Mila’s bunk bearing gifts. He knocked and the door opened, exposing a woman he vaguely recognized.

  Her face wrinkled into a frown. “Ugh, so not the person I wanted to see first thing in the morning.” She opened the door further and pushed him out of her way, heading down the hall without a backward glance.

  He stood shocked, floored by the utter lack of respect for a senior officer. “Huh.” She disappeared with the slamming of a door and he turned back, knocking once more.

  After some shuffling and a crash that caused his heart to jump into his throat and his fist to crush their breakfast, he heard someone stumbling on the other side. The door opened to Mila leaning half-asleep on the doorjamb. “Tristan.” A small smile crossed her face and he couldn’t help thinking how cute she looked mussed from sleep.

  “I brought breakfast,” he said, lifting the half-crushed contents to eye level.

  “Oh, thank God!” she said, snatching everything before he could blink. She disappeared into the room, but left the door open.

  He took that as an invitation.

  The inside mirrored any other bunk on board. Utilitarian, metallic, tiny. She sat on the lower bunk, digging into a beignet. “I still can’t believe they have beignets,” she said around a wad of dough.

  He smirked and tried not to laugh as bits of powdered sugar floated in the air. He wiped a little powder off the corner of her mouth and sat next to her. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Like it?” She swallowed and uttered the first clear words this morning. “I love it. God, beignets are amazing. And totally fattening, which is exactly what I need right about now.”

  “You need fattening foods?” He furrowed his brows.

  “No, silly. Calories. I need calories. Fat has over two times as many calories per ounce. After having to heal myself twice yesterday, I need the calories. I feel like my stomach’s gonna lead a revolt I’m so hungry.”

  He did laugh that time. “Well, dig in.”

  She shoved another beignet in her mouth, again talking around it. “So what happened?” Concern, anxiety, and fear colored her face.

  “A body was found in one of the bunks.”

  “So, not the assassin?”

  “No, not the assassin. They think someone else did it.”

  With a resigned expression, she put her food down. “I should tell you something. I meant to tell you last night, but that guy barged in and I was pretty freaked myself.”

  The more she talked, the more he realized she was still unnerved by what happened. He rubbed her arm, trying to soothe her. “You can tell me anything.”

  She tried to smile, but it looked forced, the only redeeming factor being the dusting of sugar on her face. She looked away and focused on her hands in her lap. “The assassin’s dead.”

  “What?!”

  “Last night I ran off, looking for somewhere to hide, somewhere to be alone. I found a corner of the engine room where no one was working and started crying my eyes out.” She snuck a peek at him, a self-deprecating look on her face. “He attacked me. I tried to fight, then to hide, run, but I was weak from healing myself. I was tired. He pinned me, but I grabbed hold of a chunk of scrap metal.” She gazed down at her hand, tracing with her finger the lines where the metal had sliced deep.

  Tristan became more alarmed the longer she spoke. When she said the assassin had her pinned, he nearly came out of his seat. Good God, he’d let that happen. He should have been there. He should have protected her. Instead, he’d sat in his quarters, feeling sorry for himself because she wasn’t who he’d thought she’d been.

  “I jammed it into his chest.” Her words came harder, her voice thicker, like she was holding back a tsunami of emotion. “I killed him.” She wouldn’t stop looking at her left hand. “I killed him.”

  Tristan reached for her hand, but she wouldn’t budge and he wasn’t willing to force her. Instead, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight to his side. “Shh. No, Mila. You did what you had to. Nothing more. Shh.” He rocked her in place.

  She started to cry, and a moment’s panic flooded him. He froze. What do I do? He pulled her into his arms, rocking her again, whispering meaningless platitudes in her ear, hoping some of it, any of it, helped.

  After a spell, he tucked her into the bottom bed. Kissing her forehead, he watched her fall asleep as he smoothed her hair, wishing they weren’t in zero gravity so he could run his fingers through the soft tresses. Mila had long hair, and kept it in tight styles to keep it from floating in all directions, even in sleep.

  When his duty finally nagged him into action, he left to deal with the body in the engine room. He stopped to collect Avery and a few of his men, then a medical officer, not that it was needed. They knew what happened and didn’t need to investigate.

  “What’s going on, captain?” Avery asked.

  “The assassin is dead.”

  “Really? You’re shitting me!”

  Tristan looked at Avery, amused by the man’s wording. “Yes, he’s really dead, or at least he’s been reported dead.”

  “Who reported it?”

  “The one who did the deed.” He resisted saying Mila, make that May, had done it. He didn’t want to drag her into this mess. She could use a break.

  “Look who’s being coy!” He slapped Tristan on the back. “Come on! Out with it.”

  He looked over and shook his head. “Trace. The assassin attacked her again, last night. She almost died.”

  “Shit, man. Is she okay? I didn’t hear about her going to the med bay.”

  “She didn’t. She has a few cuts and I’m thinking the ones on her hand might need stitches, but she’s okay.”

  Avery nodded. “Good. I’m glad. On both accounts.”

  “Both?”

  “Yeah, that the assassin’s dead and that Trace is okay.”

  “Right.”

  “Do you know how it went down?”

  They arrived at the engine room, which was massive and they had no idea where the body lay. Mila hadn’t been specific. “Fan out, everybody. It’s probably not anywhere that’s been actively worked in the last twelve hours or so.”

  Everyone disbanded, and Avery let Tristan’s non-answer slide for the time being. But knowing Avery, that was only a temporary reprieve. Tristan didn’t want to relive what Mila had been through any more than she did. He couldn’t bear hurting her.

  After a few minutes of search, someone called out from one of the deepest sections of the engine room. Everyone made their way there. As Tristan got closer to the scene, he started noticing blood, on the flo
or, on debris. Dark red from drying for hours, the stains made him relive her stumbling into his office covered in blood. His stomach sank, but he pressed on.

  He weaved around pipes and more debris and finally reached where everyone had congregated. The man lay on his back, still carrying the face and uniform of a security officer. A large chunk of black metal in the shape of a narrow pyramid jutted out of his chest.

  “Good riddance,” someone said.

  The medical officer kneeled down and checked for a pulse, not that anyone doubted the man’s fate.

  Avery spoke. “So what happened and where’s our hero? Or should I say heroine?”

  Tristan swallowed hard. “Trace is sleeping in her bunk. She had a hard day yesterday and I think she deserves the rest.”

  “Okay,” Avery hedged, “so how much do we know about what happened?”

  “She came to the engine room to be alone. Since one of her detail turned out to be the assassin and the other was dead, no one remained to watch her. I didn’t expect her to just take off like that. Trace told me the assassin attacked her. She tried to fight him off, but was too weak, too tired. She ran, hid, but he found her. He pinned her to the ground. She grasped the weapon which I assume to be a weapon of convenience…”

  “Clearly,” Avery said, smirking.

  “And stabbed him with it.”

  “Then how’d he end up on his back?” someone asked.

  He resisted the urge to snarl at the man… barely. “I don’t know. I didn’t interrogate the poor woman. She’s been through enough.”

  Before more questions could be asked, Avery came to the rescue. “Once she’s fully rested, I’ll ask her some informal questions, make sure her statements match the evidence, but that should be the end of that.”

  Tristan mouthed, “Thank you.”

  Avery winked and got back to business.

  Tristan returned to Mila’s door and wondered if he should knock. She might still be asleep. He rose his fist, hesitating inches away as he bit his bottom lip. Should I?

  Yearning won out over good sense and his knuckles rapped the door. He waited, but didn’t have to wait long. Mila opened the door, a smile gracing her face as soon as she saw him.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hiya back.”

  “Come on in.” She threw the door wide and did her best to let him pass in the crowded space. “Where’d ya’ go?” She turned her back to him, smoothing the lower bed’s sheets.

  “Taking care of the body.”

  She spun, alarm on her face when she looked up at his.

  He smiled, hoping to reassure her. “Relax. I told them everything you told me. Avery will come by later to collect a more thorough statement, but the case is all but closed.”

  “Right. Okay.” She sat on the smoothed bed, causing the bedding to contour around her, ruining her previous work. She looked up again. “Thanks.”

  “There’s nothing to thank me for, Mila. I was just doing my job.”

  “Yeah, but your job could have just as easily thrown me under the bus.”

  He leaned forward, taking her hands. “I would never do that to you. You have my word.” My heart.

  She nodded and he knew she didn’t fully believe him, didn’t fully trust him. With a life like hers, he imagined trust had to be earned.

  He looked over his shoulder, bit his lip, and prayed to be just as invisible as he always felt. He walked over to the console on the bridge. It wasn’t his, but with so many people brought in on suspicions of sabotage, hardly anyone remained to man the thing.

  He sat and waggled his fingers in the air, feeling at home, more relaxed, with a computer console in front of him. He went through the motions, going through screen displays, selecting the right options, then started typing.

  It didn’t take him long to finish his message. Looking over his shoulder again, he checked the other consoles. Most were vacant. The engines were dead, so the pilot and navigation officer were utterly useless. Standard communications were down as well so that chair also sat empty. He moved over to the navigation system, pulling up their current coordinates. Then he used it to calculate directions, distance, and time course for the destination he entered.

  He returned to his previous seat, information at hand. He rubbed his hands together, praying he did this right. It wasn’t his specialty. He selected coordinates, distance, speed, trajectory, and selected a setting that would have the computer err on the side of caution.

  He pressed send and smiled, doing a happy dance in his seat.

  Soon, it would be time for Take Two.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mila was making her way to the mess hall, a little dejected that Tristan took off to oversee repairs, when Avery stepped into her path.

  “Trace,” he nodded at her in greeting. “Follow me.”

  Her gut sank and she had that going-to-the-principal’s-office dread as she slinked behind him.

  Oh, shit, now what?

  Avery ignored her as he walked off, taking a clear route to the security offices.

  He won’t put me in one of those interrogation rooms, will he?

  She lifted her arm, discretely yanking on her braided ponytail, which tended to float out of reach.

  He walked in and ushered her into a smaller office before taking a seat behind a desk.

  “This is your office?”

  “Yes, have a seat.”

  She sat, nervous energy revving up her fight-or-flight instinct, but at least she didn’t think she would throw up if he asked the wrong questions.

  He tapped the computer display on his desk. Probably just turned on a voice recorder.

  “I have a few questions about the events surrounding the death of the man we’ve titled ‘the assassin.’ Just formalities to close the case. You understand?”

  “Okay.”

  “First, according to the account given by you to Captain Tristan Faulk, ‘the assassin’ was on top of you when you stabbed him. How did he wind up on his back?”

  “I pushed him off me.”

  He nodded. “Can you go over the events that transpired from beginning to end? I’d like to have it, for the record.”

  “Of course.”

  Trace left after her statement, leaving a bad taste in Avery’s mouth. He saw the marks. The thin red line on her neck, the deep cuts on her palm. But his gut told him she was hiding something, holding something back. He didn’t like it. He’d spent too many years eking out a living pulling truth from people to not spot when someone was keeping secrets.

  What was she hiding? Did events not transpire the way she’d claimed? Did she seek out “the assassin” rather than the other way around? Was the dead man even “the assassin”? He didn’t know and it pissed him off.

  He contemplated investigating her further, but saw a universe of hurt in store for him if he did. The captain fancied the girl and being one of the few people here who outranked him, he could cause him a lot of problems. If pushed to it, the captain could easily ruin his career.

  He didn’t know if the captain fancied her that much, but he sure as hell had no desire to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Mila had hardly seen Tristan the last few days. He’d spent more and more time overseeing repairs he’d already assigned people to oversee, but she could see how being idle didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t like being able to do little or nothing and he definitely didn’t like his ship sitting in open space collecting dust.

  Mila imagined him standing in the engine room, pacing like a mother waiting for a child to get out of surgery. She could empathize. She was going stir crazy herself. Flying calmed her, but she couldn’t fly. The engines didn’t work.

  She stood, needing to move, but her room was too small, the walls closing in on her.

  Mila dashed for the door, opening it to Luke with his hand raised, ready to knock.

  “May!” He pulled her into a massive hug that squeezed the breath from her lungs.

&nb
sp; She patted his back, desperate for relief. Suffocating moments passed before he let go, standing back, and without realizing it, allowing her to suck in a deep breath.

  “God, May. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been so worried about you!”

  “Around. I’ve been busy.”

  He angled an incredulous look her way. “May, you’re a pilot. The engines are down. What the fuck can you do?”

  “Been helping with the investigations. Maybe I can’t fly right now and I have zero knowledge of the engines, but I can certainly wade through endless documents.”

  “Sounds terrible,” he drawled. “Come on.”

  He grabbed her arm and yanked her through the door, her hold on it slamming the door closed behind her.

  “Luke!”

  But he didn’t listen as he forged his way through the foot traffic of people milling around rubbing their arms or racing from place to place.

  After a few minutes, he let go, dumping her in the mostly deserted mess hall. He led her to the food, collecting his favorites before falling onto a bench and slapping the table, encouraging her to do the same. She sat across from him.

  At least I’m not cooped up anymore…

  He leaned over the table, instantly oblivious of the food he’d collected. “So, tell me everything.”

  She rolled her eyes. Of course, he wanted gossip.

  Mila didn’t eat anything with Luke. She was too busy filling him in on all the juicy details. So she grabbed a couple lunches and headed to the engine room. She would lay money on finding Tristan there.

  When she entered the room, her gaze zeroed in on him. He stood tall, hands on his hips, watching over the repairs. She walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. Turning, he smiled at her surprise appearance.

  “Working hard or hardly working?”

  “Feels like both.”

  “I brought lunch.” She lifted her selection for him to see.