The reference to the slaughter of several ships’ worth of courtesans by religious fanatics sent a shiver down Catherine’s spine. She’d barely been old enough to understand what a Mercy ship was, much less mass murder, but she remembered her parents being shocked and saddened by the news. No matter whether you agreed with the Guild’s existence or not no one wished ill on their employees.
Well, that wasn’t totally true. She wished ill on one specific courtesan.
Bitch.
“It’s a nice diversion to have this extra work, to be honest.” Jenny grinned. “Totally better than waiting for one of the girls to demand a suite remodeling. They get a little demanding at times, forget we don’t have everything on hand. Sometimes they gotta wait until we hit landfall and see if we can trade for it. A special color of paint or some fancy material for a new set of curtains or sheets.” She tapped the metal, making it ring. “But this is fun. I’m working on a few little things in case push comes to shove and we run into your bad boys before the marshal arrives.”
“Like what?”
Jenny beamed, obviously thrilled at the chance to brag. “I’ve got an idea for packing the chair legs and—” She babbled for a few minutes, her eyes bright with excitement.
Catherine kept nodding, encouraging the mechanic. She had no idea what Jenny was talking about but her enthusiasm was infectious. If she’d been an intern at Global Transport Catherine would be sure to mark her as a fast study, a definite asset to the company and probably someone she would take under her wing.
Would have. The minute she testified against her former partners and associates she knew she’d lose everything.
Jenny cleared her throat, bringing Catherine back to the present. “I’d love to chat more but I’m sort of on a deadline to get ’er done.” She picked up the visor and put it on. “I hope I haven’t bored you too much. Not too often I get a chance to chat about work to someone new.”
Catherine put up her hands and stepped back. “No problem. Sorry to have bothered you.” She smiled. “And it was fun talking to you, too.”
Jenny grinned before flipping down the protective visor and going back to her welding.
The rest of the landing bay was empty except for a series of folding tables and matching chairs safely stowed and strapped against the far wall. She knew what they were for—seating customers while they waited for their turn. She imagined the eager miners waiting there, playing cards or reading books or chatting as if they were in line for a beer at the local bar, not waiting for their turn at making their sexual fantasies come to life.
Did they make Mike wait while his whore prepared herself? Or did he get special treatment because his courtesan was also his fiancée?
Her heart ached. The bastard hadn’t even been man enough to face her directly, sending the divorce papers to her via the office mail so everyone could see. He’d blocked her number on the phone and moved out of their house by the time she’d finished reading the first page.
His lawyers had been cool and professional to the point of insanity, picking at every detail of their shared lives to split everything down the middle. She hadn’t bothered to put up a fight and had hidden in the company condominium until the moving men had put her items in storage and the house had been sold. She’d ended up in a small apartment with unpacked boxes still waiting for her and a burning need to prove herself to the naysayers who muttered behind her back that she’d been destroyed.
It’d been the need for revenge that’d pushed her forward when she’d caught the first smell of corruption. She’d dug deep, searching to see if Mike was associated, if she could drag him into the cesspool along with his buddies.
She’d never found it.
Instead, she’d found the urge to show those smug, laughing execs she was worth her weight in gold and not a pretty face sleeping her way up the ranks. The need to prove to herself there were good people in the world, not just various levels of pond scum looking to rip everyone off.
Now irony had tossed her aboard the last place she’d ever want to be and she’d lost everything.
Including her life if the bastards got their way.
She sat down on the floor, a wave of weariness overtaking her. Odds were, Mike was somewhere in a rich gated colony in a big house with the bitch feeding him grapes. Meanwhile she was running for her life on a Mercy ship with people wanting to kill her.
Talk about revenge gone wrong.
“Are you okay?”
Jenny was staring at her.
“I’m fine.” The automatic reply came out.
“Because you’ve been sitting here for a good hour while I’ve been smashing and crashing about and not moved or said a word.” Jenny hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “You feeling okay? Want me to get Sean?”
The bitch feeding him grapes while he brayed and told her all about Catherine Rogers and what a frigid virgin she was in bed.
“Belle? Call Sean and tell him to come to the landing bay please,” Jenny snapped. “Something’s wrong with Ms. Rogers here.”
Catherine looked up at Jenny, suddenly realizing the mechanic was still there.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, scaring herself with the weakness in her voice. “I’m fine.”
Chapter Eight
Sean grabbed his medical bag and slung it over his shoulder, the dark green canvas slapping against his hip as he berated himself for leaving Catherine alone for so long.
He’d taken advantage of her long sleep to get some of his own, waking up in time to visit Sam. The captain was grumpy and snarly but she’d gotten some shut-eye and, at least for the moment, seemed fine thanks to some ration bars and a never-ending supply of water.
Catherine had every right to be emotionally unstable and fragile. Plucked from the burning remains of her ship and dragged aboard the last place she’d ever want to be, waiting for another attack from unseen assassins wanting her dead, and he’d left her alone.
Whatever stress she’d had to deal with as an executive was nothing compared to this.
He ran into the hallway and down toward the entrance to the landing bay. A momentary pause to yank the door open and he burst into the next room, breathless even though the distance between his suite and the landing bay wasn’t all that far.
Jenny stood to one side of the bay, hovering over a small figure hugging her knees, face down, with her back against the wall.
Catherine looked like a lost street child in the oversized shirt and jeans, rocking back and forth with her frizzed blonde hair standing up every which way.
“We were talking for a bit and then—” Jenny shuffled her feet, obviously uncomfortable with the topic at hand. “She seems out of sorts. Think she’s checked out.”
Sean dropped down on one knee. “Catherine? Catherine, look at me.”
She lifted her head. Her eyes were red and weepy. “I’m fine.”
He snorted. “Bloody well not.” He bent down. “Here. Put your arms around my neck.” Without waiting for her to do so he swept her up in his arms. “Jenny, could you please get the door behind us?”
The mechanic fell into step behind them as Sean headed for the hatch and the following hallway.
Catherine wasn’t talking, wasn’t struggling. She’d automatically latched her arms around his neck once she began moving and now she wasn’t doing much of anything.
Deep shock. It wasn’t surprising. She’d shut down, overwhelmed by recent events.
He guessed the authorities had warned her it’d be a tough haul to go against her own company, her friends and associates. But whatever they’d told her had nothing on what her enemies had done, sabotaging a ship and planning to kill her with plenty of collateral damage. This was beyond what they’d expected, beyond their ken.
He wished it was beyond his.
“Je
nny, please open up Catherine’s door.” The mechanic jumped in front and pulled the hatch open as he approached, allowing him to wedge himself in sideways without threatening to drop her.
“I’ll stay out here,” Jenny said. “Want me to call Sam?”
“Not yet. I’ll decide that.” He nodded as Jenny began closing the door. “Thanks.”
The petite woman gave him a thumbs-up as the hatch locked behind her.
Catherine stirred in his arms, a weak attempt to break free. “I’m okay,” she protested. “I tend to think too much.”
“A danger in any profession.” He strode right through to the bedroom. “And you need to rest. Focus all your energy on healing.”
“I’ve been resting,” she protested in a whisper. “I watched some shows and ate chocolate and slept and—” Her voice trailed off as she stared at him.
Stared past him.
Sean knew that thousand-yard look all too well.
“That wouldn’t have you all curled up in the corner. What was it?” he demanded.
She weakly waved a hand in the air. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
“I’ll decide that.” He clenched his jaw to hold back his anger. “What were you thinking about?”
“Things. Stuff. Whatever.” Now it was her turn to sound angry. “That’s all.”
He shook his head. “‘Things’ don’t usually put people into catatonic states,” he snapped. “Now tell me what you were thinking about.”
“I was thinking about Mike.” The words came out in a jumbled mess. “Mike and the divorce and how he’d been on a ship like this and—” She closed her eyes, releasing a stream of tears.
“Don’t you dare.” He couldn’t hold back any longer. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of this. All of this.” He freed one arm and expertly yanked back the quilt. “The asshole was a fool for running away with the tramp and you deserve better.”
“But—”
“No buts about it.”
Catherine groaned as he laid her down on the mattress. “I’m not the angel you think I am, exposing corruption in my company.” She licked her lips. “I hoped that when I started to dig into those files that I’d find some dirt on Mike, some way to kick him in the balls at the very end. I couldn’t connect him with any of this and I wished I had.” She took a slow breath. “I even considered manufacturing evidence to pull him in.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t.” She studied the geometric patterns on the quilt. “No matter how much of a bastard Mike was, I couldn’t pull him into this. It’d taint the case and give the lawyers a chance to get those assholes off by claiming I’d turned this into a vendetta. No matter how pissed off I was, and still am, at Mike I couldn’t risk that happening.” She looked at Sean. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“True,” he agreed. “You’re better than that. In so many ways.” He tapped her nose. “You didn’t have to go to the authorities. You could have parlayed that information into a promotion or cut some sort of deal with your boss but you decided to do the right thing.” He studied her gaze and saw the truth of his words sinking in. “Despite whatever you’re thinking now, you chose the proper road, the road to justice. You should be proud of what you’re doing, not punishing yourself by thinking about your worthless ex, may his dick rot off with an alien STD.”
Catherine choked on a laugh.
“The man isn’t worth a piss in a pot. I bet she’ll burn through his money fast enough and be asking the Guild to sign back up again within a few years.” He winked. “He might find himself unable to keep up with her, if you catch my drift. I know about these things. I could tell you stories—”
She giggled and he felt better but not much. Suddenly her expression changed, shifted into a scowl as she looked at him. “No.” She pushed herself up into a sitting position. “I don’t want to know about Mercy women.” Catherine growled. “I don’t want to know about your life.” She pulled at the quilt, her fingers clawing at the fabric. “I don’t—”
“Okay. Okay.” Sean nodded. “Shutting up now.”
She rubbed her face, the faint reddish tinge showing her embarrassment. “I’m sorry. It’s not you.” She frowned. “I mean it is you but not you. You understand.”
“Yes. And no.” Sean smiled. “I think you need a mild tranq, something to take the edge off.” Sean put up his hand, seeing her start to refuse. “Nothing too strong but you need to relax and get your thoughts gathered. Things are going to get busy around here soon enough and you’ll want to take advantage of every bit you can to get your strength back.” He carefully pulled her fingers free from the quilt and stroked the top of her hand, feeling the tension ease from her muscles.
He should have paid more attention to her. She’d been riding an emotional roller coaster while he played Go with Kendra and worried about Sam—a military vet who’d probably seen and been in worse situations.
She gave a deep sigh. “No one’s cared about me like this for a long, long time.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’d forgotten what it felt like.”
The words stuck in his throat as he watched her struggle with her emotions.
Good grief. He was too old to be falling head over heels like a lovesick schoolboy.
He sat down beside her and busied himself searching for the needle pen in his bag. It took his mind off the itch building below his belt. An itch he was dying to have her scratch.
“Now this—” Sean brandished the small purple tube in front of her, “—is a measured dose of tranq. It’ll hit you hard and fast so you can get some rest.”
She nodded. A tear broke free and dribbled down her cheek.
Lord help him, he wanted to kiss it all away.
Or lick it away.
He shifted on the mattress, grateful for the satchel in his lap.
Catherine watched as he pressed one end against her arm. The pen let out a low whistle as it emptied the medication into her system.
It was only a few seconds before she gave a sigh and smiled, her pupils dilating as he watched.
“Good stuff,” she mumbled.
Sean smiled. “Nothing but the best.” He dropped the pen back into his bag.
She slid down the bed and gave a little moan, sending heat racing down his spine. “Nice. I gonna sleep now.”
“Of course you are.” Sean brushed a few errant strands of hair from her forehead. “Rest now.” He moved to get up.
Her left hand flew up and grabbed his shirt, fingers curling in a death grip. “Don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave me alone.” Her gaze darted around the room as if searching for something.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked.
“Something. Everything.” She sighed.
He placed his hand on hers. They were cool to the touch and trembling. “I won’t leave you. I’ll be in the other room, only a few feet away.” He bent over and kissed her forehead. “You rest now. If you need anything, speak up, and if I don’t hear you Belle will.” Sean looked up. “Correct?”
“Adjusting sensors to maximum range,” The computer AI murmured. “Whisper for help and I will respond.”
“There. All safe and sound.” He gently disentangled the fingers from his shirt and placed her hand down by her side. “Sleep.”
Her unfocused pupils tried to follow him as he stood up.
“‘Kay,” she whispered, her eyelids fluttering.
* * *
She was drifting in space, no suit or life pod around her.
She knew it was a dream.
It didn’t dampen her reaction to the horrors around her.
A thousand ships lay in pieces around her, military transports ripped apart from the inside when the metal shattered and broke, bodies blown out through the holes circling h
er as if she were a star and they planets.
The morbid orbit spun men and women by her, faces contorted in pain for the last few seconds of their lives as the air was sucked from their lungs. Some rotated away from her with bloody remnants of what used to be heads dribbling into space.
One drifted by, almost close enough for her to touch.
Andy.
She resisted the urge to reach out for him knowing it was a dream, a nightmare enhanced and magnified by the tranq that was supposed to be helping her. She knew she was lying in a bed in a courtesan’s suite on the Bonnie Belle, running for her life but still very much alive.
The thoughts didn’t banish the images.
A pair floated by, holding hands as if they were out on a spacewalk together. Except her helmet visor was blown out showing a skeletal face, the skin tight and drawn over the skull. The empty eye sockets stared at Catherine as the nameless woman drifted by, taking her boyfriend on an endless walkabout.
A bell went off, sending vibrations through the dream world.
“Incoming ship.”
The remains of a nearby yacht, her yacht, spun into sight and headed for her with unerring aim. Sparks came from within the carcass, minute pieces breaking off and spinning away even as it advanced on her.
Catherine steeled herself. This was a dream. There was no way she could be injured by imaginary metal bars and wires.
The first broken spar jabbed into her chest followed seconds later by a thousand raw edges, scraping and scratching across her bare skin.
She screamed, sucking vacuum into her lungs.
“Shush, now. Open your eyes.” Sean sat beside her, stroking her arm. His eyes were half shut and he looked like hell but he was real and definitely no ghost. You’re safe.” He smiled. “You’re okay now. Safe and sound.”
Catherine sighed.
Safe.
Right now she didn’t believe in the word.
* * *
Sean wasn’t fooled—she’d been having nightmares under the tranq, as he’d feared. He’d spent the last few hours hovering over her, torn between waking her up and allowing her to finish her sleep cycle without interruption. In the end he’d decided to let her sleep as much as possible to help her heal physically.
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