Voices hushed on the bridge.
“Dillon has a Taison loop running,” Philip said. “But that’s no guarantee.”
“Drey’s powering her ion cannons.” Martoni at weapons. Rya recognized his voice.
“It’s us or them,” Philip said quietly. He held his arm out toward her. She lunged into his embrace, bundling the cat between them. He brushed her forehead with a kiss. “I love you, Rya.”
“And I love you, Philip,” she whispered against his neck. Then she raised her face and stared at the hulking Imperial destroyer on the forward screen.
“Admiral?” Con’s face clearly held the desperation they all felt.
Philip nodded. “Fire.”
The ship shuddered, bucking. Philip’s grip on Rya tightened. For three, four heartbeats there wasn’t a sound on the bridge. Then a flash of light on the screen and a million jagged bolts of lightning seemed to race across the Drey’s hull.
“Direct hit,” Martoni called out, voice shaking. “She’s—”
The destroyer fractured, her bridge shearing off, sections of bulkhead wheeling away into the darkness.
“Gone,” Con said.
The Padrin Drey was gone.
“Sparks, disarm the Gritter!” Philip bellowed, turning away from Rya but not letting her go.
She realized she was shaking, adrenaline coursing through her body.
“Disarming,” Sparks called back. “Dillon’s mirroring the program up here to my screens. He’s on it, Skipper. Power surges are backing down. No ruptures yet. She’s holding. She’s holding. She’s—”
Rya could see the older man’s shoulders trembling, even in the dim lighting. He wiped one hand over his face, clearing his throat noisily. Was something wrong? The Gritter could still explode, take out engineering, kill dozens, strand the ship. Panic seized her for a moment, then—
“She’s off line. Disarmed.” His voice cracked. “We’ll make it, Skipper.”
She felt Philip shudder out a breath, then he straightened forcefully, as if drawing energy from his reserves. “Constantine, how far to the gate?”
“ Forty-five minutes, sir.”
“Sparks, get us moving. Martoni, keep an eye out for more bogies. They’ll send someone after us once they realize the Drey is gone. But I sincerely doubt they’re going to get anyone out here in the next forty-five minutes.”
“Aye, sir.”
Philip stepped forward, bringing her with him. She could feel his heart pounding, his grip on her still tight. He drew in a deep breath and, for a long moment, made sure everyone on the bridge felt his gaze.
“I could tell you all that you’re magnificent, but that would be an understatement.” His voice was firm and clear, in spite of the pounding of his heart. “Your dedication and your courage will not be forgotten. I know we’ve suffered losses. I know we have repairs to do. Right now there will be no time for either celebrations or grieving. Those things will come. Your tears will be mine. So will your joys. But we have done the impossible, and that is something to be very, very proud of. And I am very, very proud of all of you.” He paused, turning slightly. “Now, Captain Welford—”
“Damage control is already working,” Con said.
“Sublights have a bit of a shimmy, but the jumpdrives are fine,” Sparks called out.
“Now, Captain Welford, if I can have one more moment of the bridge’s attention?”
“Sir?”
Philip plucked the cat from Rya’s arms and handed him to Con, along with his cane.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have one bit of good news to share. Sub-Lieutenant Bennton is no longer just your chief of security.” He drew her around, hands on her shoulders. Rya felt heat rising rapidly to her face, her heart hammering in her chest. She dipped her chin, but he brought her face back up with the slight pressure of two fingers.
“She’s also now my wife. Rya Bennton Guthrie. You’ve all not only helped me do the impossible but you’ve brought the most incredible woman into my life. And for that, I’m very grateful.”
And with those words, her long-lost always-forever dream hero kissed her. Right in front of Con Welford and everybody.
Philip didn’t know what was the more beautiful sight framed by the wide viewports of the Officers’ Club on Ferrin’s Station: Hope’s Folly, tethered to the end of the shipyard’s long repair dock, the starfield twinkling around her, or his wife, Rya, across the table from him in the most incredible dark-green dress that put golden shimmers in her hazel eyes and clung oh-so- enticingly to the curves of her body. When she was standing. Right now she was sitting, so he couldn’t see all the curves, but even so, yes, she was definitely the more beautiful sight.
She took a sip of her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass.
“So, how’s our second week of dating going so far?” he asked. Most people dated first, then got married, but that wasn’t how their life had worked out. Marrying her had been an impulsive move. But it was a move he wanted to be permanent.
So did Rya. The fact that she now had her M-R- S degree, as she called it, was no guarantee of permanency. A real marriage took work. Commitment. Patience and respect.
And that took time.
So now they were dating. Married but dating. Philip rather liked the idea.
She grinned. “You’re too well behaved. I’m getting suspicious. So is Captain Folly. You’re being far too nice to him.”
“You’re thinking I mean to seduce you.”
“You’re never mean when you seduce me,” she said, her voice low and sexy.
“Dinner, sir?” The black-clad waiter arrived, antigrav tray at his side. Which was just as well, because their conversation was about to make Philip suggest they have dessert first.
“Thank you.” Philip leaned back in his seat as the waiter put the silver-domed dish in front of him. The Officers’ Club had better than decent fare. Not as good as his own cooking, which was why the galley on board the Folly was getting a major overhaul. But the club offered the pomp of the elegantly attired waiters, candlelight dining, and, of course, an attendant behind each chair when dinner was served, ready to whisk away the domed covers in one well-timed move.
He’d grown up eating in restaurants like this all the time with his parents. It didn’t mean that much to him. But this was their two-week anniversary.
“And for Mrs. Guthrie, this evening’s special.”
Rya’s dish appeared, then white-gloved hands reached around. Covers raised. Too late, he saw there was a fork already in her hand. And a large pile of peas on the left side of her plate.
He ducked out of the way, laughing, when the first forkful went flying.
But Rya the Rebel got him neatly in the chest with her second.
Right in the heart.
>^..^<
Winner of the prestigious national book award the RITA, science fiction romance author Linnea Sinclair has become a name synonymous with high-action, emotionally intense, character-driven novels. Reviewers note that Sinclair’s novels “have the ‘wow!’ factor in spades,” earning her accolades from both the science fiction and the romance communities. A former news reporter and retired private detective, Sinclair resides in Naples, Florida, in the winter and Columbus, Ohio, in the summer with her husband, Robert Bernadino, and their two thoroughly spoiled cats. Readers can find her perched on the third barstool from the left in her Intergalactic Bar and Grille at www.linneasinclair.com.
HOPE’S FOLLY
A Bantam Book / March 2009
Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright
© 2009 by Linnea Sinclair Bernadino
Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of
Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-553-90624-0
www.bantamdell.com
v3.0
Table of Contents
Cover
Other Books By This Author
Title Page
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
About the Author
Copyright
Hope's Folly Page 37
