Rayven's Keep (2 page)

Glow lights powered up as he reached the last row of buildings, providing dim beacons against the encroaching gloom. The red orb passing for a sun on this world offered little warmth to the inhabitants mining the planet. Now, it was barely visible through the dust cloud. It was no accident most activity occurred underground. People only lived on the surface because it was necessary if they catered to ship traffic.

Nick was being followed and had been since he’d left the alehouse. It could be a coincidence they were going in the same direction through a derelict district at the same time, but Nick wasn’t a big believer in coincidence. In addition to the unpredictable weather, Lodestone had a nasty reputation as a violent town. It was a safe bet the footsteps echoing behind him were more than another pilot with the same destination in mind. Robberies were common and transport pilots a favorite target, another reason most sane pilots avoided the place. Nick Rayven had no intention of becoming a Lodestone statistic.

Taking advantage of shadows between two buildings, he ducked out of sight, blending into the darkness. A gasp, barely audible over the wind gusts pinpointed his follower’s position.

He didn’t have long to wait before the huddled shape reached his hiding place. Nick threw a lightning-fast punch. The figure crumpled to the ground in a boneless heap. Shaking his knuckles he winced at the sting, glad he hadn’t needed to use his blaster. He didn’t need any more complications. Disgusted anyone would dare consider him a target, he contemplated the unconscious form and debated his options. Either desperation or stupidity had sent the youth after him. Regardless, Nick needed to deal with the situation and quickly. By his estimation, he only had a narrow window of time left if he wanted to get off this planet before the port was locked down.

Under normal conditions, he would prefer to tie up his stalker and leave him for the authorities to find, but the storm’s momentum was building at a deadly pace. Grit boiled across Lodestone’s surface, stabbing exposed skin and making it difficult to breathe. It would be certain death to leave anyone outside and unprotected during the planet-scouring devil screaming mercilessly across its surface.

“Damn it,” he muttered. With aching fingers, he retrieved the narrow cord he kept in his utility belt. Squatting, he made short work of securing the slender wrists behind the other’s back. Time enough, once on board, to get to the bottom of this without the worry of being grounded on Lodestone. If he didn’t like the answers, it would be easy enough to toss the bastard out the airlock. A clean and speedy end to a problem. The idea had merit as a threat, if nothing else.

He grunted as he hauled the limp body over his shoulder. He sprinted toward his ship, grateful his burden didn’t weigh much.

The
Messenger
was a small, ugly transport much like every other ship on the docking pad. He’d flown this one to his rendezvous counting on its very similarity to others to keep his presence concealed. Nick shifted his captive to sit a little more securely on his shoulder before pressing his palm against the security pad, begrudging the seconds it took to verify his identity. The door opened and a boarding ramp extended. Welcoming lights flickered on in the interior as he entered. He turned and hit the keypad, sealing the door behind him.

The cargo area to his left would hold his captive until he was off-world and had time to figure out why he’d been followed. Nick dumped his burden onto a pile of heavy covers behind a cargo net. He nudged the body with his booted foot. When there were no signs of returning consciousness, he shrugged. Not willing to waste any more time, he locked the cargo door behind him and loped toward the main cabin.

He skirted the small crew quarters and entered the bridge. Strapping in, he initiated the launch request to the port tower. He coughed metallic dust from his lungs as he tapped on the arm of his chair and waited for clearance. Every little delay and redundant launch protocol demanded by the tower increased his irritation. Powerful blasts of wind buffeted his ship, debris thumping against its exterior as he ran through another system check. How friggin’ long would it take to gain clearance to leave Lodestone? He snapped his responses to the tower drone while he kept a wary eye on the storm.

Authorization lit the onboard computer screen. The ship’s engines thrummed with building power readying for departure. Nick punched in the final coordinates and sank into his seat, braced for the bone-jarring force of liftoff. His ship bucked hard, fighting the planet’s gravity and the turbulent storm doing its best to ground him. He adjusted his trajectory as the planet’s atmosphere released the ship and reached the cold expanse of space. He relaxed into weightlessness and grinned when the artificial grav force kicked in.

Nick unbuckled his chair harness, leaned back in his seat and stretched. He rolled his shoulders and muscles popped as tension released. Fatigued, he rubbed grit from dry eyes and scratched the itchy, rough stubble along his jaw. He felt like hell and probably looked worse, but it was an unavoidable consequence of pushing himself so hard.

He levered himself out of his chair and headed toward the crew quarters. Once away from the helm, he brushed the worst of the dust from his clothing. He removed the small pouch from his pocket and stored it in a hidden compartment for safekeeping. Time to wake up his unwanted guest and get some answers.

* * * *

Tru Creighton regained consciousness slowly. She felt like she had been hit with a mining hammer. It was the only explanation for the ferocious headache pounding behind her tightly closed eyes. Her limbs felt heavy, weighted down by an unnatural pressure, and she frowned trying to figure out why.
Grav force.
Which could only mean she was on board a ship.

The odd thrumming of a powerful engine beneath her ear provided another clue she was off-world. While that sank in she struggled to put more pieces together. Her last clear memory was of trailing the large man moving like a shadow through the storm. She prayed she hadn’t made a mistake because if he wasn’t Nick Rayven, her chances for survival were close to nil. A shiver raced up her spine.

She tried to sit up, gasping as glass-sharp needles of pain shot through her abused skull and shoulders. Her hands were bound behind her back and no amount of struggle would release them. Tru panted through the pain and took stock of her surroundings. Information meant the difference between remaining alive and the alternative. She was all about surviving.

The soft whoosh of the door opening froze her in place. She closed her eyes to mere slits. Buying some time, she feigned unconsciousness.

Large, booted feet stopped in front of her and Tru’s heart danced a spastic tango against her rib cage. If the size of the feet were any indication, her captor was a big man, and she was in serious trouble.

“I know you’re awake. No use pretending.” His voice was flat, cold.

A scarred, calloused hand grabbed her nearest arm and yanked her to her feet. Tru bit back a groan and tried to wrench her arm out of the implacable grip. Dizzy and fighting nausea from the foolhardy action, she prayed she wouldn’t throw up. Sweat trickled from under her cap and stung her eyes. Perhaps it hadn’t been the best idea to follow him after all. Maybe he wasn’t the kind of man she’d imagined when searching through the data files. Reality painted a much different picture, one with wide brush strokes of barely-contained power and potential violence. He was much bigger up close than he had looked from her hiding place near the alehouse.

Much bigger. Angry. Too bad she hadn’t considered that possibility when she’d hatched her desperate plan to escape Lodestone.

His silent regard stretched her nerves until she wanted to collapse into a whimpering heap on the floor. Deep-rooted determination locked her knees, but couldn’t prevent the unsteady sway of her body. Mouth dry, unable to think, she kept her head lowered and waited. What else could she do?

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t jettison you into space without a suit.”

Horror snapped her head up. Chills sprinted along her skin, tightening muscles already trembling with too much adrenaline. Her lungs labored to draw her next breath. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he searched her face. Tru guessed her disguise was blown.

“Sonofabitch,” he snarled. “Who the hell are you?”

“I c-can explain. G-give me a minute.” She swallowed hard. The only thing keeping her upright was his iron grip on her arm

“Barf on my boots and I’ll throw you out the nearest air lock.”

Tru didn’t doubt for a minute he would do as he threatened. She nodded and sucked in deep breaths, willing her stomach to settle. With her vision still blurred from the blow to her head, she fought to bring his face into focus, and then wished she hadn’t succeeded.

“Well?” he demanded.

Words failed her. The dark cavern of her mind only echoed with the roar of the headache pummeling her brain like a punch-drunk miner. A quick, hard shake from Nick did little to help, nor did the potent curse he uttered when she lost her balance and fell against him.

A strong arm clamped around her back, giving her the opportunity to find her footing. Unable to do anything else, she rested her aching head against his hard chest and closed her eyes. Weariness dragged at her as the shock and fear from the past few days drained away. She trembled in his embrace and hated her weakness.

Nick Rayven had a reputation as a dangerous man to cross, but her careful inquiries had also shown him to be fair and well respected. She was betting her life on it. He was her best shot at getting out of the mess she’d found herself in. That is, if she could persuade him he needed to help her. A big if at the moment. Gathering herself, she straightened and pulled away.

It wasn’t easy meeting his eyes. Somewhere in her mind it registered they were brown, but there was no warmth in their depths. Intense, missing nothing, his sharp regard made her squirm. When he pulled a knife from his boot, her luck might have just run out.

She opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out but a mewling squeak. She jerked in his hold, but he tightened his grip until her shoulder felt as if it was being crushed. Heart racing, barely able to breathe through the panic constricting her throat, she shut her eyes and waited for the end. Awareness narrowed to a pinprick concentrated on the man in front of her. He stepped closer and she was surrounded by the heat of his body, heard his inhale and felt the brush of displaced air when his arm moved. She gulped a breath, drew in the taste of her own fear.

Time slowed and stretched each second into a lifetime. Nothing happened.

She peeked from one eye, wondering if her cowering posture had stopped him. “What are you waiting for? Go ahead and kill me. It isn’t as if you’re the only one trying.”

“You aren’t worth killing, little girl.” Contempt spiked his voice and she cringed. “But if that was my intent, I wouldn’t use a knife. I’d have to clean up the mess and that would just piss me off. If you want your hands free, it’s faster to cut the ties.” He shifted his grip on the knife and slashed the bindings around her wrists.

Her numb arms flopped to her sides and she sucked in a breath. Why was she still alive? Pathetically grateful, she turned, took a wobbling step and swayed.

“Now then. Who the hell are you?” Nick barked.

“Tru. Tru Creighton.” Feeling began to return to her arms and razor-edged needles of agony shot from her shoulders to her fingertips, pulsing with the pounding in her head. She clenched and unclenched her fists, desperate for relief. Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked rapidly to prevent them from falling.

“Okay, Tru Creighton.” Nick enunciated her name as if he doubted she was who she claimed to be. “Why don’t you explain why you followed me and we’ll take it from there. I’m warning you, I’d better like the answers.”

“No need to be snide. I’ll get to it.” She lifted her chin and scowled in his general direction, not quite daring to meet his eyes before looking away.

Silence stretched between them while she stalled. Intimidated and trying not to show it, Tru rubbed her wrists. Unable to stop herself, she stole a glance at him, stunned to see something perilously close to a grin and all coherent thought fled. Gathering her scattered wits, she tried again. “I...ah...need your help,” she whispered.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression mocking.

Her spirits sank further. “I can pay.”

Nick crossed his arms over his broad chest and snorted. “You don’t look like you have two credits to rub together to me.”

Her shoulders slumped. Nothing was going the way she planned. Licking dry lips, she stared into Nick’s hard face. “Please.”

Chapter 2

Nick rubbed his jaw and considered his unwanted passenger. The last thing he needed was to be saddled with another problem, and Tru Creighton had trouble written all over her. She also looked ready to collapse. He guessed sheer determination kept her on her feet. Weighing his options, he eyed his captive and blew out a breath.