Barron's Last Stand (The Black Wing Chronicles Book 3)

by JC Cassels

  Feeling eyes on him, he glanced up and met Dash’s stare in the mirror. The boy pointed at the smaller drawer to the side.

  “Don’t forget the batteries.”

  “How did you…?” Chase’s eyes narrowed, and he reached for the drawer holding the power packs. “Remind me to have a talk with my brother next time I see him.”

  Chase filled his pockets, then sealed up the unit. With one last look around, he shrugged on the elegant jacket, then took the boy’s hand and switched the light off as they left the room.

  Hand in hand, they made their way down the stairs. Chase hesitated at the sight of a half-dozen men scattered around the lounge. They all wore the same non-descript black suits as Kendall, though they were more formally attired. There was no mistaking them for anything but bodyguards. Most of them wore sunshades similar to those his brother favored.

  Their low-voiced conversation ceased at his arrival. Chase looked to Kendall for reassurance, but his expression was tightly closed. Tese joined him and scooped Dash into her arms, propping him on her hip.

  Kendall and two of the other men separated from the group and headed toward him. Chase stared at them, fighting down his panic, unsure of what was expected of him.

  A few years ago, when he’d faced the prospect of meeting Lord Marin, he’d quizzed Dev on protocol. His brother’s instructions flooded back.

  “Don’t turn your back on the Sovran. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Keep your hand at your side unless Lord Marin offers his to shake. When introduced, a simple bow is acceptable. Answer all questions quickly and directly.”

  Kendall nodded in a shallow bow. “Sir, you remember the security detail I mentioned might be coming?”

  Chase nodded. He slipped his arm around Tese for reassurance. She sidled closer until she pressed against him.

  “I’d like to present Agents Fee and Rive,” Kendall said. “They’ve been dispatched to escort us to Trisdos.”

  Chase looked them over, silently cursing the sunshades that hid their eyes. “Agents,” he said warily.

  “My Lord…”

  “MISTER Fossey, if you please,” Tese interjected smoothly. “Or a simple, ‘Sir’ will be acceptable.”

  Agent Fee – or was it Rive? – sneered condescendingly at her. “And who do you think you might be?”

  She regally lifted her chin and stared him down. “I am Tese Kiara of the Kiara D’or Choh,” she said. “His lordship’s companion of longstanding.”

  “She speaks for me,” Chase said. He looked to Kendall for reassurance.

  Ian nodded slightly.

  “My apologies, Sir.” The other agent bowed. “Agent Rive meant no disrespect. We were unaware that you had contracted a companion. She will have to be properly vetted…for security.”

  Something in the man’s attitude reminded him of some of the junior executives he’d had to deal with at the studio – a bit too puffed up on their own importance and trying to prove how invaluable they were. The man was obviously drunk with his own influence.

  Chase Fossey had come up through the ranks. He’d parlayed his racing wins into becoming a stunt driver in holofeatures. From there he’d started his own company, having the good sense to give Blade Devon his start in the business. Over time, he’d gone from stunt performer, to coordinator, to directing holofeatures. The last middle-management jerkwad who’d tried a pissing contest with him had ended up unclogging uni-cans in the commissary.

  He may be new to the whole Sovran thing, but handling delusional assholes was something he had been doing for years.

  “Well, considering I’ve known her longer than I’ve known anyone else in this room, I think maybe she should be vetting you… for security,” Chase said.

  Kendall’s lips twitched in amusement.

  Gaining courage from that small show of approval, Chase glanced around at the other men.

  “Sir, we were just explaining to Agent Kendall that we’ve been ordered to relieve him and return you to Trisdos,” Rive said.

  Chase glanced from Rive to Fee. “Ordered? By whom?”

  “By General Rameus, Sir.”

  From the look on Ian’s face, he didn’t like the orders.

  “I see,” Chase said. “And is General Rameus a Sovran?”

  “No, Sir, but…”

  “So General Rameus is not the Overlord?”

  “No, Sir…”

  Chase looked to Ian. “Agent Kendall, didn’t your orders come from Lord Marin himself?”

  Kendall bared his teeth in a grin. “They did indeed, Mister Fossey.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m confused,” Chase said. He looked to Tese. “I was under the impression that Lord Marin outranked General Rameus.”

  She smiled warmly up at him. “As was I,” she said. “Perhaps it’s because Lord Marin is medically unable to give orders.”

  Rive and Fee nodded, relieved to have an explanation.

  “But if Lord Marin is unable to give orders, wouldn’t his authority pass to his son and not to some general?” Chase looked to Ian. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Agent Kendall. Doesn’t a Sovran’s order take precedence over a mere general’s?”

  Ian bowed. “You are correct, My Lord.”

  Chase held up his hand and tapped his palm. As the light flashed, he pointed to it. “Gentlemen…me-Sovran, you-Janizary. That makes General Rameus…” he trailed off, looking to Tese for help.

  “Subordinate,” she supplied.

  Chase nodded. “Subordinate, that’s right.” He studied their faces, taking in their reactions. “Agent Kendall will remain the head of my security detail until relieved by someone higher up the chain than myself – or until I decide otherwise. You will report to him. If General Rameus doesn’t like it, he can…” Tese squeezed his arm in warning, and Chase bit back his words. “…take it up with Lord Marin.”

  Rive and Fee nodded.

  Taking his cue, Ian barked orders, rounded up the bodyguards and went over assignments and duties, then put them to work loading the luggage into Chase’s ground cruiser. Tese pulled Chase aside and wiped at his cheek with her thumb.

  “You missed a spot,” she said.

  “How was I?” he whispered. “I thought it was good. Was I good?”

  She smiled. “I’m very proud of you.”

  “You did good, Bapi,” Dash said. “When we going?”

  “Soon, buddy.” He leaned over and kissed the boy on the forehead. “So tell me, what’s the plan here?”

  Tese shook her head. “Be Daavin Marin.” She lightly caressed his cheek. “Look at it this way; at least you can finally afford me.”

  Chase frowned. “Not funny,” he said. “You know I’ve never thought of you that way.”

  “I know. But, don’t you see? This means we don’t have to sneak around anymore. The House of Marin has free rein at the Kiara D’or Choh. I do think that, under the circumstances of Bo being accused of trying to kill Lord Marin, I should be Dash’s mother.”

  “Agreed.”

  Kendall nodded to him. “Sir, we’re ready to move out.”

  Chase nodded. “Okay, but I’m driving.”

  Tese frowned a warning.

  “What?” he shook his head. “I am. I’m the most qualified and the most experienced driver in the room.”

  She looked to Ian for help.

  He merely shrugged. “He’s got a point,” Kendall said. “It’s counter to protocol, but one thing I’ve learned from dealing with his brother is that there is only so much compliance you can expect from the Fossey boys at any given time. Chase here has obviously reached his limit.”

  Chase nodded. “See? He gets me.”

  Tese rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Just be careful. No showing off.”

  His eyes widened with feigned innocence. “I am shocked that you would accuse me of such a thing.” Chase shook his head. “You wound me.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  There was a reason Bo usually let Redmaster Blue technicians work on
her ship.

  The wrench slipped off the bolt, sending her knuckles flying into the sharp edge of the air scrubber’s fan motor…again. With a Gallic curse, she shook feeling back into her hand before turning it to take stock of her injuries. Ragged white shreds of broken skin showed where her knuckles had split on impact. Blood welled in the gashes. Her lips twisted in annoyance. She sucked on her abraded knuckles as she scooted out from under the system and sat up. Stinging perspiration dripped into her eyes. Reaching for the filthy shop rag she kept handy, she wiped the sweat from her face before she wrapped her knuckles.

  This was getting her nowhere fast.

  Two days she’d been chasing rotags down shaft alley with nothing to show for her effort. Her quarters were like a deep freeze while other parts of the ship were as hot as the jungles of Kah Lahtrec. If she couldn’t get the temperatures regulated soon, she’d run out of painkillers. Sleeping cold made her bones ache; too many injuries.

  With a frustrated snarl, she slammed the wrench back into the toolbox. It clattered against the other hand tools as it bounced and finally settled into the shifting pile.

  She glared at the vented housing, mentally recounting every fruitless attempt she’d made at repairing her inexplicably bipolar environmental control system. She’d never claimed to be a mechanic, but she knew enough to keep her ship flying until she could get to a Redmaster Blue shipyard.

  Now, Blade, on the other hand…

  Back in the day, he would have been the one busting his knuckles on locked up bolts while she ran down the systems. The man had a gift when it came to mechanical systems. A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her lips. As delinquent as he’d been in his youth, he’d had plenty of opportunity to hone his skills stealing hovercycles and ground speeders for joyrides. The Inner Circle had taken that natural gift and trained him to use his talents for good – and ill.

  Between them, the only systems they hadn’t been able to repair were the more complex computer database systems…and even then, in a pinch, together they had always been able to figure out a solution.

  Shaking her head, Bo’s shoulders sagged in resignation. She couldn’t take much more of her ship’s crazy fluctuations. Only her stubborn pride had kept her hiding in the mechanical bays, frustrating herself and busting her knuckles when she should be asking for help. It rankled to be even considering that option under the circumstances.

  She rolled her shoulders, trying to work out some of the tension in her upper back. A jolt of pain spiked through her left shoulder.

  “Screw it!”

  One more night of sleeping in a deep freeze would likely be the death of her. Some things were worth more than stupid pride.

  Bo unwrapped the shop rag from her hand and tossed it into the toolbox.

  “Sundance, where is Blade?”

  “Blade Devon is in cargo bay three.”

  “Thanks.”

  Drawing her legs under her, Bo slowly came to her feet, mindful of the stiff and aching muscles plaguing her. She picked her way past the hyperdrive engines that churned away, their steady hum and whine keeping active the field that held the ship safely in hyperspace.

  At least the problem was with the environmental systems and not the main drives.

  Bo plucked at the front of her thin workshirt, which was saturated with perspiration and plastered to her body, trying to cool her overheated skin. With a grimace, she glanced down at the shirt and shorts, both covered in grime from crawling around under the environmental system. She’d braided her hair before starting work to keep it out of the way. Between the sweat and the tight quarters, much of her hair had slipped free and clung to her damp skin. She swiped it away from her forehead and cheek, no doubt smearing more dirt across her face as she did so.

  She climbed the steps from the engine compartment, slowing as she reached the top.

  She didn’t doubt she looked like hell. From her scuffed and worn work boots to her filthy, tousled hair, she was a far cry from the elegant Kiara Blade had first met.

  Bo frowned.

  He had a weakness for pretty women, and an even bigger one for the helpless type. At the moment, she bore no resemblance to either. Should she go and get herself cleaned up before…?

  With a sound mental shake, Bo squared her shoulders and stepped into the corridor. Either he would help her or he wouldn’t. She had never used her feminine wiles to get his assistance, and she wasn’t about to start now.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she headed for cargo compartment three, which housed her fitness gear.

  At her touch, the hatch slid open. A blast of chill air rolled out, breaking over her and tightening her overheated flesh. Closing her eyes, she savored the sensation. Her enjoyment passed as her damp skin cooled too quickly. She shivered.

  A rhythmic staccato of thumps, grunts and slaps came uninterrupted from the center of the compartment.

  Opening her eyes, her gaze met his briefly.

  Dismissing her, he returned his attention to the heavy bag he was pummeling.

  Maker help her, when he’d lifted his shirt for Nix, it had been bad enough. This…this was a full broadside.

  He had discarded his shirt, as was his habit when working out. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his skin. Sweat darkened the waistband fabric of his loose, insulated workout pants.

  He maneuvered around the bag with all the animal grace of an efficient predator.

  Her gaze caressed his back as muscles bunched and flexed, releasing energy through his long arms into the bag suspended from the overhead trusses.

  His was a warrior’s body. Bruises discolored his skin. Angry purple and black stains marked new injuries, while yellow and green patches bore mute testament to his life of adventure. Red, pink, and white scars, all in various stages of healing, slashed across his tanned skin.

  Unlike some females who preferred unmarred perfection, Bo found them appealing...marks of character. Her gaze settled on a faint scar just below his left collarbone. Her fingers curled at her sides, itching to trace the contours of the smooth patch of discolored tissue, half the size of her fist. Each wound told a story and that one was a story she’d written into his flesh herself. For reasons of his own, he’d stubbornly refused the studio’s demands to have it removed.

  She could almost feel it against her skin, smooth, but coarse around the edges, a contrast to the healthier skin around it. Her fingers would brush across the surface before caressing his shoulder. Her hands, sliding down his arms…her legs wrapped around his hips…

  “Did you need me for something?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  That was a loaded question. Thank the Maker he wasn’t a telepath.

  “The environmental system is giving me fits.” Bo sighed and scrubbed her face with her hands, hoping to hide any of the heightened color he seemed so hell-bent on bringing to the surface. “I’ve been staring at the same relays so long I’m cross-eyed and still no closer to finding the problem.”

  Blade attacked the bag with a combination that would have broken the ribs of a living opponent. “Why haven’t you taken it to Altair and let Edge’s people work on it?”

  Relieved that he was oblivious to the lurid turn of her imaginings, she folded her arms across her chest and braced her shoulder against the open hatchway. “I don’t get back to Altair much.” She shrugged. “The last time I made a maintenance stop, there was a hit team waiting for me. I barely made it out with my skin. But you already knew that, didn’t you? Somebody recently accessed that log entry.”

  “That was me,” he said, without a hint of remorse. “Sickbay was a mess. Badly stocked. That’s not like you. I wanted to know why.” His fists thumped the bag. “Your maintenance logs are worse than sickbay. Enviro systems are trying to freeze you to death.” He shook his head. “You need a support network, Bo. You’re not going to be able to keep this bird in the air without one.”

  She bristled. “The enviro issues only just started, shortly af
ter I took the job for Gray. I can always take Sundance to Strassis’s Shipyards.”

  “Strassis will rob you blind.”

  “Somebody there owes me a favor.”

  “Jermith?”

  Bo’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Why?”

  With a growl, Blade launched another vicious attack at the bag. “He has a side salvage business. Partners with slavers,” he grunted. “Gas canisters in the ventilation system. Sets them off with a timer. Ship drops out of hyperspace. Slavers pick it up. He sells the ship as salvage.”

  One last fierce punch punctuated the last word and set the bag swinging. Fists up, Blade swayed with the bag, timing its movement. A solid right hook slowed its motion, and he moved in for another assault.

  “He likes single-handers like you,” he said. “Easy pickings.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Gathering intel is part of what I do,” he said matter-of-factly. “I make it my business to know things that may affect you.”

  His chest heaving with every labored breath, he reached out and stilled the bag, leaning on it. “Want me to take a look?” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “It might help to have fresh eyes on the problem.”

  Despite the fact she’d sought him out to ask him that very thing, it irked her that he was able to make her feel like a rube over Jermith.

  Bo shook her head.

  “Not right now,” she said. “I came in here to see about working out some of my frustrations.” She canted an eyebrow at him. “What’s got you so bothered?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “You.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You won’t leave me alone.”

  “I won’t leave you alone?” Pushing away from the hatchway, Bo rolled her eyes. “Watch me. This is me leaving you alone.”

  She started to leave, but his laughter stopped her.

  “That’s not going to help,” he said.

  Bo peered at him in silent question.

  He tapped his temple with his fingertips. “I can’t get you out of my mind,” he said. “It’s hard enough to keep you out of my head when there’s half a galaxy between us.” He shook his head and leaned heavily on the bag. “When the kid’s around, I can pretend you’re not driving me crazy. But right now, it’s just you and me. I don’t have an audience to play to, Bo.”