by Mel Teshco
“Right.”
“Good. Word is he’s already got his eye on a certain doctor-in-training.”
Rita felt nothing more than abstracted relief mixed with pity. “The poor woman.”
Beth nodded, but there was a note of irony in her tone. “Indeed.” She shuffled forward, flashlight hitting the palm of her hand. “Take heart. You’re better off without the lieutenant.”
Rita couldn’t contain a sigh. Had Beth surmised her sadness was because of her break-up with Zane? If she’d been in the mood for a good old belly laugh, that would have been the perfect opportunity. Instead, she conceded, “That’s for sure. Though I suspect many people would think I need my head read for dumping a lieutenant over a whites prisoner.”
Beth’s disbelieving snort only served to emphasize what Rita already knew. “Every woman onboard would do the same thing in a heartbeat. 1588 might well be dangerous, but he’s definitely not deranged. I had a budgie back on Earth when I was a kid. It used to pull out all its feathers until it was butt-naked. Now that was deranged.”
Rita smiled. “Thanks MacVoy. That puts things into perspective.”
Beth gave her a quick hug. “Anytime. Us girls have to stick together.”
Rita stepped back and watched as Beth did her last walk of the corridor before her shift ended. And all the while she ignored the prickling at her nape. She would not turn around. She would not seek out Tristan again.
She pushed a loose hank of hair behind her ear, ignoring the tremor in her hands. It was time to finish her run.
Chapter Six
The bar was the last place Rita would normally visit, but it had been a long and uneventful eight hours on duty, and the ordinariness of her day had only made her more anxious.
The calm before the storm.
In her present state of mind she couldn’t think of a better place to be. The one man she wanted had told her it was all or nothing for them—when they both knew nothing was their only option.
She pushed away from the table that served as a bar, only mildly disgusted by the filth layered across its surface. The prisoners who’d been assigned to clean evidently hadn’t been near this part of the ship. She mentally added a note to her “to do” list, glad that her serviceable black dress hid grime and dust so well.
Holding her glass high, away from the thick press of the crowd, she pushed into an empty, shabby booth and nursed her glass of urine-colored beer. Her nose wrinkled at the stale smell of body odor and spilled drinks. Little wonder this was the first time she’d been here.
A motley trio of civvies set up their instruments and microphones near the bar and began doing a sound check. She guessed music was as important on Solitaire as it had been on Earth—probably more so. Entertainment would be a priority once the hard-working day was done on the barely habitable rock.
She resisted the urge to cover her ears, sighed, then tipped the glass to her lips and took a swallow. She grimaced. Who was she kidding? No matter how much she wanted to block out her misery, this wasn’t her scene. Far better the quiet confinement of her bedroom, where she could reflect on her fucked-up love life without an audience.
Yet despite her melancholic frame of mind, despite the odor, the noise and general mayhem, she knew the exact second Tristan pushed through the bar’s doors, trailed by a guard. Her stare swiveled to his as he strode toward her booth, but his eyes were unreadable. He slowed for perhaps a beat, and then nodded before continuing past … as if she didn’t exist. As if their intimacy had never been.
Bloody hell.
She chugged the rest of her beer down and pushed to her feet. Unable to see past the thick crowd of people, she stepped onto the booth’s seat, not caring that her dress rode up as she stood on tiptoe and watched Tristan push through the throng. He took up his position in a corner opposite the band, behind an easel and canvas that stood waiting for him.
She gritted her teeth as emotions threatened to shatter her forced calm. But as hurtful as it was to see him shut her out, she couldn’t leave. Not yet. Her breath huffed out. She’d never thought herself as self-destructive, but then, she’d never gone completely gaga over a man before.
She stepped off the seat and forged her way back to the bar to order another vile drink. The second glass didn’t taste anywhere near as bad as the first and she gulped it down without thought. The less she thought the better.
She ordered another, oblivious to the expense and smiling wryly at the effects of the beer. She was already woozy, her troubles seemingly melting away. Little wonder so many of her colleagues drank. She’d bet every single person aboard the ES Siren had something they’d rather forget. A dying Earth had seen to that.
The band’s singer introduced the band. Meteorites. Rita suppressed a giggle. She only hoped the name wasn’t an omen for their trip to Solitaire. Floating rocks the size of buses weren’t something she wanted to contemplate.
The band started up. As couples began to dance, she found her foot beginning to tap in time to the beat. The music wasn’t half as bad as she’d expected. Or perhaps the beers had made her tone deaf. Whatever. She was actually beginning to enjoy herself.
She craned her neck at a gap in the crowd, sneaking a peek in Tristan’s direction. He was studiously ignoring her and working on his canvas.
Bastard.
“Would you like to dance?”
She turned and immediately recognized the man who was part of the infantry. It was a shame she couldn’t recall his name. He looked halfway handsome out of uniform and in what were probably his best clothes of faded jeans and an even more faded black-turned-gray T-shirt.
About to decline, she sensed Tristan’s stare burning into her back. She bit back the rejection and smiled instead. “I’d love to.”
It didn’t take long for Rita to get her groove on, the beer washing any shyness clean away. Soldier boy wasn’t a half-bad dancer either. Made reckless by her emotions and undoubtedly too much beer, she danced her way across the floor to where Tristan could easily see them.
She’d never been a girl to play on a man’s emotions, but she badly wanted Tristan to show her some kind of acknowledgement. She tucked her arms around the soldier’s neck and yelled over the music, “What’s your name?”
He grinned, revealing cute twin dimples and crooked teeth. He leaned close to her ear. “Private Stuart Henderson, Ma’am. At your service.”
She smiled back. He was charming in his own way. She’d bet Tristan had once been a charmer too. He wouldn’t always have been hard and closed off.
“Mind if I cut in?”
Her eyes jerked open at Zane’s loud voice. Shit. This wasn’t the scenario she’d imagined. Stuart immediately released her and stepped back, his stare regretful. “Of course not, Sir.”
Zane stepped into Stuart’s place, his overly-warm palm pressing into the small of her back, his other moist hand taking hers. He cocked his deranged-looking brow—the one with the scar cutting across it—and murmured, “Don’t look so angry. This will only take a moment.”
She glared. “This? What do you—?”
The rest of her words were cut off as his lips savaged hers. She shoved hard against his chest. It was like pushing at the airship’s immovable walls.
Suddenly she was free of his grip, gasping in deep draughts of stale beer and sweat. Tristan stood beside her, tall and fierce. The strident music came to an abrupt halt, everyone a spectator, watching with bated breath. Tristan stared the lieutenant down, his hands bunched into fists, his jaw clenched. “Leave her the hell alone.”
“Well, well,” Zane drawled. “That was almost too easy.”
Rita swiped at her lips, desperate to erase the vile taste of the man who’d once been her lover. She only wished she could wipe away the knowledge that she and Tristan had been set up. The lieutenant clearly suspected there was something between them.
Zane chuckled, the sound twisted and gleeful. He shook his head at Tristan, taunting him. “Guess a man of your viole
nt tendencies wouldn’t stop at disrespecting an officer.”
“You goaded him,” Rita snapped, then took a deep breath. Antagonizing Zane wasn’t going to make things better. “Why kiss me? What are you trying to do?”
The lieutenant’s eyes glinted. Menacing. Ugly. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Zane spun on his heels and strode out of the bar. Rita felt ill. She was just seconds away from being sick on the dance floor. She stumbled away.
“Rita, stop!”
But she couldn’t stop. She pressed a hand to her mouth, her belly twisting into knots.
Tristan didn’t follow and for that she was glad, as well as hurt. She felt his gaze on her until she pushed through the door and stepped into the corridor alone.
She gasped in deep, ragged breaths. She cared for Tristan too much. She knew that now because she no longer cared what the lieutenant did to her. Her only concern was what he’d do to Tristan. No matter how valued his art, being a con made Tristan expendable.
She closed her eyes. She should never have come here.
*
Tristan clamped his mouth shut and watched as Rita disappeared through the door, escaping from him once again. He should be glad she hated him, but he couldn’t pretend that he was, not even to himself. He’d handled things about as badly as he could have, jealous rage blinding him to all common sense.
She deserved so much better than him, and what he had to offer. Why did he have to stick his nose in? Now everyone, including the lieutenant, was aware he had feelings for her.
Tristan’s whole body tensed. Whatever positive she’d once felt for him had been downgraded into a big fat negative. He’d wanted to put some distance between them, and he’d done a fine job—for all of twenty hours. Now she probably hated him even more than she hated the lieutenant.
Pain lanced through his chest. He was a lost cause when it came to love. He’d learned firsthand that he couldn’t protect the ones he so desperately wanted to. That was why he’d had to cut Rita off.
Ensuring they weren’t together was the only way to protect her.
But of course that idea had flown out the window the moment he’d jumped to her defense against the malicious lieutenant.
His nostrils flared. Yeah, he’d fucked up big time.
The band began to play again. His eyes squeezed shut for a second. He could block out the noise, but the image of Rita’s despair would be forever etched into his retinas.
He spun on his heels and headed back to his canvas, the crowd parting before him like the Red Sea. Nobody messed with a whites prisoner, particularly when their emotions were running high.
His lips drew back and he showed his teeth like a snarling dog. No one would mistake it as a smile. Love had never done him any favors and it wasn’t about to pay up now.
Lord help him. For once, painting wouldn’t be the distraction he needed.
He knew he was losing it. He stared, unseeing, at his canvas, his hands clenched by his sides and his breathing labored. He’d always been able to block the gruesome memories from his past, but his feelings for Rita were too strong, overpowering him until want, guilt and rage stripped him of his blindfold.
He groaned as bloodied images of his wife and stillborn child hit him front and center with startling clarity, filling him with shock and soul-destroying dread. His ragged breaths dragged the coppery tang of his wife and child’s lifeblood deep into his lungs. As he looked at his blood-stained hands, anguish rose from deep within, darker than any specter.
With a roar he flung out an arm, sending his easel, paints, and brushes flying. The vision blurred, dissipated, and white noise filled his head. He vaguely heard a scream, then silence as the music stopped again. Then came the activated snick of his magna-cuffs.
His ankles snapped together and he fell heavily to the floor. Before he registered any pain, a shockwave fired through his body and pierced his brain. And he was glad of the agony, because it made him forget …
*
Rita woke up with a hangover, the likes of which she’d never experienced before and fervently hoped to never experience again. She suspected it was due more to the potent quality of the drinks than the quantity.
Shoving her blanket aside, she stumbled from her bed to stare blearily into the handkerchief-sized mirror that hung above her wash basin.
She would have laughed if not for the headache blooming behind her temple. She looked wild and woolly and anything but the well-groomed soldier she was supposed to be. The whites of her eyes were tinged an alarming shade of red, and beneath her glassy stare were shadows that made her look bruised and tired.
Oddly enough, these weren’t due to the usual lack of sleep. She’d stumbled from the bar and straight into bed without even using her allotted steam-shower time. Giving in to her emotions, she’d bawled like a baby until she’d surrendered to sleep … and had woken to find herself looking like hell on a bad day.
With a shuddery sigh, she turned away from the mirror and pulled off her grimy dress. Tossing it into the laundry bag, she turned on the humidifier shower and basked in the steam. Not quite the same as a good old-fashioned spray from a showerhead, but it did the job.
After the steam cut off and a blast of air dried her body, she pulled on her everyday ensemble of faded jeans and a T-shirt. She stepped into her shoes and dragged a brush through her hair before tying it back into a ponytail.
Not bad. She might still feel like shit but at least she looked half-human again. She only hoped tongues weren’t wagging about her and the lieutenant. The last thing she wanted was for people to imagine they’d had a lover’s spat.
She’d much prefer all and sundry to realize she and a whites prisoner had gotten together. Tristan might be a con with a supposed mental condition, but she’d flaunt him any day over the despised lieutenant.
Rita hoped her day in the classroom would be as normal and mundane as the one she’d had yesterday doing her rounds—until she’d stupidly visited the bar.
Three hours later, any hope of a normal day had been firmly crossed off her itinerary. Rita blew out an annoyed breath as the soldier who’d escorted her to Zane’s office a few days earlier entered the classroom. He wasn’t here for biology. He sought her out and saluted smartly. “Chief Songworth—”
“Let me guess. The lieutenant wants to see me?” she asked flatly.
He nodded. “Immediately.”
She turned off her portacomp with a resigned sigh. The biology class had actually been halfway interesting. Scientists had discovered that the seaweed growing along the shoreline was edible and nutrient-rich, as was the furry, pink fungus that grew on the undersides of porous rocks. Then there were the deadly, flesh-dissolving beetles, and the rainbow maggots, which spat poison …
Next to Rita, Beth MacVoy shook her head and muttered, “What a prick.” Rita couldn’t agree more.
She turned to Beth and said quietly, “If I’m not back in half an hour, can you come and look for me?”
Beth blinked, then nodded almost imperceptibly. “I will.”
Rita’s spine was stiff and her shoulders back as she marched toward the den of her ex-lover. She refused to be cowed. She wasn’t his toy anymore. She wasn’t his anything.
He’d managed to repel the one man in her life she’d truly come to care about. He was scum. Zane could never compete with the likes of Tristan.
Tristan had been through hell, she could tell … but though he’d clearly been hardened by the life he’d led, he was also selfless and passionate, and knew how to treat a woman. Zane, had been brought up as an elite, yet he was cold and calculating and nothing short of cruel.
She sniffed. A plentiful supply of credits and clean air didn’t make for a nicer person.
Her escort left her at the lieutenant’s door, where she rapped sharply on the wood paneling before scanning her wrist and stepping inside.
Zane was standing with his back to her, hands laced behind him, staring out through the flex plate w
indow.
“You wanted to see me, Sir?”
Zane nodded, but didn’t turn around. “I did.” He rocked back on his heels and nodded at the glittering scenery outside. “Exquisite, isn’t it?”
She glanced at the limitless expanse with its confetti of shiny stars and billows of red cosmic dust. Normally one couldn’t see space when traveling faster than the speed of light. But the pilots stopped the Earth ships occasionally for engine managment and service.
Exquisite didn’t even come close, but even so, she’d much prefer the beauty of Earth’s oceans or forests … at least, before the contamination had all but destroyed them. “Yes, I guess it is.”
“People would pay top dollar for the privilege of seeing such untouched splendor.” He turned to her then, his smile twisted—not unlike his mind. “I guess that’s one of the reasons I don’t want to let you go.”
She didn’t react, though her belly was churning. When the lieutenant called her beautiful she wanted to retch. When Tristan said those same words, she was putty in his too-clever hands.
Her chin tilted fractionally higher. “What’s that old saying? ‘If you love someone, let them go …’”
“‘… If they return, they were always yours. If they don’t, they never were?’” he finished mockingly. “I never once said anything about love, so I’m afraid those rules don’t apply to me.”
She shrugged, holding her nerve, though her bones were slowly turning to liquid. She knew Zane’s mood wasn’t to be taken lightly. He was up to something. “You can’t say I didn’t try.”
“No, I don’t suppose I can.” He took a step forward, moving behind his desk. But it wasn’t until he ran a hand along the edge of a canvas that she realized there were a stack of them in front of him. “Speaking of exquisite …”
“Yes?” she prompted, though her mouth was desert-dry and a feeling of foreboding thickened the lump in her throat.
Zane smiled, reptilian coldness radiating from his stare. “I thought you might be interested in these.”
Oh, god.