Stowaway

by Becky Black

  Classy, Raine. Real classy.

  Easing out of Kit, he looked around for something to clean up with and spotted a box of paper tissues on the desk. They must be Warner’s; women always seemed to have paper tissues around for some mysterious purpose. He grabbed a handful and tossed the box to Kit, who’d rolled onto his back, a lazy and satisfied smile on his face.

  “Here. Get cleaned up, and for God’s sake, put your pants back on.” Raine did the best cleanup he could and zipped up.

  Kit’s smile vanished. “I see.”

  What he saw, Raine had no time to ask. He started searching the drawers, hoping Warner had left some perfume he could spray around. Better the place smelled like a ladies’ boudoir than a brothel. He heard the rustle of cloth—Kit putting on his pants. When he looked back, Kit was seated and pulling his boots on.

  “You might have to get this couch steam cleaned.”

  Forget the couch; Raine would have to steam clean the whole damn room. How could he have acted that way? He wasn’t the type of man to take advantage of a prisoner. When he’d done a stint as an MP, he’d had to deal with men who would do that and had made sure they understood his displeasure. But he couldn’t take himself out somewhere quiet and kick his own ass.

  “I’m sorry,” Raine said.

  “Sorry for what?” Kit stood up, tucking in his shirt.

  “For what we just did.” What the hell else did he think Raine could be apologizing for? “It was completely inappropriate, and I’ll understand if you report me to the captain, as is your right.”

  Kit stared at him as if he’d gone mad—which was probably the best explanation of his behavior.

  “Is there something wrong with you, Raine, or have you always been this stupid? What do you think you just did to me?”

  “I took advantage of you. You’re a prisoner. For me to have sex with you is entirely unacceptable.”

  “I found it quite acceptable. So acceptable I think I’ll be walking funny for a week.”

  “This is no laughing matter.”

  “Then why do I find it so funny?”

  “Because you think you’ve beaten me again. You think you’ve distracted me the way you did in the elevator. You think you have me in your power.”

  Kit stopped grinning. He looked back at Raine for a long time with a gaze smoldering not with lust but with rage. At last he spoke.

  “Did you say you were going to lock me up? For your own safety, I suggest you do it now.”

  * * *

  The captain must have decided to let Kit stew for a while; she didn’t come down to the brig for nearly fourteen hours. He didn’t care. He had plenty to stew about.

  Like how the hell he could have been stupid enough to lose control and let Raine have him? He didn’t care about it being unprofessional or any of the shit Raine had started banging on about. But he didn’t want to go weak at the knees for a fucking cop. Authority figures had screwed him over enough to last him a lifetime. Getting screwed by one was a step too far.

  It could only end the way it had with Jeff. He wondered if Raine had the money to try to pay him off too. Maybe he should report Raine to the captain. Screw him over.

  He sat up when Dryden came in and stopped in front of the bars. Raine stood close behind her, not looking at Kit. Can’t look me in the eye.

  “Leave us alone, please,” she told Raine.

  “Ma’am, I’d advise against that.”

  Kit sneered at him. Did he think Kit would try to seduce the captain too? That’s what he thought Kit had done to him.

  “It’s perfectly safe. Wait outside. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Kit stayed sitting on the bunk, looking as harmless as possible, to persuade Raine to go. Didn’t want to look at him, with his too many clothes and his stupid gloves. Raine walked out, and Dryden turned back to Kit.

  “I’m sorry,” Kit said, getting in first and giving her the big-eyed look up through his bangs. “It was so stupid. I guess I should be grateful you caught me. From what I saw out there, they’d have eaten me alive in five minutes.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Her voice was harder than he expected, and he didn’t see any sympathy on her face. “Have you decided I’ll be amenable to the ‘little boy lost’ act, Mr. Miller? Have you perhaps decided that as a middle-aged woman, perhaps a mother, I’ll be susceptible to your cute act?”

  He stared at her, losing his carefully cultivated expression.

  “As a matter of fact, I am a mother. I have a son only a couple of years younger than you, so I recognize the act. The puppy dog eyes and the preemptive apology can be an effective strategy—for him. But you’re not my son, so please don’t think the same tactics can work for you.”

  “My apologies, ma’am.” He straightened up and dropped the act.

  “Thank you. All right, Mr. Miller, this is the position. I’m within my rights to hand you over to station security. They would hold you until a suitable vessel heading back to Drexler agrees to take you.”

  Kit opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand to silence him. “I said I was within my rights to do it. But I’m not going to. I don’t trust them to treat you properly.”

  Instinctively he raised his hand to the bruises on the side of his face.

  “Yes,” Dryden said. “Exactly.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “It’s not about you, Mr. Miller. It’s about who we on this ship are. You’re my prisoner, my responsibility. Whatever you do to provoke anyone, you’ll be treated properly here.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “We’ll take you with us. Once we leave the station, you’ll be allowed to resume your kitchen duties. Ten days after that, we’ll rendezvous with the escort vessels. Those are Earth warships. They are fully equipped to handle prisoners.”

  His heart sank closer to his boots with every word. He’d never get away if she handed him over to the military.

  “If you behave yourself, make no more escape attempts, I’ll allow you to stay on the Dawn until we reach Saira. But any trouble and I will hand you over to the escort. Do you understand?”

  He sagged with relief. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And do you agree?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  What choice did he have? He’d rather scrub the galley than be handed over to the military.

  “Ma’am, why would you give me a second chance?”

  “Could be your puppy dog eyes are more effective than I’ll admit. But mostly because Mr. Raine has convinced me your experience on the station, even as short time as it was, has taught you where you’re better off.”

  Raine had spoken up for him? Better off here with him, did he mean, so he could get access to Kit’s goodies whenever he liked? Unless he had a smarter plan. Left free to roam about, Kit would have more opportunities to get into trouble, and then Dryden would have no choice but to follow through on her threat and hand him over to the military.

  Sneaky.

  So Kit would show him. He’d be as good as gold. Nearly four months to Saira. Kit wouldn’t be involved in one single moment of trouble for the whole voyage. He’d be as inoffensive as a mouse.

  He could manage that.

  Probably.

  Chapter Seven

  Wearing a brand-new tracking bracelet, Kit slunk back into the galley. The ship had left the station while he slept, and Warner had woken him at 0530 to fit the tracker and hand him a clean set of kitchen whites.

  Back to work.

  Nice to be out of the brig. Once he’d finished his marathon brooding session, the walls and bars had quickly palled in the entertainment stakes. They gave him his Link so he could read, but he found it hard to concentrate. Every time someone passed the door into the brig, he had to look up.

  Looking for Raine.

  Sometimes it was him, but he never came in. He hadn’t been near Kit since the day they fucked. Because he’d had what he wanted, Kit told himself at first. But he couldn’t
make himself believe it. Raine still wanted him and stayed away to avoid temptation.

  Kit slunk into work because he knew he had some apologies to make, and he didn’t relish the prospect. The galley already smelled of frying bacon, the chefs working on breakfast. After Kit reported to Ms. Ellis—from her cool manner he knew he’d have to wait awhile before calling her Trish again—she sent him to help Gracie.

  He found her carrying a tower of plates to the serving counter. The tower began to totter, so he quickly stepped up and took them from her arms.

  “Let me get those.”

  “Kit! You’re back!” She almost dropped the whole stack on him in reaction, but they steadied it between them. Kit smiled at her, but her wary answering frown made him shut his mouth and look serious. Once over the shock of seeing him again, she withdrew.

  “Yeah, ah, Trish said you might be back today. Um, so you’re staying aboard?”

  He nodded and decided he had to get rid of these damn plates. He placed them on the dispenser, which sank down to leave a couple of plates high enough to pick up.

  “Yes, I’m staying. The captain said if I misbehave, she’ll hand me over to the military when we join the convoy. I don’t much like the sound of that.”

  “Right. Um. Let’s get the mugs.”

  She still looked serious. He missed the smiles she used to give him—until he left without saying good-bye. Had they shown her the message he’d left her on the cart?

  “Gracie, I’m sorry. I wish I could have said good-bye to you. But I couldn’t put you in the position of even suspecting what I had planned. You might have gotten in trouble too.”

  “Right.” She nodded as she loaded clean coffee mugs into a slotted tray. “Yes. I suppose.” She didn’t sound convinced. Kit was probably only the latest in a long line of bastards who’d hurt her.

  “I’m sorry.” He could only say it again and hope she’d forgive him one day. “I’m not a good investment, babe. I’ll only bring you trouble.”

  She looked at him for a while, still loading the tray, by touch only. The mugs clunked together.

  “Are you going to try to escape again?”

  “I told you, the captain will hand me over to the military if I do.”

  “Maybe not.” Gracie shrugged. “She doesn’t like them much. And anyway, if you did get away, then it doesn’t matter what she would or wouldn’t do.”

  “True. But the thing is, to get away successfully, I’d have to have some clue what I was doing.” He rubbed the side of his face, still tender from the healing bruises. “And it’s become clear to all that I couldn’t locate a clue with both hands and a flashlight.”

  She giggled, and he smiled to hear it. He’d win her back sooner or later. She gave him a sad look sometimes as they worked, perhaps thinking she should resist being his friend because he’d hurt her, like the rest. He should encourage her to resist. Because he was right, he was a bad investment, not worth her time or affection. He didn’t have a clue how to escape. He’d failed this time because there were too many factors he didn’t know about. He’d gone too soon. But on the journey ahead, he’d have time to plan and learn. He’d get a clue and then he’d make a new plan.

  A good plan.

  * * *

  “Mr. Raine, I think you had a final issue to raise,” Captain Dryden said. Raine nodded his thanks at her across the meeting-room table and turned to Preston, the senior manager of the ore plant.

  “It’s the usual problem,” he said. “Your people pilfering our stores.”

  Preston showed little concern about Raine’s words. “Really, how big a problem is that?”

  “It’s theft,” Raine said. “It doesn’t matter of how much or how little.”

  He felt sure that Preston and his lawyer, Sullivan—a new one; they hadn’t seen her before—sneered at him. His hackles rose at the attitude, but he kept his control easily. Still, he was grateful the captain had decided on a separate security meeting. Bad enough to be sneered at in front of the captain, but better than in front of all the Dawn’s officers.

  “Perhaps you should guard your stores around the clock?” Preston suggested.

  “That isn’t practical,” Dryden said quickly before Raine could respond. But he jumped in as soon as she finished.

  “It isn’t practical because we’re usually too busy keeping your men out of other areas they aren’t authorized to be. Something you should be doing, not us.”

  “You’ve objected before when my security people come into your off-limits areas looking for my workers.”

  “I objected when we found two of your security men involved in a craps game they should have been breaking up.”

  “They were reprimanded,” Preston said. “Men will gamble, Mr. Raine.”

  “You want to let your men gamble, that’s your business, but keep them out of our sections while they’re doing it.”

  “Indeed,” Dryden said. “Your sections, your business. But if they come into ours, we’ll deal with them according to our rules.”

  “We’ve had this discussion before,” Preston said. “You know you have no jurisdiction over my men.”

  “She’s the captain,” Raine said, leaning over the meeting-room table. “She has jurisdiction over everyone on this ship.”

  “That’s not what the contract specifies,” Sullivan said.

  Raine sat back when Dryden made a small gesture. But he fumed at the disrespect the ore management showed her. She was the captain. Didn’t they understand what that meant? What it had meant for millennia? Jurisdiction? A captain had the power of life and death over every soul aboard.

  Dryden fake-smiled at Preston and Sullivan. “Let’s not go over old ground again. My company has made it clear—excessive pilfering of our stores will lead to them levying extra fees. And when it comes to the safety of the ship—which is compromised by unauthorized personnel roaming into places they shouldn’t be—then you can bet I’ll exercise my jurisdiction. Our lawyers can argue about it afterward.”

  Raine would be happier if he hadn’t heard her make the same speech half a dozen times at the start of voyages. Preston reacted barely at all. He said all the right words about how he’d enforce the rules, and Raine knew it would be the same as before. They’d turn a blind eye to their men stealing the Dawn’s food, setting up games in corners of the cargo holds, and even harassing the Dawn’s female crew members.

  After Preston and Sullivan left, Dryden got up to pour herself another cup of coffee.

  “Another one yourself, Chief? Or do you have to rush off?”

  “I have time for a cup, ma’am.”

  “Good.” She filled his and sat down again. “Same old same old, eh?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It’s like listening to your parents having a row. You start to ask yourself how people can fight about the same things over and over.”

  “If they’d only enforce the rules, we wouldn’t have to.”

  “You looked at little uncomfortable a few times during the meeting, Chief. What bothered you?”

  “I…ah…when you said ‘excessive pilfering.’”

  “What about it?”

  “Excessive or not shouldn’t come into it. There should be none.”

  Dryden nodded. “That’s the ideal. But you know we can’t afford a zero-tolerance policy on this.”

  Raine knew. He’d heard the argument before. The company would tolerate a certain percentage of depredation of the food stores and write it off rather than pay more security people to guard those containers around the clock. He understood it. He just didn’t like it. Theft was theft.

  “Anything else?”

  “The gambling. I know it’s against the rules. But I sometimes feel like a hypocrite enforcing that particular rule.”

  “You, Chief? I don’t think I’d ever call you a hypocrite.”

  She obviously didn’t know about other rules he’d broken lately. If taking advantage of a prisoner didn’t make him a hypocrite,
he didn’t know what did.

  “I just mean the officer’s card game is close to an official event here. People say it should be published on the ship’s itinerary.”

  Dryden laughed. “There are some differences, though. For example, I don’t think I’ve ever pulled a knife on the first officer and accused him of marking the cards.”

  “Good point, Captain.”

  Not good enough for him. Even though the officer’s poker game didn’t lead to the same kind of trouble as the ore workers’ cards and craps games sometimes did, both were technically against the rules.

  “You should play sometimes. It’s not about the money, you know.”

  “I’m not much of a card player.”

  He didn’t like lying to his captain, but he couldn’t join a card game whose existence he disapproved of on principle.

  “Is Mr. Miller back at work?” Dryden asked. Raine started guiltily at the name, and heat rose up the back of his neck.

  “Yes, ma’am. Once we got underway I allowed him to resume his kitchen duties as you ordered. He reported to the galley yesterday morning.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Captain, can I ask why you gave him a second chance?”

  She shrugged. “I’m a sucker for the puppy dog eyes.”

  Raine had tried hard to avoid being suckered by them. He’d kept away from the brig the last few days, sure Kit would be waiting to reel him in again. He probably thought he owned Raine, could even blackmail him. But he’d better not try.

  “Watch him carefully,” Dryden said. “Resume those check-in sessions. He needs to know you’re keeping a close eye on him. Mr. Miller strikes me as someone who, if you give him an inch, will take a mile.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I agree.”

  “Did he behave himself while he was cooling his heels in the brig?”

  “Yes. No trouble at all.”

  “He doesn’t want to be handed over to the military, and I suspect that’s because he knows it would be so much harder to escape from them. I’m sure he still has an eye on escape.”

  “We’re in space for four months, Captain. Where could he go?”

  “He can’t go anywhere. But he has a lot of time to think about what happens when we arrive at Saira.”