Rebels and Lovers (15 page)

Kaidee swung around toward Devin, aware of Barty now on his feet. A high-pitched blast zinged by her. Gustav arched back, his right hand splaying outward, a knife Kaidee hadn’t seen until that moment falling from his fingers.

Devin angled himself up from the desk, his glasses skewed, blood staining the left shoulder of his sweater where his jacket had pulled away.

Kaidee’s heart caught in her throat. God and stars, no, not Devin.

She shoved her L7 into its holster, then grabbed his arm, steadying him as he tried to stand. “Devin!”

“Fuck. That hurts.” His voice was low, his words slurring.

“I suggest,” Barty said, grabbing Devin’s other arm as he swayed toward them, “we get him up to our room, quickly.”

Kaidee shot a glance at the unconscious striper as she put one arm around Devin’s waist. He leaned heavily on her—all lean, wiry muscle. “But she knows—”

“Nothing. The room card he gave her was bogus—an old trick I’ve used dozens of times. Plus, I erased her datapad, and he should have deleted any traces they did on you.”

“But she … They know my name, my ship’s name.”

“You hit them on full charge, didn’t you? Then we have at least four hours before they wake up. With a little luck, given what we know about them, that’s not a lead they’re going to want to follow.”

A little luck? How about an enormous, galactic-size dose of luck? Something Kaidee never had, not in her entire life. She only had Kiler. Then Orvis and Frinks. And now one very pissed-off striper.

And one very injured Devin Guthrie.

Fucking slagging son of a bitch!
A dozen more epithets crossed Devin’s mind but not his lips as he lay on the bed in his hotel room, with Barty working what he called “field medicine” on the wound in Devin’s shoulder. Field medicine meant antiquated methods of dealing with the deep gash, because getting to a med-tech right now would require answering questions they didn’t want asked—considering there was an unconscious striper in The Celestian’s supply office three floors below.

Field medicine also meant pain—in spite of the copious amounts of Lashto brandy Barty had poured down Devin’s throat—but it was a pain Devin would not voice, because Makaiden was a few feet away in that same hotel room, her soft brown eyes filled with worry and compassion.

At least he hoped that’s what it was. With his glasses off and the brandy in his gut, he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.

So he was taking it like a man, just in case it was compassion. Just in case she might be as … irrevocably intrigued by him as he was by her.

She’s married
, his conscience reminded him.

But that doesn’t mean she couldn’t feel compassion
, he argued back. Maybe she’d even grant a dying man his last wish. Except he should save that for when he was actually dying. Not just feeling as if he was dying.

“Did that hurt?” Barty the torturer asked.

“Not really,” Devin lied through clenched teeth.

“I need another towel.” Barty glanced up to where Trip—looking a bit pale and tight-lipped himself—stood next to Makaiden.

His nephew nodded and loped quickly for the lav, then returned as quickly, towel in hand.

“Put pressure on his shoulder right here,” Barty instructed. “I have to dig those barbs out.”

Oh, yeah, the knife the bastard shoved into his shoulder was barbed. Lovely.

Trip paled even more.

Makaiden grabbed the towel. “I’ll do it.”

Then she was next to him on the bed, arms reaching across his bare chest, hands pushing on his shoulder, her hip against his side. He liked her close. He could see her face more clearly. Her eyes, her mouth, the column of her neck, and the swell of her breasts against the gray fabric of—

“Fuck!” Pain jolted him, blinding him momentarily, leaving him gasping for breath, his right hand fisting against his chest.

“That’s one,” his torturer said.

A small, warm hand slipped into his. “Hang on to me, Devin. Squeeze my hand tight.”

His panting slowed. He focused on the feel of her fingers wrapped around his and was ashamed by the way his arm trembled. Ashamed he couldn’t be stronger, braver. And she was leaning so close …

“Come here often?” His voice was a low rasp as his mind sought for a diversion from the pain. The pain in his shoulder. The pain in his heart.

She was married—

“Only by special request.” Her smile was soft but didn’t reach her eyes.

—to Kiler Griggs, who obviously had thrust them into a world of financial shit. The name Orvis meant
nothing to Devin, but he knew what a lock lien was. The old whispers about Kiler Griggs surfaced again through the haze of brandy fogging his mind. Gambling? His mind couldn’t focus, but it had to be something like that. So Kiler Griggs had gambled away their money and their ship, and here was Makaiden, toughing it out. Because she loved her husband and stood by him.

He probably should suspect her of involvement in the plot to get Trip, but he couldn’t. Not only had she saved their asses twice over, but … she was Makaiden. All he wanted to do was take her shopping. Buy her the galaxy, wrap it in ribbons, just for her.

“Need new sweater,” he managed. His old one was in shreds on the floor.

“Yeah, you do.”

“Help me find—” He choked on the word, pain searing, flaring down his chest, his arm, exploding into his brain. He was sure he was crushing her hand, but the only groans he heard were his own.

“That’s two,” said a voice as Devin’s world dropped into darkening shadows.

The lights came on behind his eyelids. He slitted them open. “Makaiden?”

Pressure on his fingers. No more pressure on his shoulder. She was there, yes, still beside him, still holding his hand. Barty was …

… a blurry figure across the room, talking to another blurry figure he recognized as Trip.

Devin licked his lips. His mouth was dry. He had a blistering headache.

“Welcome back,” she said.

He must have passed out.
Oh, real good, Dev. Big, strong, manly thing to do
. Philip, he knew, would never pass out from pain. “How long … what time …”

“Not long. Fifteen minutes or so. Barty got the rest of the barbs out and sent a transmit to your father that Trip is safe.”

His ego gloated for a moment, visualizing his father’s, Jonathan’s, and Ethan’s surprise that, yes, Devin rescued Trip and they were all—somewhat—safe on Dock Five. Depending on how the transmit was sent, it could be anywhere from hours to days before they heard back from his family. His imaginings would have to do for now. He made a mental note to send an update himself and to request an update back on the Baris–Agri deal.

“You want something to drink?” Makaiden reached for a translucent white plastic cup on the nightstand.

Devin’s stomach rebelled, and all thoughts of his sweet victory fled from his mind. “Don’t ever want to see Lashto brandy again.”

She laughed and passed the empty cup to Barty. “I meant water.”

He heard Barthol snort. Then the thud of footsteps and Trip’s face came into view. His nephew looked as tired and pained as Devin felt.

“Uncle Devin? I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean … I didn’t think any of this would happen. I’m sorry.”

Barty appeared behind Trip and held out the cup of water. “I told him about Halsey.”

“Halsey was fine, alive when I left. I swear.” Trip’s wide eyes held confusion and pain.

Devin angled up to accept the water. It was cool, went down easily, and didn’t make noises about coming back up.

Barty was shaking his head slowly. “Trip last saw Halsey alone in the kitchen, slicing an apple for a late snack. Trip said he was going to study in his room, then go to sleep. Using a loud music vid for cover—Trip’s
done this before, you know—he climbed out his window, then into a friend’s apartment. They’d swapped security codes.”

It sounded as if Trip had been taking lessons from his uncle Ethan. Except Ethan always got caught.

“I left a message on Halsey’s private comm before I boarded my flight,” Trip said, a defensive tone in his voice. “I didn’t tell him where I was, just said not to worry, that I’d contact him in a couple days.” He hesitated, the foolishness of his actions now very apparent to him. “I only wanted to reach Uncle Philip before they could stop me.”

Something surfaced through the fog that was Devin’s mind. “We checked Halsey’s comm messages. There was nothing.”

Barty was nodding. “Someone listened and erased it. And either got someone to the spaceport or had someone waiting here on Dock Five. We don’t know because Trip didn’t realize he’d been followed until Captain Griggs questioned him.”

“Kaidee,” she put in, correcting him.

“Kaidee and Trip,” Barty continued, taking the empty cup from Devin, “got a good look at the men—Fuzz-face is what she calls the ringleader. He tried to tag Trip with a Lockpoint. Trip ditched it, but they found him again anyway. So did Kaidee. She got him to Trouble’s Brewing, which is where we found them.”

It was a quick, concise recounting. And, Devin suspected, far from the full story. But his brain honestly couldn’t handle much more.

“We don’t think our striper friend and Norga are a related problem,” Barty said.

“That was my error,” Makaiden said softly. No, Kaidee. She always called herself Kaidee. Why? Makaiden
was such a beautiful name. He had a hard time thinking of her otherwise. He decided not to try.

He squeezed her fingers, which made her look at him and made him realize how irrevocably lost he was. His head was spinning, and not just because of the brandy. He cleared his throat. “The lock lien. Have … tell Kiler I can—I need to talk to him about that.” He stumbled over the words, not sure where assistance became insult.

Her brows dipped, her eyes narrowed, and he knew he’d gone too far. A couple’s financial issues were personal. Their problem. Not some stranger’s, even if that stranger was a former employer, a friend who was irrevocably—

“Kiler’s dead. He was doing repair jobs for extra money and was killed in an explosion.”

Devin stopped breathing. He stopped breathing, thinking,
anything
, because the only thing he was aware of were her words. And they encompassed his entire world at that moment.

Kiler’s dead
. Makaiden’s husband was dead.

She was … not married. Not anymore.

His heart surged. But laughing with joy, he suspected, would not be an appropriate response. “Makaiden. I’m sorry.”

She looked away from him with a half shrug, half sigh. Her fingers slid from his and, after a few seconds, she pushed them through her hair. He wanted to pull her hand back. He wanted her warmth.

“Sorry doesn’t begin to cover it,” she said, and he desperately tried to read the odd tone of her voice. Grief? Fear? Grief would make sense. Fear didn’t, unless it was fear of being alone and destitute.

He could fix that.

“My condolences.” Barthol’s voice held exactly the
right amount of respect and concern. But then, he was Barthol. The enigmatic Guthrie steward and former ImpSec assassin with impeccable manners.

Makaiden shoved herself to her feet, then paced away from the bed, shoulders hunched. “Everything Norga told you is true. We had financial issues. Kiler … got involved in things, with people he shouldn’t have. My fault. I just thought he … Well, I didn’t ask enough questions. But that’s my problem.” She turned back. “You have to get Trip somewhere safe until you can get him home and find out who killed Halsey and why. And safe, obviously, is nowhere around me.”

“I was very safe around you,” Trip said slowly. “And, uh, I’m sorry. About your husband. I liked him.”

“Thank you.” Makaiden slid her hands into the pockets of her pants, looked at Trip for a moment, then down at her boots.

She’s bailing on us
. Devin knew the signs, read the discomfort and capitulation in her body language in the same way he had in dozens of financial negotiation meetings over the years. Except in those same meetings he was completely sober and fully alert. Not muzzy-headed and half blind.

All he knew was he couldn’t lose her. Not now. He’d just found her again, after all those years. The fact that his reason for being here was to find Trip and bring him home slid into the background. Kiler Griggs was dead. Makaiden suddenly was a dream within reach. He painfully pushed himself up on one elbow. “Makaiden—”

“There’s a guy who has a repair shop on Green Level. Popovitch Expert Repair Service. You can trust Pops, and he knows things, people who might be able to help you. I don’t know,” and this she directed to
Barthol, “how much you know about Dock Five. How current your info is. Pops has been here a long time.”

“I appreciate that. And your concern for our safety.”

If Devin could have managed it, he would have hurled his pillow at Barty.
Don’t tell her you appreciate her concern. Tell her she has to stay!

“But, Captain Griggs! What if that striper tries to blackmail you?” Trip stepped toward her, hands splayed, and Devin thanked God and the stars that someone in the room had a modicum of sense. “You need our help.”

“I need, Master Trip, to get my ship working so I can pay off Kiler’s debt. Tage has to lift that embargo soon, and if I’m anywhere but on my ship when that happens, I’ll miss a bunch of opportunities.” She reached out and took his hand in an affectionate gesture. “I’ll be fine. Nobody gets on board the
Rider
unless I let them. You take care of Barthol and your uncle.”