Finders Keepers (29 page)

What if—and he didn’t totally discount it—Jagan’s whole overdose was a stunt to get Trilby’s sympathy? That was why he’d given Farra Rimanava strict orders in Zafharish before he’d commed Trilby:
don’t leave them alone in sick bay together
.

He would take no chances.

But it looked like it hadn’t been necessary. Her kiss told him that much.

Would it again? He tilted his face down, captured her mouth with his own. She leaned into him, answered his slow, lazy kiss with lips warm, willing, and tasting of wine. Then the processor pinged. Food was the last thing on his mind, but they needed the sustenance. They had a long ways to go before Syar. And the-Gods-only-knew what kind of trouble would greet them when they got there.

But more important, they had a whole six hours to themselves before they were back on duty. A lot could happen in that time.

They might very well need the sustenance.

He grinned down at her. “Join me for dinner,
Dasja
?”

“That’s why I’m here.” She took another sip of her wine, turned toward the table.

He brought out the steaming casserole, some vegetables, and two round Saldikan sausage cutlets. They filled their plates, then Trilby leaned toward him.

“Jagan thinks his prescription might not be the only one poisoned. He’s putting together a warning message to send to GGA.”

His fork stopped in midair. “He did not say anything to me—”

“Because it was Farra who got him talking,” she said. “I don’t know if that’s the answer. But it’s something we’ve got to consider.”

“A move against GGA in total?” A warning, perhaps, from an associate who didn’t like Garold Grantforth’s trade proposal? Possible, but to use a ’Sko poison didn’t make sense. He was shaking his head and realized Trilby was looking at him questioningly.

He explained. “The only reason would be to stop Grantforth’s dealings with the Beffa. But then, why not go after the secretary himself? And why with a ’Sko poison, if the ’Sko are the very group he’s trying to help?”

“Not all the ’Sko. The Dakrahl? The Niyil?”

“The Niyil are more likely to shoot at GGA ships than use poison. The Dakrahl . . .” He thought on that while he chewed. The religious faction was often very creative in their methods. “Possible.”

“Or? I hear an
or
in there.”

He’d thought of this, when he wasn’t trying to figure out what suddenly changed his air sprite’s mind about him. “Someone wanted us to show up in Syar with a dead GGA accountant on board.”

She stared at him. “For what purpose?”

“We know the purpose. Someone wants your nav banks. Your knowledge. What better way to get control of this ship, control of you, than to charge us with murder?”

“That’s crazy!”

“Dark Sword hasn’t been effective all these years because he’s sane and kindly.”

She took a quick sip of wine.

He lowered his voice. “Dark Sword is the one behind the kill orders. Which, until recently, were few enough to look like happenstance. But with trade negotiations now on the table, and with people like your friend Neadi questioning the unlikeliness of so many attacks on freighters, Dark Sword has no choice but to change methods.

“More attacks will push Conclave opinion against the trade agreement, no matter how influential Garold Grantforth is. So there has to be another way to ensure ’Sko presence in the Conclave and acquire those freighters with Herkoid data. An impound and a murder charge is a rather good way to accomplish the second.”

“A ship under impound is sealed.”

“And her logs, all her databanks, are copied into the court system as evidence, no?”

She nodded.

“And if Dark Sword is as well placed as we think, he might be part of that system in the Conclave. Someone whose access to such records wouldn’t be questioned.”

“So you think Jagan was set up?”

He nodded. “It is one possibility I’ve considered. I have been trying to figure out by what means they were going to take this ship, and her nav banks, without arousing suspicion. And if it turns out no other prescriptions were poisoned, it’s a strong possibility.”

“But if something happened to Jagan, his uncle would call off the trade talks. He’d take it as a direct threat.”

“That’s only if it looked as if the ’Sko killed his nephew. But all Uncle Garold would know is that Jagan was poisoned while on a ship operated by his ex-girlfriend. Who probably had told more than a few people he left her heartbroken. And that she’d like to see him dead.”

“But I’m not in love with Jagan anymore!”

He was very glad to hear her make that statement, even if the circumstances eliciting it were less than savory.

“I haven’t been since I—” And she stopped, bit her lip self-consciously. “Since I pulled your ungrateful ass out of the swamp.” She leaned back, crossed her arms over her chest. But a smile played across her lips, and a challenging light danced in her eyes. “You just maneuvered me into admitting that, didn’t you?”

He reached across the table, pulled one hand out of the crook of her arm. He threaded his fingers through hers. “Unexpected bonus. But I’m glad to hear that, yes.”

He saw the color rise to her cheeks.

“So you think someone will be waiting to arrest me when we hit the Colonies?” she asked. But she didn’t pull her hand away.

“I think someone is waiting for a message from
Shadow’s Quest
about an unfortunate accident.”

“That’s not the message they’re going to get.”

“I know. All the more reason things will be very interesting when we get to Syar.”

“Dark Sword’s certainly going to be surprised.”

“I learned a long time ago, Trilby-
chenka,
that it is much, much better to be the one giving surprises than the one receiving them.” He thought of Kospahr on the
Razalka
’s bridge. No, he definitely didn’t like surprises.

She pulled her hand out of his grasp, but it was only to stab at her dinner. “Are you going to tell Jagan any of this? Or do you want me to?”

“Not until after he sends his message and we know for sure if there are more poisoned prescriptions. If there aren’t, I’ll talk to him. Or we both can.” He wanted Jagan to know without a doubt where Trilby’s allegiance was. “I don’t want any of our suspicions to be leaked through his message.”

Her ship badge pinged. She tapped it at. “Elliot.”

“
Dasjon
Grantforth’s message is ready.”

Rhis tapped his badge on, switched to Zafharish. He didn’t know if Farra was still in sick bay and if Grantforth could overhear. “We’re almost finished dinner. Bring it to the bridge in five minutes. Get Patruzius to stay with him.”

“Understood,
Dasjon
. Five minutes. I’ll comm Dallon.” The connection clicked off.

“Not even time for another glass of wine?” Trilby stood, clearing the plates from the table.

“Bedtime snack,” he said, and thought her soft laugh sounded very encouraging, indeed.

He watched Jagan’s message twice before permitting its transmission. It was short, earnest, and about what he expected from a corporate accountant.

Nor was he surprised by its destination: Garold Grantforth. Go right for the top when you want to make things happen.

It would be several hours, if not more, until they had a response.

He nodded to Farra and Mitkanos, then laid his hand on Trilby’s shoulder. “We’re off duty,” he said in Zafharish. Then, in Standard, he asked her, “Nightcap?”

She blushed. Mitkanos turned away, grunted, and busied himself with the bridge scanners. Farra swiveled around in her seat at communications and faced her console.

Rhis grinned, wrapped his arm around Trilby’s waist, and pulled her through the bridge hatch lock. He nibbled on her ear as they walked toward the lift.

“Rhis!” she pleaded, laughing softly.

His name had never sounded so wonderful.

25

Trilby stood in the middle of the small sitting area in her cabin and watched Rhis as if she were seeing him for the first time. She watched the lines of his body as he uncorked the wine, then reached overhead for two glasses from the galley cabinet. His gray shirt pulled across the width of his shoulders, the curve of muscles in his back and arm.

He glanced at her, briefly, with a lopsided smile and a flash of something promising in his dark eyes. Then he concentrated on pouring the pale liquid. His face was relaxed but the line of his jaw was strong, his cheeks slightly shadowed where they’d not seen a razor since yesterday.

She remembered his face the first time she’d seen him, lying in the damp grass, the remains of a ’Sko Tark behind him. His dark lashes had rested against pale skin; darker bruises blossomed along his jaw.

On her regen bed in sick bay, his naked form showed the muscles of a man who pushed his body hard, to the limits. And in those terrifying minutes when he first grabbed her, she’d felt his power.

The
Khyrhis Tivahr.
The
Senior Captain.

The man who had taught her to say
yav cheron
.

She took the stemmed glass he held out to her. He’d said barely two words since following her to her cabin. But then, she’d said nothing either. The air around them seemed to speak instead, charged with that primal energy she remembered feeling so intensely on the
Careless Venture
. Every time he came close to her. Every time his eyes met hers. Every time he touched her.

If the decking under her boots caught fire right now, she wouldn’t be surprised.

She dipped her finger in the chilled wine, touched it to his lips.

A low groan rumbled in his throat. He brushed her palm with a damp kiss.

“Khyrhis.” She said his name softly, tentatively. It was his real name, one she’d said over and over in her head, and her heart, but never before out loud.

He clasped her hand, his fingers strong and sure as they threaded through hers.

“Yav cheron,”
she whispered.

He pulled her hard against him, his mouth claiming hers, their intertwined hands for a moment caught awkwardly between their bodies. Then their hands slid apart. Hers went down the taut planes of his chest, moved around his waist. His went up, his thumb against her jaw, and his kiss deepened.

Her wineglass fell to the floor with a hollow clink. She wanted to touch his face too, caress it as he was caressing hers. Then it was the thickness of his hair she needed to feel.

His fingers kneaded the small of her back, the swell of her buttocks. He pressed her into his hardness. He nibbled at her mouth, taking her lower lip between his teeth. Squadrons of fluttermoths soared up her spine.

Slowly, deliberately she moved her hand from his waist down his thigh, then up, feeling him throb against her fingers. He inhaled sharply, pressed against her hand.

She teased his mouth with her tongue. Her fingers sought the zipper on his flight suit, found it, tugged.

He stepped back and suddenly his arm was under her knees. He lifted her smoothly. Her hands grasped his shoulders as he turned. Four steps and they were through her bedroom’s open door. Two more and she was on her back, in the middle of her bed, with a flushed and passionate Khyrhis Tivahr—
the
Khyrhis Tivahr—kneeling beside her, unzipping her flight suit, kissing her neck, pulling at the thin strap of her T-shirt.

She nudged off her boots. They hit the floor with a thud, and she had the presence of mind to reach blindly over her head for the console. “Cabin lock, on. Privacy Code—oh, Gods!—One!”

Strong but incredibly gentle fingers had found the heat between her legs. She arched into his hand. Her breath shuddered into his mouth as he kissed her.

“Trilby-
chenka
.” His voice was as raspy as his mustache against her cheek. “
Yav chera.
I want you. I cherish you.”

He moved his hands up her body, stroking, caressing. She grabbed a handful of his flight suit, now half on and half off. She wanted it off. It was an impediment. She needed the warmth of his skin, the roughness of his hair against her.

A louder clunk of his boots, then a slight chill for a moment as he lifted off her and stripped away the last of his uniform.

When his body covered hers, she wrapped her legs around his hips. He nuzzled his face in her neck, then trailed kisses over her breasts.

She moaned, pulled his mouth back up to hers, wanting every inch of her body to touch his. Sensation sizzled through her. His hands became more insistent, his kisses more frenzied.

She needed him inside her now. “Please, oh, Gods, please!”

She clung to his shoulders as he thrust into her. One hand cupped her bottom, lifting her hips as he stroked deeper. She could feel his muscles tremble as his control slipped. But hers went first, an explosion of fluttermoths and fireworks that left her gasping for breath.

And sent him over the edge. “
Dasjankira
. My lady, my love!”

She understood his words in Zafharish now. He was hoarse, his breathing ragged when he finally sagged against her. Their bodies were sweat-slicked. Her powdery perfume mingled with the heat of his male scent. She rubbed her face against the dampness of his neck, listened to his words.

“I love you, my
dasjankira
. My Trilby-
chenka
. You are from my dreams. You are what I cherish.”

She raised her face. “Khyrhis.” Passion still smoldered in his dark eyes. She couldn’t remember how to say, in his language, that she cherished him, loved him too.

She kissed him, hard, instead.

He didn’t seem to mind.

She woke with the feel of his lips on her shoulder, his fingers stroking her breasts. She was spooned against him under the tangle of covers. She peered at the bedside console. They had forty-five minutes before they needed to find coffee, perhaps breakfast. An hour before they had to be on the bridge.

She wriggled her bottom against him, felt his throbbing response against her skin. And his soft chuckle in her ear.

They ended up bringing coffee to the bridge. Breakfast wasn’t an option they had time for. Mitkanos vacated the captain’s chair when Trilby stepped through the hatchway, with Rhis right behind her.

Mitkanos moved to the communications station. But Dallon was in the copilot’s chair, finishing a systems check. Trilby knew he should’ve been off duty long ago. He shrugged when she mentioned it. “I don’t need that much sleep. Plus I was hoping a response from Grantforth might come in.”

Rhis slid into the copilot’s seat as Dallon stood, moving to an empty one at navigation. “Anything?”

Dallon shook his head. “Nothing. But it’s been six hours. We should hear something soon, I think.”

“Unless he’s too tied up with the trade negotiations.”

“Or,” Mitkanos said, “someone else intercepted the message.”

Trilby studied the command console, checking her ship’s status as the discussion continued around her.

“How’s our patient?” Rhis asked.

“Back in his own cabin.” Dallon gestured toward the CLS board behind Mitkanos. “Recovering nicely.”

Oh, Gods. Trilby caught Dallon’s movement, realized that both her and Rhis’s ship badges would have given away their location—in her cabin—during the past six hours. She felt the heat rise to her face and looked hurriedly back at her console.

Rhis brought up his supposition that Jagan was supposed to die on board so that Dark Sword, and whoever was working with him, would have access to the ship’s nav banks.

“Devious,” Dallon said. But Mitkanos disagreed. Too risky. They could have just as easily—if Jagan had died—changed their flight plan to the nearest port as an emergency measure.

Dallon leaned back in his chair, toyed with his half-hooked harness straps. “Perhaps that’s what we were supposed to have done?”

Rhis voiced more theory. Mitkanos dissented. Dallon added questions. Trilby stayed silent, listening to it all. Even if she hadn’t known the voices, she could’ve picked out “Fleet” from
“Stegzarda.”
Rhis’s questions, and answers, were broader in scope. He wasn’t satisfied until he had examined every possibility, played out every scenario.

Mitkanos was more linear. His answer was the ’Sko were a violent people. Subtlety and subterfuge weren’t their style.

“Ah, but the Dakrahl,” Dallon said. He was the middleman, in Trilby’s opinion. But his responses still heavily bespoke Fleet.

The subject changed a few minutes later. “The sublights are handling well since you resynchronized them.” Rhis nodded at Mitkanos.

The burly man shrugged slightly. “Factory specs are usually overcautious.” The fact that the
Razalka
’s captain paid him a compliment didn’t appear to interest him much. But it told Trilby something about Khyrhis Tivahr. As Hana had said, he’s not the same man who’d gone on the mission with her team.

Trilby checked the drive readouts. Fuel optimization was improved. She glanced again at the scanners, enviro, weapons. Online but showing cold. Mitkanos again.

And no response yet from Garold Grantforth. Or GGA.

“Okay, boys.” She motioned with one hand to Mitkanos, then Dallon. “Back to your cabins. We’ll take it from here. And, yes, as soon as we know . . .”

She left her voice trail off. They were all anxious to hear about the altered prescriptions. And if there was anything left of GGA personnel at HQ on Bagrond.

Her thoughts flew to Chaser standing next to her and Carina in the holo from Flyboy’s. It was inconceivable that he’d be involved. It was equally chilling that he might’ve seen something and been killed. She hadn’t heard from him since before Avanar.

But she had heard from Neadi. If anything were wrong, her friend would’ve said.

“
Vad. Vad.
I need dinner. Then sleep.” Mitkanos patted the back of Trilby’s chair, then ambled through the bridge hatchway.

“
Dasjon
. Captain.” Dallon gave them a respectful nod, followed the
Stegzarda
major into the corridor.

The hatch door clanked shut. Trilby keyed the lock. Rhis grabbed her hand, squeezed it.

She gave him a wry smile. “They knew. The whole time. They knew you were in my cabin.” She jerked her chin toward the now-empty comm station, with its CLS panel to her left.

“That was unavoidable.”

“I don’t think Uncle Yavo was very happy about it.”

He sighed. “Uncle Yavo is
Stegzarda,
through and through. But that’s not my concern.” His thumb stroked her fingers. “Are you okay?”

Actually, yes, she realized with mild surprise. Better than she thought she’d be. There’d been those regrets born of uncertainty the first time. Then, when she found out who he was, sheer panic, fueled by anger.

Now . . .

She squeezed his hand in answer. “Very okay.”

He let out what sounded like a sigh of relief. “Good. Now all I have to do is save the universe from the evil ’Sko and life will be perfect.”

She laughed. “It all rests on you?”

“But of course!” He raised on eyebrow. “I am—”

“Zafharin. I know, I know. You’re Zafharin.”

“And an arrogant rimstrutter. Don’t forget that.”

“And the embodiment of perfection,” she added.

“Actually,” he said, his voice dropping to a sexy growl, “I much prefer your body.”

“Do you? If you’re nice to me, I may let you play with it from time to time.”

“Tell me how to be nice to you,
Dasjankira
.” My lady love.

She pulled her hand out from under his, reached for his console. She keyed in the nav link. “Course change coming up. Be nice to me and handle it.”

“No task is too great . . .”

She groaned and turned back to her monitors.

They’d crossed Gensiira’s border into Lissade while she and Rhis had slept in each other’s arms. With Jagan’s authorization codes they were bypassing the customs checkpoint on Marbo, heading directly to the Colonies. She pulled up her charts. They were about thirty-five minutes from a secondary beacon. If a message waited, they might find it there.

She also toyed with the idea of sending one to Chaser. Or Neadi. Or both.

Rhis had his lightpen out, flipping it between his fingers. Should she add to his worries? She had to be wrong. Chaser had no motives, no reason to work with the ’Sko.

But he had known about Shadow’s files. He knew about her and Jagan. He was often at Flyboy’s.

She took a deep breath. “Jagan’s not the only one at GGA who knew about the old star charts.”

Rhis caught the pen in midair, regarded her levelly.

“It didn’t . . . I didn’t even think of him until you found the poison in the prescription. Chaser works for GGA Med-Labs.”

“Chaser.” He frowned slightly, then his eyebrows lifted. “The red-haired man in the holo with you.”

“With me and Carina.”

“How long—”

“My whole life. Our whole lives. We grew up together in Port Rumor: Carina and Vitorio, Shadow, Chaser, and me.”

“Chaser ever work for Herkoid?”

He was the only one who hadn’t. She shook her head. “He went into med-tech training with the Port Authority, worked as a paramedic for a couple years before he signed up with GGA.” She could see him processing the information. “But he knew about the charts Shadow took. And the ones Carina had.”