The Seas of Time (A Love Across Stars Series Novel)

by Christine Castle

When there was a soft rustle behind him, Ballard’s first thought was that at least he didn’t have to come up with a lie to explain why he was up and prowling the sub—he had a legitimate intention of relieving one of the guards.

  Buy when he turned and saw Maynard pointing a harpoon rifle at him, Ballard swore silently at himself. He should have been more vigilant.

  Ballard pulled himself up to full height. “In case you’ve developed an eyesight problem, I’ll inform you that you’re pointing a rifle at a Sergeant in your own army, Private First Class Maynard.” His voice was pure ice.

  “I know exactly what I’m doing,” Maynard said in his usual tone that was somehow casual yet completely empty of connection.

  Ballard planted his feet, but eyed Maynard’s trigger finger in the dim light, trying to guess what he was up to. This man was odd and dangerous but not stupid, and aside from Maynard grating against authority, Ballard wasn’t sure why Maynard would follow him and threaten him this way.

  “What do you want, Maynard?”

  “Walk, Serge,” Maynard said and gestured at Ballard with the rifle. “Take the next right, and then a left. Stop at the first door.”

  Ballard held up his hands, turned, and followed instructions. When he reached the door, he stopped. Maynard came around and stretched his hand out for the latch. When it opened, Ballard’s mouth went dry. It was a door to Engine Room One. It shouldn’t have been unlocked. The Engine Room was the perfect place to tie someone up. Or leave a body.

  Maynard stood as far back as he could while still holding the door wide open, so he could keep the rifle trained on Ballard. “Get in.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Ballard asked as he stepped through the dark doorway.

  Ballard’s mind raced. A quick glance already told him that Maynard didn’t have any tie cords on him. Better to assume that Maynard had murder on his mind than any plan to let Ballard leave alive.

  “Someone wants to give your girl a little payback,” Maynard said. “And I’m giving him a head start.”

  Talia. Maynard must be covering for Gentry, who could already be at the Alpha women’s barracks. Ballard’s chest clenched.

  Inside the dark room, Ballard darted to the right of the doorway, counting on Maynard needing a split second to get inside and swing the long harpoon rifle around. Ballard dropped to the ground and rolled just as he heard—and felt—a barbed harpoon zip through the air over his head.

  Unlike the harpoon rifles meant for hunting, the ones modified for military use had no cords for towing back a harpooned catch. And they could shoot dozens of slender, barbed needles at high speed. It often wasn’t the initial shot that maimed or killed; it was the extraction.

  The door swung closed behind Maynard, pitching them into darkness. Maynard switched on the rifle’s LED light just as Ballard dove forward, aiming to tackle Maynard around his legs. Ballard nearly missed—Maynard had backed up—but managed to hook his hand around one of Maynard’s ankles.

  Just as Ballard yanked and sent Maynard flailing, sudden pain flashed across Ballard’s right calf. He scrambled forward, trying to pin Maynard, and heard the rifle clatter against the wall—this close it was a useless weapon, anyway—and the rifle’s light went out. There was a grunt from Maynard just as a fist connected with Ballard’s temple.

  With his head ringing and his calf burning, Ballard pulled his legs under him and jammed his knee into Maynard’s diaphragm. The choking sound that followed told Ballard that he’d knocked the wind out of the man. The private’s swings lost strength, and Ballard smashed one hand over the man’s face to hold his head steady and swung down in a fast arc with the other fist. Ballard hit the side of Maynard’s head with such force Ballard was actually impressed the man stayed conscious.

  Ballard reached down, into a pouch in Maynard’s belt, and pulled out Maynard’s fish gutting knife. Flipping it open, Ballard pressed the point of it against the side of Maynard’s neck. “You are a waste of oxygen, you animal,” Ballard growled, his voice shaking with the adrenaline and anger coursing through him.

  “Wait,” Maynard choked out. “The keys.”

  “What?” Ballard pressed the knife harder.

  “I have copies of the keys. To everything.” Maynard gasped. “The ascent ships, the subs, every door, the base. I know you want to save the Abover females. Let me go and the keys are yours. If you kill me, you’ll never get the women out on your own. You need the keys.”

  Ballard ground his teeth. He suspected Maynard was right. With the Vice Minister here, Ballard now knew this rogue operation extended far beyond what he’d imagined.

  “They’re nearby, in this room,” Maynard said. He must have thought Ballard’s lack of response meant he wasn’t sold on the proposition. “Let me up, and I’ll get them.”

  Ballard felt along the floor for the harpoon rifle. He switched on its LED light and shined it in Maynard’s face, and then moved off the man’s chest. “Get them now. Hurry.”

  Maynard rose slowly to his feet and staggered to a first aid kit mounted on the wall. He opened it and pulled out a set of interlocked rings like the slim bracelet Nielson had worn on the ascent ship. Maynard tossed them, and Ballard caught them with one hand.

  “I was only going to lock you in here,” the First Private said. “I wasn’t going to kill you.”

  Ballard had thought Maynard was intent on murder, but now Ballard wasn’t positive. Either way, he didn’t have time for an internal ethics debate. He had to get to Talia. He aimed the rifle at Maynard’s lower leg and pulled the trigger. Maynard doubled over and then fell to the ground. Unlike Ballard’s wound—the harpoon had grazed his calf and left a slice, but hadn’t stuck in his flesh—Maynard’s was going to be messy. Call it payback and then some.

  Ballard switched off the rifle’s LED light, opened the Engine Room door, and took off for the Alpha women’s barracks.

  TALIA LAY on her side on her bed—or bunk or rack, or whatever military people called it—her bound hands drawn up under her chin. She reached up with her index finger and brushed her lower lip, recalling the slightly salty flavor of Ballard’s mouth. When he’d wrapped his arm around her waist, he’d flexed to pull her closer, and his bicep had bulged against her ribs and the side of her breast. And somehow, just that small shift was incredibly sexy.

  It was obvious just by looking at him that he was in fantastic physical condition, but it was more than that . . . something in his strength felt almost otherworldly. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Their moment in each other’s arms had only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to know that Ballard’s embrace was nothing like she’d ever felt with another man. His body seemed designed for explosive strength, like he was built for power. And she’d felt how his body had begun to respond to hers.

  Her neck and cheeks heated and she tried to fan her face, but her bound wrists made it too awkward. Stifling a sigh, she turned to her other side and pulled her knees up. As she listened to the soft breathing of the other girls, her eyelids grew heavy.

  After what could have been ten minutes or two hours, Talia jolted awake.

  She’d been dreaming. The image of Ballard’s solid, tattooed chest still played across her mind’s eye as the remnants of her dream clung to her first few waking seconds. Yes, she’d been dreaming of him, the kind of dream that made heat race through her core. A very good dream, one that she would have liked to see through to the end. Annoyed that the dream had been interrupted, she grumbled and faced the wall, stretching out her legs.

  Then she froze. It wasn’t the dream that had awakened her. It was a noise. Maybe one of the other girls?

  She heard breathing. Before she could turn to squint into the dark room, rough hands jerked her head back by her hair and crammed something into her mouth. She choked on a large wad of fabric. A strong hand closed around her throat.

  “Not a sound,” a man’s voice whispered into her ear.

  He squeezed on her neck, cutting off her breath, and her heart
raced with panic.

  She nodded urgently. He let up just enough on her throat that she could take a sip of air.

  As the man dragged her from her bed, Talia kicked out, trying to get Janelle’s attention. Her friend was asleep in the bunk under hers. When the hand around her throat tightened again, she stiffened and clawed at it. She was going to pass out if he didn’t let up.

  Strong arms hauled her roughly from the barracks and out into the hallway. Talia looked around frantically. Where were Lee and Benjamin? She twisted to see who the assailant was.

  Gentry. The one she’d elbowed in the eye and then kicked on the way down the ladder into the submarine.

  She swung her arms around suddenly and hard, aiming for his throat with her elbow. He turned his face to avoid her strike, and she caught him in the jaw instead. The hand covering her mouth dropped away.

  “Help!” she tried to yell through the gag. “Help me! Janelle!” The fabric seemed to absorb her words before they could leave her mouth.

  He tried to clap his hand over her mouth, but she twisted partway around. Clasping her bound hands together, she raised them over her head and drove them down at the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t expecting it, and he reeled back as blood spurted from one nostril.

  Talia stumbled away from him, her pulse racing and her muscles charged with adrenaline.

  “Can anyone hear me?” She reached up and pulled the fabric from her mouth and hollered again. “Someone, help me!”

  She started to run, but her heart sank as she realized that there weren’t many people here who would come to her aid. And she wasn’t going to outrun Gentry.

  Reaching around under the sarong that was still twisted around her hips, she found the little waterproof zippered bag. She pulled at the zipper just as Gentry’s huge arms wrapped around her from behind and lifted her off her feet. Her arms were pinned to her sides, but she kept hold of the pouch and found Ballard’s folding knife inside.

  With her arms immobilized and Gentry behind her, she couldn’t get the right angle to cut or stab him with the pointed end of the knife.

  She whipped her shoulders back and forth, trying to loosen his grip, but his arms were like bands of iron around her body. Throwing her head back, she hoped to smack into his already-smarting nose, but the back of her head hit his chest instead. Out of desperation, she turned her head and sank her teeth into his upper arm.

  He jerked his wounded arm down and away from her teeth, giving her just enough room to turn and slash at him.

  Gentry roared and pushed her away so hard she smacked into the wall, the side of her forehead hitting a metal rail. She sagged to the ground, dazed, and felt something warm and wet drip down her temple.

  She looked up at Gentry looming over her, and he doubled in her vision. She blinked hard. No, she wasn’t seeing two Gentrys.

  Ballard was there.

  His hand closed around Gentry’s shoulder, spinning him around. The two men were nearly identical in stature and build. Gentry’s arm bore a bleeding slice, but Talia noticed there was also a trail of dried blood down the side of Ballard’s leg.

  Ballard jabbed up with his fist and caught Gentry under the chin. When Gentry stumbled back, Talia pushed away from the wall. Staying in a crouch, she swept one leg out and hooked her foot around Gentry’s ankle. When he tried to dodge Ballard, Maynard lost his balance and went down heavily, banging the back of his head against the rail not far from where Talia had fallen just moments before.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it,” she said with more than a little satisfaction.

  Gentry tried to raise his head, but sagged back against the wall instead, his lids heavy.

  With a wary look at Gentry, Ballard offered his hand to help Talia up. His fingers closed around both of her still-bound hands, and when her legs went weak, he had to do nearly all the work to get her on her feet.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “I hit my head, and the bell’s still ringing.”

  He kept hold of her with one hand, and with the fingers of his other hand, he brushed her hair off her forehead, concern lining his face. “You might need a couple of stitches.”

  “You too.” She nodded at his leg.

  “What the hell is this!”

  They both jumped at the irate voice, and Ballard whipped his hand away from her face and stepped away from her. It was the captain.

  Ballard stood straight, his chin lifted. “Captain Rogers, I came to relieve one of the guards and heard the sound of a struggle. I found Gentry trying to drag this woman away.”

  Gentry, still obviously dazed, was trying to get to his feet. “Captain, Ballard didn’t see all of it. She left the barracks and attacked me.” He held out his arm, showing off the shallow but bloody cut.

  “That’s not true!” Talia stepped in front of both men and faced the captain. She raised her still-bound hands and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at Gentry. “This one dragged me from my bed. Sergeant Ballard came to my rescue.”

  The captain looked back and forth between the two men, then looked Talia up and down, as if trying to decide how trustworthy she was. He turned to Gentry. “You had no business wandering around at this hour, and she’s got no reason to take his side over yours. I believe her. Gentry, clean yourself up and wait outside my quarters. Go now, that’s an order!” The captain hollered when Gentry hesitated.

  Gentry saluted, threw a murderous look at Talia and Ballard, and stalked down the hallway.

  “Take her to the infirmary,” Captain Rogers said to Ballard. “Get yourself cleaned up, too.”

  The captain turned on his heel, not waiting for Ballard’s “yes, sir,” and strode away.

  As soon as the captain was out of sight, Ballard turned to Talia and gripped her shoulders. “Did Gentry do anything to you? Please, tell me the truth.”

  She shook her head. “Nothing beyond the wounds you see. And pissing me off in a big way.”

  His eyelids lowered in relief, and he nodded once. “It could have been a lot worse.” He cut the cord from her wrist and twisted it up in one hand. Then he took her hand and began walking as swiftly as she could manage to keep up. “Let’s go take care of that cut.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “Maynard was supposed to join him.” Ballard threw her a dark look.

  “How . . .?” Talia glanced down at the impressive cut on his calf, which was still seeping blood, then back at the trail bloody footprints he was leaving in the hallway. “Did Maynard do that to your leg?”

  “Yeah. But I messed him up worse.”

  Ballard crooked a grim smile, drawing Talia’s eyes to the little scar on his lip. Her heart dipped in her chest.

  She swallowed and blinked hard. She was already dizzy from smacking her head against the wall. Getting all aquiver over Ballard wasn’t going to help anything.

  “Is he dead?” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “Maybe I should have killed him. I may regret my decision later. But I got something valuable out of him.”

  His voice had dropped low, even though there was no one else around, signaling that he wanted to wait to tell her what it was.

  When they reached a door with the word “infirmary” on it, Ballard stopped. He held the door open for her.

  Inside, he flipped a light switch, but the room remained dark.

  “Aw hell,” he muttered. “Wait right there, I’ll find a flashlight.”

  She held the door open to give him a little light, and he found a flashlight mounted on the wall. He switched it on and swung the beam around the room.

  There were rows of glass-front cabinets with supplies, a narrow counter with a sink, a few metal storage units with locks on them, and an exam table.

  Ballard bolted the slide lock and gave her a quick look. “I don’t need any more surprises tonight,” he said by way of explanation. He tipped his head at the exam table. “Take a seat, and I’ll see what I can find in here.”

  She tried to read his expression, trie
d to discern whether he’d been thinking of their last encounter, as she had been. His words had been minimal, almost brusque. But since he’d found her with Gentry, he’d kept physical contact with her—helping her up, brushing her hair away from her wound, holding her steady, taking her hand—nearly the entire time. And his eyes seemed to dart to hers with a hint of . . . nerves?

  Ballard was definitely being protective. She watched as he fumbled a packet of gauze, and then caught it before it fell. And, yes, maybe even a little nervous. Talia bit down on her lips to hide the start of a smile.

  But maybe it had nothing to do with her. He seemed like a good man, he’d probably be protective with any of the other women. And it had probably been months since he’d been around women, so any of them could make him a little edgy. She tried to find some satisfaction in this rational explanation . . . but couldn’t help hoping that it wasn’t completely correct.

  Ballard washed his hands in the sink, then piled some first aid supplies on a rolling tray stand and pushed it over next to the exam table. He handed her the flashlight, and she held it up near her shoulder and aimed it at the tray until he found what he wanted. He seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat before placing his fingers lightly on her chin to angle her face so he could see her wound. Then he used a damp piece of gauze to wipe the side of her face, where blood had no doubt trailed from the cut. She adjusted the flashlight so he could see what he was doing, and the light and shadow emphasized the lean angles of his features. His eyes were deep-set, giving him an air of seriousness.

  Talia barely breathed as a shiver ran through her, from where Ballard touched her face all the way down through the center of her torso.

  “I don’t think you’ll need stiches,” he said softly, close enough to her forehead that she could feel his warm breath on her skin. “Lucky for you. It’s been a while since I had to stitch up someone. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for leaving a flaw on your lovely face.”

  Her mouth fell open just a bit at the compliment. Her insides reeled, and this time it definitely wasn’t from the bump on her head. His voice, words, and touch were so unexpectedly gentle.