Ain't Nobody's Business

by C. J. Clemens

  She kissed the sheriff farewell, gently squeezed her shoulder, and then glided regally out of the room, followed by three of her monks. Everyone stared after the statuesque women. Everyone except the captain, who still gazed at the sheriff.

  Remy crossed the floor between them, stopped at Lilly’s side, and bent down to whisper in her ear. Dreyla tried to figure out what he was saying, but she couldn’t. The sheriff, meanwhile, rolled her eyes. When he dipped his head and whispered again, she went perfectly still for a moment, a strange look crossing her face, and then offered a reluctant nod.

  “Everyone, chill, we’ll be back later,” Remy announced.

  Without another word, the two slipped out of the room.

  Dreyla gaped at the door as it closed behind them.

  What the—?

  Ooh, men can be so stupid.

  Women, too.

  Chapter 3

  LILLY

  The ground-floor saloon of the Hotel Verilux teemed with mid-evening guests. Although it might have made more sense for Milo and Remy—as the aristocrat-and-servant duo they’d portrayed—to stay at the Butcher’s Place while in Bane, Sheriff Lilly Greyson acknowledged it would have been far too dangerous for the rest of them. Gono Darkbur and most of his people knew their faces far too well. Hence, why Lady Ris had booked them a suite at the Hotel Verilux, a smaller affair than Darkbur’s establishment, though no less popular with locals looking to unwind after a hard day in the city’s shops and mines.

  As Lilly followed Bechet through the dimly lit bar, weaving her way around patrons on chairs and stools, ignoring the curious stares directed at her, she couldn’t help but chuckle. From behind, Bechet looked even sillier in his ill-fitting servant’s attire. For the love of Zog, he could have taken a moment to change into his civvies, though at least he’d left that ridiculous hat back in the suite.

  Her momentary lightheartedness passed, and her eyes squinted with skepticism again.

  What’s the wily captain up to now?

  She’d only agreed to come here with him on the off chance they needed to discuss some aspect of the plan in private. It was clear he didn’t want his daughter to worry about the details, and despite Lilly’s mixed feelings toward Bechet, she could respect his fatherly concern.

  The pirate found a table in one of the back corners. He sat in a chair and she followed suit.

  Lilly crossed her arms and leaned against the table. “So, what did you want to discuss?”

  He cocked his head. “Can we maybe get a drink first?”

  She scowled, then nodded. He raised his hand to signal a nearby barmaid. Lilly, meanwhile, debated the wisdom of drinking something alcoholic.

  Ah, what the hell.

  The chirpy barmaid took their order and walked away.

  Lilly drilled her gaze into the pirate’s face. It was a ruggedly handsome face, which had borne its share of abuse but also experienced joy and laughter. Bechet didn’t possess that bitter, defeated look of some of her similarly-aged deputies. She guessed he was five, maybe ten years older than she was, but that glint in his impertinent, hazel eyes told her he hadn’t let the universe beat him down.

  Not yet anyway.

  “Let’s wait for the drinks,” he said.

  Fine, she would sit here in awkward silence. There had been way too much talking today anyway, and far too little action. She resumed her shameless perusal of him. Despite his lean frame, he was stronger and more agile than any of her deputies. Under his silly costume, he undoubtedly concealed a fit body. She’d already caught a tempting glimpse of his upper half in one of her jail cells.

  He was watching her, too, his eyes darkening in the gloom of their little alcove.

  After a minute or maybe several minutes of this staring match, the barmaid returned with their order. She deftly slid their drinks in front of them and vanished into the crowd again.

  The captain had asked for a double of one of the local whiskeys while Lilly had opted for a Burning Bane Special, which was currently on fire. She wondered if it was prophetic.

  Bechet’s lips curled into a smile. The first since they’d sat down.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You should put it out before the alcohol burns off.”

  She blew into the glass, and the flame went out.

  “To a successful team-up,” the pirate said, raising his glass.

  “No, you don’t get to toast that. This is not a team-up, Bechet. You’re aiding me in a recovery effort.”

  “Right,” he said, with what sounded like several degrees of sarcasm. His glass hovered in the air.

  With deliberate slowness, she raised her drink, they clinked glasses, and their eyes met. After a few seconds, they sank back into their seats in unison.

  He took a drink from his glass, refraining from the typical macho habit of downing the entire thing, and she sipped her cocktail. The spiciness and alcohol hit the back of her throat and drained into her chest, warming her entire body. Nice.

  “I think we got off on the wrong foot,” the captain began, his voice peculiarly strained.

  “A strange summary of events, Bechet, given that you’re a criminal. Even if you are from a different universe, which by the way I’m still having trouble believing.”

  “Believe it, Sheriff.” He let out a long sigh. “Although, I’m not really a criminal. I’m a pirate.”

  “Well, pardon me for getting the terminology wrong.”

  The captain smiled wryly. “Sometimes I do have to tread a fine line. Sometimes, my work leads me to the wrong side of the law, but I mostly deal with the outer reaches of our solar system, where the only law is those you’ve paid off and those you haven’t.”

  She took another sip of her cocktail. His far-fetched tale was easier to swallow with the warming alcohol coursing down her throat and into her chest.

  “Near as I can figure,” he continued, “it’s pretty much like living on Vox. You all seem to live by your own laws. And if the chatter in your station, and from your people, is any indication, everyone has their hand out.”

  “They take a little extra, that’s true,” she admitted. “I allow them to. They hustle to get by. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and because of that, the cost of living can often be through the roof.”

  She pushed her half-empty glass across the table. As much as she enjoyed her cocktail, she needed to quash her thirst. She didn’t like the way Bechet had her on the defensive. The pirate, meanwhile, showed no signs of stopping. He had already finished his drink and raised his hand for another.

  After signaling for a second whiskey from the barmaid, Bechet turned back toward Lilly. “That’s exactly the same situation we’re in. I haven’t been back to my planet in years.” He stared down at his empty hands. “My crew and I are out in the farthest reaches of our system, just trying to get by.” When he raised his head again, his gaze was unfocused, as if talking more to himself. “Hell, Dreyla has never even been to Earth. She’s only ever seen news feeds and watched movies from my collection.”

  The barmaid brought him a second drink. He hunched over the glass, still apparently lost in thought.

  Then he shook his head and stared at Lilly, his eyes sharp and bright again. “So, you see, we aren’t so different.”

  She was about to protest when he asked, “What’s your story? How did you come to be the sheriff in Naillik?”

  “Why? Because it’s hard for you to believe a woman could do such a thing?”

  He lifted his hands placatingly. “I have no problem believing you’re a most capable sheriff.”

  She hesitated for a moment, but then, whether because of the alcohol in her bloodstream or simply the sense that he’d divulged part of his soul, she threw caution to the wind. “My husband… was sheriff.”

  Bechet seemed frozen in shock.

  “Yes.” She nodded at his reaction. “He was killed by Darkbur’s men… I just couldn’t prove it… so, I took on the post.” Grinning, she added, “And you can t
ake your hands down now.”

  But he was looking past her, a snarl twisting his mouth.

  “On second thought, Captain, why don’t you keep your hands up?” a female voice rang out from behind Lilly’s back.

  A jolt of electricity shot up Lilly’s spine. She knew that voice. Tara Shaw. She unsnapped the buckle on her holster and prepared to turn.

  “And you can just ease your hand off that pistol, Sheriff,” Shaw purred.

  Lilly felt the cold metal of a weapon pressed against her back. In her peripheral vision, she noticed another one level with her face, pointing at Captain Bechet.

  “Shaw,” he growled.

  The woman’s hand tensed with the clear intention of blasting the captain’s head off. The air between these two pulsed with hatred. Lilly felt a wave of nausea. This situation wouldn’t end well.

  “I’ve waited a long time for this, Bechet,” Shaw said, her voice quivering with relish.

  “And you’ll have to wait a bit longer,” another voice said. A girl’s voice.

  Dreyla! Lilly could have leapt from her chair and kissed her.

  Her gaze darted upward. Shaw’s eyes widened, her porcelain face convulsing unnaturally.

  In a flash, the captain kicked back his chair and grabbed the gun pointing at him, just as Lilly leaned to the side and yanked the blaster from Shaw’s artificial hand.

  Positioned behind Shaw, Dreyla brandished a small stun rod. The blonde woman continued to convulse a moment longer and then collapsed at the girl’s feet.

  Lilly eyed the teenager with undisguised admiration. Her own deputies couldn’t have handled it better.

  Dreyla prodded the toe of her boot into the body at her feet. “I suggest we get her out of here before any of her friends show up.”

  Chapter 4

  REMY

  For once, Remy felt grateful to be on the side of the law. Sheriff Greyson had capably plowed a path through the curious crowd in the murky bar, just by holding up her badge and barking “official business” at anyone who dared to step in her way. Of course, she didn’t work for the Bane Police Department—no members of which Remy had yet to see—but none of the patrons in the Hotel Verilux likely knew that.

  Once clear of the nosy onlookers, Remy, Dreyla, and the sheriff had taken an elevator up to their floor and returned to the suite they’d been using as their headquarters. Having carried a disarmed Shaw over his shoulder all the way from downstairs, Remy was only too happy to deposit her in one of the bedrooms, her artificial arm clanking against the bedframe as she bounced atop the mattress. Dreyla and the sheriff trailed him closely, and not surprisingly, the rest of those still in the suite—Milo, Jacer, Davis, and Brand—also shuffled into the cramped bedroom to stare at the unconscious blonde woman that the four of them had only seen from afar.

  Remy turned to Dreyla. “Not that I’m not grateful… but what the hell were you doing down in the bar?”

  She pursed her lips. “Well, while you and Sheriff Lilly were having a cozy drink, I realized what was bugging me about our plan. The annoying little detail we’d forgotten to factor in.” She gestured toward Shaw. “Since I figured she might be looking for us, I wanted to give you a heads-up. Luckily, I spotted her in the hotel foyer and followed her into the bar.”

  “Yeah, lucky.” Remy sighed. “Wonder how she found us.”

  “Even with that getup…” Drey nodded toward Remy’s ridiculous outfit. “…someone might’ve recognized you at the Butcher’s Place and trailed you here. No doubt Darkbur has spies everywhere.”

  Two clicks interrupted their conversation. Sheriff Greyson had handcuffed Shaw’s hands to the bedframe and now lingered to examine her metallic right forearm. Based on the prosthetics Remy had seen in Dr. Sanger’s office, he assumed Shaw’s impressive limb was more advanced than the usual options on Vox.

  The sheriff glanced across the bed and focused on Remy. “You care to tell me why this woman wants to kill you so badly?”

  “You’re looking at it,” Dreyla said dryly.

  The sheriff’s gaze dropped to Shaw’s artificial limb again, shifted to Dreyla, and finally refocused on Remy. “Whoa. You took her arm?”

  “It was a work-related injury,” he said.

  Technically, not a lie. He’d been on a job when Shaw had threatened Dreyla, and he’d only blasted the arm off the commander’s body to protect his daughter.

  Sheriff Greyson’s eyes narrowed. “She was the law, I’m assuming?”

  He shrugged. “Of sorts. Like I told you, out in the Belt, it’s pretty much the Wild West.”

  Her hard stare didn’t waver, and he realized she probably had no clue what he was talking about.

  “Look, it’s as good as a free-for-all out there,” he explained. “Every person out for themselves. Some even consider themselves the law,” he clarified.

  “No matter who they’re really working for,” Dreyla added. “Anyway, her ship got sucked through the same portal as ours, and she’s been gunning for us ever since.”

  Milo stepped beside Dreyla. “And now she’s working for Darkbur?” He peered down at Shaw’s lax face, sleek black outfit, and black leather boots.

  “Well,” Dreyla said, “she worked for an even worse pirate king back in our galaxy, so it’s not surprising she’s involved with a local crime lord in Bane.”

  The door of the suite creaked open and closed. Remy turned and spotted Lady Ris walking toward them.

  He nodded in greeting, but then an awful thought crossed his mind. “Damn!”

  “What?” Sheriff Greyson asked.

  “We have to pull the job tonight.”

  The sheriff shook her head. “I don’t think—”

  “Listen,” he said, “I don’t like it any better than you do, but if Darkbur’s men can’t find Commander Shaw, it’s going to put everyone on high alert, which’ll—”

  “Make it that much more difficult to pull this job off,” Dreyla finished.

  Sheriff Greyson’s face paled at the realization. But at least she nodded in agreement.

  “Then it is excellent news that your good doctor has arrived,” Lady Ris said, sweeping into the room and bestowing a smile on each of their dismayed faces. “In fact, he has already checked himself into a suite on the sixth floor of the Butcher’s Place.”

  Remy offered her a slight bow out of sheer gratitude. This was indeed good news, but even if they kickstarted the plan tonight, he couldn’t leave Shaw here unguarded. He quickly scanned the room. Everyone present was already part of the plan—even Lady Ris herself. She was one of their getaway drivers, tasked with having their vehicles ready after the heist.

  “Someone’s gotta babysit Shaw,” he said, appealing to the sheriff.

  Sheriff Greyson regarded her two deputies. “Brand, you stay and guard this woman.”

  Both Brand and Davis opened their mouths to protest, but the sheriff held up her palm, halting them before they uttered a word.

  “Since you’re both part of the diversion, it just means someone else will have to pick up the slack a bit. But no matter what, Bechet’s right. This woman needs to be guarded… and Brand, I think it’s safe to say she’s a tough son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah? Well, so am I.” Brand patted Davis’s arm reassuringly, plopped in a chair beside the bed, and readied one of her many sizable firearms.

  The sheriff nodded approvingly.

  Meanwhile, Jacer had yanked off a pillowcase, rolled it up, and pulled it around Shaw’s face, stuffing part of it into her mouth. Very swift, very professional. There was more to this aflin than Remy had initially suspected. Everyone stared at the pale-skinned man as he tied a double knot with his slender fingers.

  “What?” Jacer asked, straightening up.

  “Nothing, that’s perfect,” Remy said. Then, he turned back to the sheriff and clapped his hands. “Right, let’s get our asses over to the Butcher’s Place.”

  He scanned the crew. They would appear like a mob entering the hotel, not to me
ntion half of them seemed as though they’d just returned from a funeral. At this rate, they would undoubtedly raise some suspicion.

  He cracked a smile. “Hey, everyone, relax. Jeez, you look like someone died.”

  “People are dying, Captain,” the sheriff reminded him.

  “True,” he said. “But we don’t want to stand out. Not tonight.”

  Remy and Sheriff Greyson exchanged a look. For just a moment, he saw through her customary stern expression. He recalled how she’d appeared just a little while ago: sexy and radiant in the muted light of the bar, flushed from the alcohol warming her from within. He’d caught a glimpse of her true self, the one hiding behind the mask of the law she kept so firmly in place. The story of her husband—it explained so much.

  But right now, Remy needed to focus on the job. All that mattered was getting those meds back.

  “OK, everyone, grab your gear,” Remy instructed. “We don’t have much time to lose.”

  While the team dispersed throughout the suite, and Brand kept an eye on Shaw, Remy slipped into the bathroom and chucked his servant’s costume. It felt good to wear his own duds again.

  Before leaving the bedroom that served as Shaw’s temporary prison, Remy caught Brand’s eye. “Seriously, this woman is no joke. Keep a close watch on her.” He handed her a comms earpiece. “And let us know when she’s awake.”

  Once Remy and the rest of the team were ready, he gathered them near the door of the suite. “I realize this is unexpected. Having to grab the meds tonight, I mean, instead of getting an extra day to go over the plan. But we can do this. Just breathe and focus on your part.” He sighed, eyeing the cluster of nervous faces. “And for God’s sake, spread out. I don’t want everyone going in at the same time.”

  Before ushering the group into the hallway, he turned to Lady Ris. “So, which suite are your people and Tosh in?”

  “Number 613,” she replied.

  “OK,” Remy ordered, opening the door, “we go in carefully, in twos and threes, and then meet up at 613.”