Rebels and Lovers (13 page)

She understood why at the spaceports—Devin had a penchant for exploring local cuisine, and she knew where not to eat or drink. But more than that, there were times when she sensed Devin Guthrie was a loner who was simply lonely. When the detail work of whatever business meeting she’d flown him to was done—detail work that kept his mind absorbed and occupied—he’d end up on the
Triumph’s
bridge, pressing her for stories—“hangar flying,” as the old-timers called it—until she’d nudge him toward a game of Zentauri to distract him.

Because there was only so much of her past she could talk about, including how she knew about these tunnels, which had prompted Devin’s
You grew up here?

Where and how she grew up was a question she didn’t want to answer—especially not to Devin Guthrie. With luck, she wouldn’t have to.

She quickened her pace down the shadowy maintenance tunnel, handbeam off, Devin, Trip, and Barthol trotting behind her in an enforced silence. This part of
the access tunnel had airflow grids on one side, which were the source of the weak and intermittent lighting but also a potential liability. She could clearly hear the rumble of voices and thudding of boot steps from Blue Corridor through the grids and knew well that, at certain points, someone next to a grid might be able to hear them. These old maintenance access tunnels weren’t well known, but they
were
known. She didn’t want anyone out there to suspect they were in here.

And it wasn’t just Fuzz-face she was worried about. It was that Fuzz-face might somehow know Frinks and that Devin Guthrie’s appearance might be somehow, some way, tied in to it all.

As idiotic as that sounded. She had a hard time imagining Devin Guthrie—
any
Guthrie—being involved with the likes of Frinks and Orvis. But then, she never thought Kiler would get himself killed in an explosion in a repair hangar and leave her with the mess he did. She was coming to learn that a little paranoia was a healthy thing.

A familiar configuration of pipes on her left caught her notice and she halted, evidently surprising Devin, because he bumped up against her back, left hand cupping her shoulder with a firm grip. Then he quickly stepped back, almost as if he found touching her distasteful. No, that was stupid. Devin was nothing if not overly polite—and considerate and respectful. The way Kiler used to privately and condescendingly refer to Devin—
Mr. Perfect and In Control
—always grated on her, but the assessment held an element of truth. Devin Guthrie
was
the quintessential gentleman, and not in a stuffy, off-putting way either. She shrugged a
no harm done
at him, but he looked away, his expression unreadable.

Okay, so maybe he could be a little stuffy.

Not your problem, Kaid
.

She raised her hand as Trip and Barthol stepped up next to her and Devin, and, when she was sure they all could see her, she pointed to the cluster of pipes and conduit overhead. Then she lowered her hand sharply. Big drop in ceiling height ahead.

The three men nodded.

She turned, crouching down, and hoped Trip had enough sense to crouch even farther. He’d already hit his head once and had been none too quiet about it.

Then her mind returned to the puzzle that was Devin Guthrie.

Quite honestly, the possibility of his being involved with Frinks made no sense—she had no problem adding
honorable
to the list of Devin’s attributes—but it made even less sense that Halsey or GGS Security Chief Petra Frederick would send Devin Guthrie to find Trip, not even with Barthol at his side. Over the years she’d heard a few mentions from Halsey and Frederick about the wiry old man’s “other skills.” But other skills or not, he had to be looking at the ass end of seventy. Devin was, yes, only mid-thirties, definitely fit, and very possibly the most intelligent one in the whole clan. But he wasn’t security, had never served in the military.

Though he damned near proned her out like a pro.

She winced as the sore spot in her back chose that moment to remind her just how fit—and fast—Devin “Perfect and In Control” Guthrie was.

So maybe Halsey had trained him. It had been two years since she’d flown for GGS. For all she knew, Devin had security training. He …

She shook herself mentally, could almost hear Kiler’s deep voice chastising her for her
perpetual looping suppositions
.

God and stars, Kaid, can’t you just let it be?

She could. She had to. Once she got them back to The Celestian, she was washing her hands of the whole affair. Trip was back with his uncle and a longtime family employee.
She
was no longer a GGS employee, so this whole situation was not only not her job, it wasn’t her problem. There was probably a good explanation why Devin was here and Halsey wasn’t. Maybe Halsey
was
here, or maybe he was on his way here in one of GGS’s star yachts. Even if he wasn’t, she had no doubt Devin had enough funds to get them all back to Sylvadae. Passenger transport was still operating out of Dock Five, though they might have a few days’ wait for a reservation. If they got hungry, they could order room service. They had money for that too.

She didn’t. The only thing she had was trouble, and they didn’t need any of hers.

It took them five minutes to move through the narrower tunnel. When they cleared it, Kaidee’s back wasn’t the only sore thing. Her knees ached and she’d damned near impaled her left shoulder—twice—on corroded conduit brackets jutting out from the wall.

She straightened, rubbing her shoulder, and noticed she wasn’t alone in her grimacing.

“Was this place built for miniature sentients?” Trip asked quietly, massaging one elbow.

There were two patches of grime on Barty’s face. “Servobots used them. Blue used to be a main docking level.” He, too, kept his voice low, even though there were no airflow grids here and no one in Blue Corridor could hear them or see them.

Devin’s face was also streaked, likely from where
he’d touched the decking or walls to keep his balance while hunched over and then rubbed the sweat out of his eyes. He rolled his shoulders, straining the fabric of his dark-brown jacket, then looked around the small square room lit only by Kaidee’s handbeam. “How much farther?”

She played the handbeam over the near wall. “Through that hatchlock, then down a ladder. Comes out at another hatchlock that leads into the hotel’s storeroom. If anyone’s in there, let me do the talking, okay?”

Trip was nodding when she turned back. Devin seemed to study her.

It hit her then that—her own paranoia be damned—he didn’t trust her. She could see that in the way his eyes narrowed behind the lenses of his silver-rimmed glasses, in the way his wide mouth formed a thin line. Mr. Honorable was seeing a very less-than-perfect Captain Griggs, who was far too knowledgeable about a place like Dock Five.

For a moment that hurt, because memories surfaced: playing Zentauri with him on the
Triumph
, laughing—she always thought he had a low, sexy chuckle. Walking by his side through various spaceport malls on Aldan Prime or Port Sapphire. He invariably seemed to find a reason to need her
shopping expertise
, as he called it.

Mother frets I’m fashion-blind
, he’d teased, blue eyes twinkling. There were times when Mr. Honorable could also be Mr. Charming, and she’d wondered more than once why he hadn’t charmed his way permanently into some young woman’s heart. If she had a sister … but she hadn’t. And even if she had, there was no way a Guthrie would be interested in a dock brat.

Though that had never stopped him from treating
her with respect. Okay, he was the youngest of J.M.’s sons but still a Guthrie, who didn’t have to offer honor and respect to a dock brat like Makaiden Griggs. Even if she flew his yachts.
Especially
because she flew his yachts.

But he had, and that had made her, well, fond of him. He brought something into her life that she’d come to realize she’d never get from Kiler: Devin Guthrie made her feel valued. So seeing the undisguised wariness and distrust now … hurt. She’d graduated from dock brat to Dock Five scum.

She shoved the pain away.
Welcome to my world
. Hurt was nothing new. Thank you, Kiler Griggs.

She tapped in the code to open the hatchlock, then shoved the heavy door sideways, surprised when a masculine hand appeared next to hers, helping. But it wasn’t Devin’s hand. It was Trip’s. Of course.

“Thanks.” She stepped through and headed for the black-and-yellow striped ladder on the far bulkhead.

The ladder ended at another hatchlock that responded to her coded input, but she opened this hatch more slowly. Only a crack at first. Listening. The room beyond was a shipping-and-receiving station for The Celestian Hotel; had been for as long as Kaidee knew. But she also knew that when Blue was Main Dock—a good fifty years before she was born—this had been a cargo staging area.

She heard voices. Two. One male, one female, though the female sounded Takan, with the guttural tones and clipped words. If they knew her, this would be easy. If they didn’t, she needed an explanation they would accept.

“Trouble?” Barthol’s low question was in her ear.

“Times two,” she answered. “But we don’t know how much until we get in there.” She angled around
slightly, caught the outline of Devin’s Carver under his brown suede flight jacket. “Stow that,” she said in a loud whisper. “Yours, too, Trip. We go in …” She hesitated, thinking. “They may have heard about the fights in Trouble’s Brewing. We act as if we just ditched out from that, okay? It’s basically the truth.”

“Sounds easy,” Trip said. Devin nodded.

“Okay.” She put her L7 in its holster on her utility belt, then shoved the hatchway open. There was about a two-foot drop to the decking below. She jumped down, landing with a thud.

“Hey,” she said, holding her hands out at her sides as the Takan female rose from behind her desk. The human male standing on her left turned quickly. The Taka was middle-aged, gray-furred, with three silver hoops hanging from her left ear. The man was not much older than Trip, his red hair slicked back from a low forehead. He and the Taka both wore the dark-blue coveralls of a hotel maintenance worker. Another human—a female in her early forties, with chin-length black hair—reached for the Mag-5 on her hip. Kaidee hadn’t known a striper was in the room. “We’re not the problem,” Kaidee explained. “Trying to get away from the problem. Couple of slag-heads went crazy in Trouble’s Brewing.”

She heard the muted thumps of the Guthrie trio behind her, but she kept her focus on the female striper and did a quick assessment of the Taka’s desk. Coffee mugs. Three. This was a social gathering, then. Break time. If she was lucky, the reports of the firefight with Fuzz-face and friends hadn’t reached this striper yet … or it had all been lumped in as part of the trouble at the pub.

“This young lady,” said a weak and halting voice
behind her, “said she could get us out. Me and my nephews here. Saved our lives.”

Barthol? Damned if it wasn’t Barthol, sounding every year and then some of however old he was. She chanced a quick glance over her shoulder. He was leaning on Devin, panting, his face pale against his black shirt and jacket, his posture hunched. Correction. He looked every year of at least a hundred.

The striper relaxed her grip on her gun. “Heard the report go out on main comm. But how did you know how to get through the tunnel?”

The red-haired guy perched a hip on the Taka’s desk. His name tag read
Gustav
. “And how’d you know the hatch codes?”

Shit. She hated specific questions about the tunnels. But at the very worst, they’d implicate only her. Barthol was smart to make it clear that he, Trip, and Devin had simply followed her. As Devin was already figuring out, associating with Captain Kaidee Griggs wasn’t the best idea.

“My uncle used to work maintenance here.” Well, that was partly true. Her uncle had worked on Dock Five—just not in maintenance. “Whenever my mother had a … friend visit,” and she shrugged, adding to the innuendo that sounded in her words, “she stuck my uncle with me.” She huffed out a short, deprecating laugh. “She had a lot of friends.”

Gustav snorted. The Taka sat back down and folded her arms across her chest. “Your uncle worked for the hotel?” Her gruff tone was easy. Her eyes were hard. She was older than the guy or the striper. She knew what those tunnels had been used for and who used them.

Kaidee looked over her shoulder at Barthol. “You all are safe now, okay? You don’t need me.” She
switched her focus to the striper. “And you don’t need them, right? I brought them through the tunnels because, well, someone was going to get hurt.” She didn’t know if Barthol wanted it known they had a room here.

The striper took a step forward. “Can’t have you wandering—”

“We’re hotel guests.” That was from Devin, in a tone Kaidee recognized as Guthrie Imperative. “I have my room card in my pocket. If you’ll permit me, Officer?”

The striper nodded. Kaidee couldn’t see what Devin was doing, but she prayed it wasn’t something stupid like drawing his Carver. She heard the slight rustle of fabric and watched the striper watching Devin. When alarm didn’t show on the woman’s features, Kaidee relaxed an inch.

“Bring it here,” the striper ordered.

Devin brushed by her, a cream-colored plastic room card between the outstretched fingers of his left hand. Keeping his right hand free, she noticed. Someone
had
taught him a few things.

The striper took the card and stepped back, motioning for Devin to stay in place. She swiped the card over a small reader attached to her belt. A green light flashed along with data Kaidee couldn’t see but knew was there. She wondered if the Guthrie name would mean anything to the woman.

“Mr. Barvin,” the striper said as she eyed Devin. “Just checked in today?”

“Yes.”

Barvin? Kaidee wondered where the pseudonym had come from, then it hit her: Barthol and Devin. Barvin.

“Out of Aldan Prime?”

She knew Devin lived on Garno, but the location was probably part of the disguise as well.