He wanted her to submit to him further. He wasn’t even sure all the ways yet. He’d make them up as they went along. She pleased him as few other women in his memory.
He froze, cup at his lips, steam curling against his face. Surely that couldn’t be true. He’d had courtesans from several planets. Beautiful women who knew tricks this little cat would never dream of. No, he was just bored. His businesses and investments were burgeoning on three planets and in space via his cruise ships, but lately he’d been a bit … restless.
He smiled wickedly into his coffee cup. The advice psychs did say to keep a pet. So perhaps he owed it to himself to take on a Tyger kitten.
He’d keep his emotions out of it, of course. He always did. There were several beings in the galaxy he counted friends. There were only two he’d die for—his younger brothers, Joran and Creed.
He’d been in love once; for a time even nursed a broken heart.
Adora, his first and only ‘love’. He grimaced, taking a swig of scalding coffee.
A less aptly named female had never been born. Behind a face of sweet innocence had lurked a heart so mercenary he’d been unable to believe the evidence of her betrayal. Until, of course, he’d seen it with his own eyes. Then the truth had taken him down like a charging Mauritian.
Now he held himself apart from the idiocy that drove beings to make fools of themselves, risking fortunes and self-respect for hormone-ruled emotion. He’d risked worse than that—his brothers’ well-being.
He’d never again allow himself to be led by his cock. Sex was a necessity of life for him and Kiri’s cunt was sweet and wild, but he controlled when, how and all the rest.
It was merely curiosity that led him to bring up a one-way feed on the holocams. “Departure station and cruiser cabin,” he said.
Two holovid screens sprang to life. One showed the empty passageway out of his penthouse. The other gave him a clear view of the cabin of his cruiser and the woman curled in one of the big chairs. Kiri gazed out the porthole, arms wrapped around her slender midriff. As he watched, she moved to tuck her feet up beside her in the chair, then stopped, casting a guilty look over at Opal, who stood in the passageway to the cockpit, chatting with Giles.
“Camera, close up.” The holocam zoomed in on Kiri’s face as she turned back to the porthole. Limned in the grayed light of another rainy day in New Seattle, her lovely face was taut, troubled. Gazing past the holocam, she touched one hand to her lips and then blew out a sharp breath, nearly a sob in the sensitive microphones.
His guest was upset, was she? He sat in his big skrog leather and cerametal chair, taking another drink of his coffee. Realizing just what a chore lay before her. She’d attempt to scrape her life back together. When she’d had time to realize she needed him, he’d move in again. It was just a matter of time and strategy.
He looked away, satisfied. Time for other business.”News channels, up. Earth II, primary.”
An attractive blonde in a fitted suit filled the screen. “In our top local news story, rioting broke out again last night near the sea docks, and an entire block of buildings was destroyed. Looters were seen leaving the area before the explosion. Many are missing and feared dead in this latest wave of violence between the unemployed and the security forces for local unions and business owners. According to the mayor’s office, Intergalactic Space Forces have been called in to police the docks. More on that story shortly.”
Stark watched without surprise. This merely solidified his decision to consolidate his holdings here and sell the wharf-side factory to his employees. His security people were doing all they could keep it from going up in flames until the IGSF was able to restore law and order.
The news anchor turned to another camera, which angled in. “In other news, we take you now to the New Seattle Spaceport, where safety concerns have been raised, after a local businessman was found murdered. Let’s join reporter Randy Mega on the scene.”
Nothing new here, either. Probably some poor sod in debt to organized crime. Stark sipped his coffee as the holocam switched to a young man smiling toothily from a small, gleaming white hovie with the news station’s logo. Travelers filtered by behind him, gawking curiously. One human boy broke away from his mother and made a face into the holocam before being recaptured.
The reporter furrowed his brow earnestly as he gazed into the holocam. “Yes, Gretchen. Gral Roden, Vulpean owner of a gambling kiosk here on the Astrid concourse was found murdered this morning in the service passageway behind his place of work. Roden was under investigation by local police and, we’ve just learned, by the IGSF for allegedly fixing several of his games.”
Stark set his mug down on his desk, foreboding tightening his gut.
Randy Mega smirked confidentially into the camera. “Witnesses say that another local business owner, from this coffee stand—” The holocam swiveled to show Kiri’s Kaffe, closed and quiet, and then switched to a security feed of her standing at the counter in her kiosk, smiling and chatting with a customer as she handed him a disposable mug. “—had a loud confrontation with Roden just yesterday evening, in which she accused him of cheating her out of a large sum of credit. She is also alleged to have made actual death threats. As you can see, she has not shown up to open her stand this morning. Neighboring business people say they have no idea where she may be.”
“Seven hells.” Stark palmed his com unit from his belt. “Giles, if you’re still in the air, turn around. I need you to bring Ms. te Nawa back here.”
His pilot’s tough, square face filled the screen. “Sorry, sir. Just dropped her off at the space port. Problem?”
“Yes, a continuation of yesterday’s, I believe. Come and pick me up, please.”
Opal and Giles had been monitoring him through the space port yesterday, a standard security procedure, so they’d seen him rescue Kiri from her attempted assault on the crooked gambler.
“Be there in exactly twenty secs, sir.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Logan rose and strode out into the main room. Natan, a slender Pangaean, was clearing the table. He straightened with dishes in his hands.
“Good breakfast,” Stark said. “Our guest will be returning for dinner.”
“Very good, sir.” Natan’s greenish-blond hair stirred slightly in excitement, although his slim, pale face remained politely impassive. “She has an excellent appetite.”
“Yes,” Stark said. “She does indeed.” In more ways than his butler knew.
He collected his jacket from the closet by the passageway and strode down the passageway, just as the hatch at the end opened to reveal the cruiser, with Opal waiting.
“Back to the space port,” Stark ordered as he strode on board. “Your passenger is going to need rescuing again.”
“Really, sir?” Opal didn’t sound too surprised.
But then, reflected Stark wryly, neither was he.
As he sat back in his comfortable seat, he found himself chuckling. He should have had Giles fly in the opposite direction. The woman was a menace, to herself and possibly anyone in her vicinity. Nothing sly about her—she broadcast her emotions for everyone to hear and see.
He wasn’t even sure he could keep her out of trouble.
***
Kiri thanked Stark’s flight attendant, or guard, as the woman opened the cruiser hatch for her to disembark at the space port, but neither of them bothered with a smile this time. Kiri wasn’t wasting any friendliness on the woman after she’d spent the entire flight keeping an eye on Kiri, as if that was the only thing preventing her from stealing the towels from the lavatory.
As Kiri exited the cruiser, she passed the cockpit. It looked fascinating, full of gauges and lights and holovid displays. She wished she could step in and see what it felt like to sit up there, mistress of her own destiny, instead of a rather unwelcome passenger.
Opal nodded curtly, and Kiri hurried along the podway toward the concourse, shivering in her thin tunic. Even though they were enclosed, the podwa
ys were always cold and damp, and permeated with the harsh stench of the port. Her shivers reminded her with a sickening jolt that she no longer owned a jacket, or indeed any clothes other than the ones she wore.
She stopped just before the entrance to the concourse, one hand to her face, light-headed even after her sumptuous breakfast.
“Better get busy and sell some coffee, Kiri,” she muttered to herself. A fashionably dressed woman looked at her as she passed, then hurried on.
Kiri glowered after her. The woman had looked at her as if she were a crazy, someone to be avoided. Well, at least she had nice undies on, she thought with a flash of dark humor. Probably nicer than those the fashionista wore.
And she wasn’t entirely alone. She had Logan Stark. This memory lit a small, warm glow of hope in her chest.
Then she reminded herself not to depend on him. Ships in the same port, that was all they were, docking for a short time and then moving on.
***
Kiri walked out onto the concourse and into yet another nightmare.
A crowd had gathered between her kiosk and the gambling den on the other side of the concourse. She stared in amazement at a news reporter holding forth in the glare of the spotlighted holovid cams. Even the space port police were here, their cycles hovering behind them as they worked the crowd. They seemed to be asking questions.
At the back of the crowd was a familiar figure. Maury was an older woman who worked the kiosks, selling packets of souvenirs. Under a cloud of silver hair, her dark, lined face held the remnants of beauty. She dressed in rag-tag ensembles, adding more layers in the winter, shedding some in the summer.
Kiri bought things from her when she could, but the magnets, clips and hovertoys were cheaply made, and she had trouble getting rid of them. Sometimes she gave them away free with a latte just to clear the counters. She would keep buying them, though, because Maury had an air of brave gaiety despite the grueling miles she put in every week. She couldn’t use the hoverways and stop at all the kiosks along the concourses, so she walked. Of course a personal hoviecycle was out of the question. They were very expensive, only for the space port guards and the wealthy elderly.
Kiri stopped beside the older woman. “Maury? What’s happening?”
The peddler turned, eyes wide. She dropped the handle of her hoviecart and embraced Kiri in a hug scented with stale perfume, hookah smoke and cooking odors.
“My dear girl. You’re all right. I feared—well. Perhaps that you’d been murdered, too.”
Kiri pulled back, aghast. “Murdered? Who’s been murdered?”
Maury stiffened, her eyes fastened on something over Kiri’s shoulder. “Quickly, hide your face. They’re looking this way.”
Too late. “There she is,” called a raucous voice, rough with smoke. “It’s her, the coffee seller.”
Kiri froze as one of the bar habitués pointed at her. Others turned to stare. They conferred in hushed voices, watching her avidly.
“Oh, dear,” Maury fretted. “They’ve seen you now.”
‘They’ were the space port police. Kiri watched in horror as two of the helmeted, armor-clad officers leapt on their hovies and zipped over the crowd, dropping to either side of her and Maury, who clung to her protectively, her shabby shawl draped as much over Kiri as herself.
“State your name and occupation,” the taller of the two officers said through his microphone, stepping to the floor before Kiri. She couldn’t make out his face behind the reflection on his helmet’s clear face shield.
Kiri opened her mouth, closed it, tried to swallow the husk in her dry throat, and opened it again. “Kiri te Nawa. I sell coffee … over there.” She nodded toward her kiosk. “That’s my shop.”
“She’s the one who had the altercation with the gambler,” the other officer said from the height of her cycle. “Better bring her in for questioning.”
“Bring me in?” Kiri repeated, ice creeping through her gut. “For what? What’s happened?”
“That awful little gambler,” Maury said in her ear. “They found him behind his shop—murdered.”
The Vulpean? Murdered right here? How horrible, even if the little rat had deserved it. “But—but I didn’t do it. I wasn’t even here.”
“You’ll have the chance to call witnesses to attest to your whereabouts,” the tall officer said. “Come along now.”
“We can’t leave yet,” the female officer told him. “We haven’t finished canvassing the witnesses to the altercation. Hold her here until we’re finished.”
“Hey, wait a sec!” Kiri protested, angry now.
The helmets ignored her. Maury patted her shoulder fiercely. “It’s all right, dear,” she said. “You just need … well, you need—”
Kiri held herself stiff, outwardly defiant, staring back at the gawkers, their gaze avid, mouths busy gossiping. A craven part of her wanted to bolt through the crowd. The helmets were going to take her to space port police headquarters and question her. She didn’t know if she could stand it—it would be too much like ... that other time.
“You need a witness,” Maury added, her eyes bright. “Someone to say you weren’t here. I can’t, because I was here. But perhaps you were with a friend, hmm?”
Stark. She’d been with Logan Stark. Relief filled her, buoyant and warm.
“I was with someone,” she told her guard. “I couldn’t have killed anyone, I was with a man all night.”
The officer held up his com for her to speak into. “State his name and occupation.”
“Stark,” Kiri said. “Logan Stark. That’s—that’s him up there.” She pointed at the LodeStar hologram swirling above them. As if summoned, Stark and his captains appeared, standing shoulder to shoulder, gazing down at the crowd.
The officer lowered his com. “Nice try.”
“It’s true,” Kiri cried, flushing with humiliation. He thought she’d seized Stark’s face and name from the holovid. “I was with him.”
“Well, vid him up, and he can vouch for you,” the officer said cynically.
“I-I can’t,” she admitted, her face burning. “I don’t have his comlink code. But I have one for his cruiser pilot.”
The policeman showed her his back, his helmeted head turning back and forth as he scanned the crowd.
“Oh, dear,” Maury patted her again. “That’s too bad, dear.”
Too bad? It was disastrous. Hauled to port police headquarters? She’d never get her kiosk open, and if she didn’t make a profit this week, she’d lose her kiosk too.
Kiri ducked her head and pulled out her comlink. She’d try to reach Stark’s pilot. But her flimsy old unit chose this moment to flicker and sputter. “Come on,” she muttered, fiddling with the controls. “Come on, work.”
“Hello-o,” caroled a cheery, magnified voice. The news hovie zipped over the heads of the crowd and stopped before them. Kiri held up one hand to shield her eyes as lights glared into her face, nearly blinding her. “Are you Ms. Kiri te Nawa, of Kiri’s Kaffe? How about answering a few questions? Is it true that you threatened to kill Mr. Gral Roden?”
The crowd moved closer. Kiri edged behind the tall helmeted officer, wishing she could just disappear. Her stomach roiled, her breakfast threatening to come back up. She swallowed hard.
“No!” She glared at the smirking reporter. “I didn’t kill him.”
“Stay back,” warned the officer. The news hovie retreated a few centimeters, but his gaze and his cameras stayed on Kiri.
“But is it true that several witnesses heard you threaten to do so?” The reporter trilled the word ‘threaten’ with relish.
“I didn’t kill him.” Little quarker. If she could reach those hovering cameras, she’d smash them in his heavily made-up face. “Go on, leave me alone.”
“All right, we’re done here. Bring the woman.” It was the female officer, aboard her hovercycle.
“Come along.” A gloved hand grasped her arm, and Kiri was lifted off her feet and deposited in the
back of the second cycle. “You’ll come to headquarters.”
“No, wait,” she protested, wriggling. “You have the wrong woman.”
“Sit down and be silent, prisoner.” A bar snapped around her, restraining her forcibly in the seat. The armor-clad male officer stepped onto the cycle in front of her, and they zipped straight up, hovering above the crowd. Faces turned up, eyes staring.
The last thing Kiri saw before she was whisked away was the newscaster pointing the cameras at her. Behind him, the crowd shifted. Her heart leapt. Through a gap, she saw the face of the one man who could help her. Logan Stark stood at the far side of the crowd, leaning on the wall of the concourse. Watching the scene with detached interest.
Catching his eye, Kiri waited for recognition to spark, for him to forge through the crowd to her rescue. Instead, he merely returned her gaze for a long, agonizing moment. Her hands clenched into fists. What was he waiting for?
“Please,” she mouthed. “Help me.”
He looked away, his lips moving. He was on his comlink.
He might as well have slapped her across the face. The hovie rocked under her, but as she was swept away above the crowd, Kiri was blinded by tears. Lying quarker. What had he said to her? ‘I’m the man who’s going to take care of you.’
Right. When she needed him the most, he was on a business call. Guess he wasn’t interested in saving her after all. She was, as always, alone.
Chapter 8
The new port authority headquarters was nice enough, if one entered through the front, with a reception area and pleasant, uniformed officers to answer questions. Kiri had been there to fill out a theft form a few lunar months ago when someone stole her old display holocam.
It was considerably less pleasant when she was hustled in through a dark tube full of flashing beams and blipping monitors that held the stench of fear and sweat and other bodily functions, and ordered to stand still while droids scanned her body and clothing. From there, more helmeted officers chivvied her into a small room with a large chair, holovid monitors humming ominously.
Stark Pleasure; the Space Magnate's Mistress (The LodeStar Series) Page 7
