by Kris Delake
“That’s immaterial, Mr. Orlinski. Just realize that if I find out you use touch drops again on this ship, you will be banned from the Mariposa Starlines. You’re on probation with us, sir.”
His mouth was open. He had to force himself to shut it. He was oddly shocked. He had never been accused of anything like this in his entire life.
“Did Miss—” and it took him a minute to remember Rikki’s fake name “—Carter tell you that? Because what happened between us was completely consensual.”
The woman crossed her arms. “Just behave from now on, Mr. Orlinski. Promise me that.”
She wasn’t going to tell him any more, but then, she didn’t have to.
“I don’t use touch drops,” he said. “And be careful. I paid for your highest-class ticket on this ship, and you’re treating me like a common criminal. I will complain to your board if I have to.”
“Money doesn’t protect you from all of the rules, sir,” she said. But she sounded a little less sure of herself than she had before.
“Of course it doesn’t,” he said, “but it does protect me from the ones I didn’t break.”
Then he turned around and strode to the front of the security office. As he passed the square man, the man grinned at him.
“Touch drops,” the man said. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”
“You should stop thinking about it now,” Misha said and pushed his way out of the room.
He didn’t even stop in the corridor. He didn’t need to. He knew where he was going.
He was headed for the lift. He was headed for Rikki.
He was going to find out what was going on, once and for all.
Chapter 22
Rikki carefully folded the beautiful silk dress. She had changed into her usual loose tan pants and comfortable blouse. She had put on her weapons, just in case, and had set her identi-card on a nearby stand.
The little room seemed even littler than it had just hours ago. If she didn’t know better, she would think the damn thing was shrinking.
Maybe it was. After all, the ship was designed to keep people out of the rooms and spending money. Maybe Windham, that stupid security officer, had pressed some button, bringing the walls in even closer, so that she could monitor Rikki better.
Blaming the victim. How nice that was.
Not that Rikki was a victim—at least right now. She had made that part up. But she had been a victim at one time.
She no longer felt bad about betraying Misha—dammit, Mikael—by going to the security office. She no longer felt bad about lying about their night together.
When she had gone in, she had thought she was betraying something special to save her own skin. By the time she came out, she realized just how big a betrayal he had perpetrated on her.
She was still shaking with anger. And something else, something that hurt her heart so badly, she couldn’t even articulate what exactly it was.
She sighed heavily and looked at the clothes folded on the bed next to her rucksack. She was implementing her emergency plan. There was only one way off the ship now, unless she waited until they got to a port, and then she wasn’t sure if the next port would take visitors from interstellar cruise ships. Sometimes the ships docked for supplies and left only an hour or two later.
She couldn’t take that risk. She needed to get off this ship now.
She clutched the folded dress to her chest. She had loved that dress, and had imagined when she bought it that, when she wore it, she would have a spectacular night. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t wear it when she had a target, so that she wouldn’t ruin the silk by accidentally getting blood on it.
She hadn’t gotten blood on it, but it would be forever tainted by the memories of this night and what had happened, what she had learned. She set the dress down on the dresser, next to her identi-card. Maybe someone could get better use out of the dress than she ever would.
Someone knocked on her door. She jumped. No one knocked here. The cleaners were bots that sent an electronic notice of when they would arrive.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Misha.”
His voice made her heart pound. She looked at the bed, then at the room itself, suddenly feeling cornered. He was good at systems. He could probably get in.
She could defend herself, but still, she didn’t want it to come to that.
“What do you want?”
“Let’s talk,” he said.
She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see it. “There’s nothing to say.”
“I think there is,” he said.
He wouldn’t go away. What did he want with her? Why was she so important? He had said that it was because she had been interfering with his work, but then he had said that he knew who she was. So what was it?
Did he think she had been interfering with his work as revenge for her father’s death?
She swallowed hard. “Meet me in the K Deck lounge.”
He could see how the other half lived.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll show up.”
He knew her better than she wanted him to.
She glanced at her stuff. She had only needed an hour or so, and then she would be gone.
Of course he would get in the way of that. He had gotten in the way of everything.
“I’m not letting you in here,” she said.
“Then talk to me in the hallway,” he said. “Or better yet, we can walk to the lounge together.”
With his arm around her shoulder, guiding her so that she couldn’t get away like he had done before? No thank you.
She glanced at her equipment, which was still on the small side table. She had her weapons, but he would hold her tight so that she couldn’t use them.
She could probably fight him, but given that little scene in the security office, Windham would take Misha’s side. She made a small growling sound at herself. Not Misha. Mikael. Why couldn’t she get that through her stupid head? Misha was a love name, and she didn’t want to think of him that way ever again.
On impulse, she grabbed a small narcotic on a little sleeve that fit over her middle finger. The narcotic was strong, but not deadly. It just put anyone who used it to sleep quickly.
Then she squared her shoulders, opened the door, and slipped out of the room.
Chapter 23
He looked gorgeous. Why did he always look gorgeous? And why couldn’t Rikki just shut off that attraction to him? Maybe she should take touch drops, just so that she could have him repel her the next day. Except that would mean she would have to sleep with him again.
Such hardship.
Her cheeks warmed. It was a hardship. She had to remember that.
He had stepped to the far side of the corridor so that she could get out of the door, and let the door close behind her. He hadn’t tried to rush her to get inside, something she had been prepared for.
He still wore the same coat and brocade vest he had worn in the ballroom, and that outfit still looked fantastic. She felt frumpy in her loose shirt and tan pants, then questioned why in the universe she would feel frumpy and, more importantly, why in the universe she should even care.
He looked like the man she had seen that first morning, vulnerable, softer, younger somehow. That morning when he had said his name was Misha, as if it meant something to her.
Had his eyes flashed at that point? Had he been hiding amusement?
She leaned against the door, keeping her hands at her sides. “What do you want?”
Her voice was cold.
“I thought we were going to the lounge…?” His words trailed off.
“This will only take a minute. I want you to leave me alone.”
He frowned. “I know you’re mad at me. I know I said a few things that were phrased wrong—”
“Phrased wrong?” she asked.
“That thing about control and finding you and the way that our businesses intersected. I shouldn’t have startled you
with that announcement that I was the one who hired you and I shouldn’t have questioned your competence.”
Her cheeks were so warm she wanted to put a hand against them. But she didn’t dare because of the little narcotic she had on her right hand.
“That’s what you think this is all about?” she asked, keeping her voice cold.
His frown grew. “Isn’t it?”
It had been earlier in the night, when she wanted to find out who he was and whether or not he was lying to her again. But that seemed like years ago now.
“Not anymore,” she said flatly.
“Then tell me, Rikki, what’s going on? I want to work together, maybe figure out how we can get you into the Guild, and—”
“I told you,” she snapped. “I don’t join things.”
“Well, then,” he said, “maybe we could get you some proper training, and then—”
“I don’t need training,” she said tightly. “I’m not interested in your training. I would like you to go away.”
He tilted his head slightly as if he didn’t understand. Had no woman said that to him before? That might have been possible, considering how pretty he was. He wasn’t the kind of man women said no to.
Which meant that he didn’t know how to handle it when it happened.
“What were you doing in the security office?” he asked slowly, as if he was just starting to figure things out.
“I wanted to find out who you were,” she said.
“I told you my name this morning.”
“You said your name was Misha.”
“Yes,” he said, still looking vulnerable. In fact, looking even more vulnerable than he had looked before.
“As if you expected me to know who that was,” she said.
He made a little gesture with his hands and shoulder, a combination nod and bob and yeah-so movement. As if he still expected her to know who that was.
She continued, “I took a little of your DNA tonight and—”
“Took it?” he asked. “When it was freely offered this morning?”
She held up her right hand, determined not to smile, and tapped her thumb against her index finger. If he was paying attention, he would have seen the transparent sleeve over her middle finger. But he wasn’t paying attention, which was what she planned.
Fair warning, though. She couldn’t do anything without fair warning.
Another side of herself that she wasn’t all that fond of.
“I forgot to keep the samples,” she said. “Had I known they would have been useful, I would have kept some.”
He smiled just a little, and damn him, the smile was warm. “You could have asked and I would have assisted you in the collection. You didn’t have to swipe some off me during that dance.”
So he figured that much out, after her little hint.
“I didn’t want to romp in your room,” she said. “I was done with games. I wanted to know who you were.”
“I told you—”
“You didn’t tell me a goddamn thing.” She couldn’t keep her voice down any longer. “You said your name was Misha, but that didn’t mean anything to me.”
He winced. Was that a wince? Really? What was he playing at? He had no right to wince, not after what he had done to her.
“You didn’t tell me your name was Mikael Yurinovich Orlinski,” she said. “The man who murdered my father.”
“What?” he said. And he looked surprised. Surprised. What gave him the right to look surprised? Or to wince. He had no right to any emotions in this. He had used her, and he didn’t get to play act anymore.
“Now do you understand why I want you to stay the hell away from me?” she asked, more loudly than she had intended.
“Actually, no,” he said. “I would have thought that you would remember me fondly. After all, I—”
“You murdered my father. You and your mother. I was in the hospital for weeks after that.”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “And—”
She let out a cry, part of her amazed at her own reaction. It was as if that part of her had separated out, and was watching from above. She lunged at him. He put up his hand as if to stop her, and she grabbed it with her right hand, pressing that finger into the flesh of his wrist, right over a vein.
“You think that murdering my father is something I should be grateful for?” she asked when she could finally manage words.
“Um, I didn’t kill him, my mother did, and yes, I think…” he blinked at her, his pupils growing wide. “I think…”
He tilted his head again, then licked his lips. The narcotic created dry mouth. That was the only sign it had been used.
“Whatthehelldidyoudo?”
He mushed all the words together. His mouth clearly wasn’t working properly anymore.
He had only a few seconds of consciousness yet.
“Nothing you won’t recover from,” she said, “which is more than we can say about me. What you did to me is unspeakable, Mikael.”
She was proud of herself for getting his name right. He blinked. He wasn’t unconscious yet.
He shook his head just a little. Then his eyes closed and he slumped against the wall.
She grabbed him around the waist and pulled him toward her. That body of his, even heavy, even deadweight, felt great through his clothes. She still liked the feel of him after everything.
Better to avoid him altogether. Better to stay away. He had some kind of hold on her that she didn’t entirely understand.
She half-carried him the few steps across the corridor to her door. Then she used her palm to slap the door open. She brought him inside, and closed the door.
The security camera would see it all, of course, but wouldn’t know what happened. They had a conversation, they touched, and then she grabbed him and dragged him into the room. That was all the camera would see.
That was all it needed to see—at least for the next hour or two.
And by then, she would be gone.
Chapter 24
The bed smelled of Rikki. Misha turned his head slightly and inhaled deeply from the pillow. Amazing that he could recognize the scent of her after such a short acquaintance. Such a short, amazing acquaintance. Such a short, amazing, arousing acquaintance.
He stretched—and hit his feet on something. That caught his attention. His bed didn’t have a frame or anything near the feet. He sat up slightly and nearly hit his head on a shelf beside the bed.
Not his room.
Not a room he’d ever seen before.
A utilitarian, small room. An uncomfortable room. A room filled with people.
He frowned and realized he was a bit woozy. A woman peered over him and it wasn’t Rikki. It took Misha a minute to realize that the woman was that security officer—what was her name? Windham. That was it.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Orlinski,” she said.
“What?” he said. Or rather, he croaked. The word came out as “waaa?” with no strong consonants.
He was woozy, he could barely talk, his mouth tasted of sweaty feet, and he felt weak.
She had drugged him.
Not this stupid Windham woman, but Rikki. Damn it. When she grabbed him.
He remembered now: that slight needle-like pain on his wrist, the way the corridor had gone all colors, like a bad light show in a bar, her face leaning over his, telling him something important—
“We’re not sure what she gave you, Mr. Orlinski, so we can’t give you an antidote. But we have some general scrubbers in the security office that should work for standard sleeping drugs and for alcohol. Let me help you sit up.”
She was still leaning over him, and the idea of her trying to fit into the small space that this bed occupied—a space that made him uncomfortable with her—had him waving his hands to keep her back.
“You’re going to have to come with us, Mr. Orlinski,” the security woman, Windham, said. “We need to find out a few things.”
He managed
to scoot up in the bed, looked down, saw that she had left him clothed—and by she, he meant Rikki. He didn’t want to think of the security woman as a “she” in the Rikki-sense, which meant in the sexual sense, which really meant in the desirable sense, which also meant in the infuriating sense—
And what had she given him? Whatever it was, it was still in his system.
He patted his pockets and heard sounds above him. He looked up to see the men behind Windham (How had they all fit into this tiny room?) holding weapons on him.
He pulled out an all-purpose scrubber which he trusted a lot more than their scrubber. Besides, based on the taste still lingering unpleasantly in his mouth, he had a hunch he knew what kind of narcotic Rikki had used on him.
He held out one hand, showed the scrubber with the other, and sprayed the damn stuff up his nose. Then, for good measure, he dry-swallowed a small pill that he kept in the scrubber bottle.
Then he blinked and felt his head clear. A little, anyway. Not entirely, but enough to formulate questions. Or at least, near-questions, with actual consonants.
“Rikki?”
The Windham woman looked confused. And because his head wasn’t entirely clear, it took him a second to understand why she was confused.
“Rachel?” he said firmly as if the first time he had just mangled Rikki’s name.
“Gone,” the woman said.
“Gone?” he asked, trying to comprehend that. How did a passenger get gone from an interstellar cruise liner. He pushed his fuzzy brain. “Did we stop somewhere?”
“No,” the woman said. “She stole an emergency lifeship. At least, there’s one missing and she doesn’t show up on any of our in-house sensors.”
The woman was slapping an identi-card against her hand.
Misha nodded toward it. “Ri—Rachel’s?”
“Yes.” That was an admission of defeat. If she had been wearing an identi-chip like he had, the security people could have tracked her better. But the cards—designed to get more money out of the poorer passengers—only tracked someone when she carried it. “And someone tampered with the security cameras near a lifeship pod not far from here. The ship’s been gone for hours.”