Dark Runner: LodeStar 3.5 (6 page)

“No kidding,” she said dryly. “I kind of figured, or he wouldn’t have a gang of his very own.”

She moved, the collar squeezed, and she froze. The blonde IBI agent smirked at her.

Scala ignored her, eyes on Stark. “I’ll do it. Now get this thing
off
of me.”
 

“Certainly not—” the blonde began, but Berenson was already on his feet. He strode around the table to Scala, determination in every step.
 

“Mr. Berenson,” the blonde was on her feet too, glaring at Scala and the big man. “This is not IBI procedure. This woman is a dangerous criminal.”

“I don’t give a pile of skrog shit about IBI procedure,” the deep voice said over Scala’s head. “I care about getting Mr. Stark back in one piece, without holes shot in him by Darkrunner. And this woman is going to help us do that, so back the fuck
off.”

Scala, her head bent forward where he’d tipped it, smiled to herself. Then the collar loosened with a click, and she drew a deep breath, sucking air into her lungs and letting it out. She wouldn’t be taking another breath for granted for a while.

But she was still strapped into the hovercart, still a prisoner, so she couldn’t afford to relax. She concentrated on looking meek and cooperative.
 

“Ms. Raj, do you have any questions?” Joran Stark asked.

A chill ran down Scala’s spine. He spoke as if the whole thing hinged on her agreement, not their approval.
 

“Yeah, I do. Why me? Why not one of your own operatives?” They must have a thousand or more attractive women or men who could do this job.

The blonde smirked.
 

“Oh,” Scala realized. “It’s because I’m expendable, isn’t it? Because you don’t care what happens to me. Or you don’t think I’ll come back alive at all.”

The beings on the other side of the table gazed back at her, the truth in their eyes … and their silence.

“Well, hells,” she said with a shrug. “In that case, may as well get started.”

Chapter Four

Quol-Ray space station, just off Serpentia

The gleaming Star-class cruiser was long and sleek, pure black except for the jagged silver ghost flames that shimmered along the sides when one approached the craft under the lights of the private spaceport bay. Scala gave a silent hiss of appreciation. Luxe, very luxe. Crime obviously paid well on Earth II. Of course Tal Darkrunner was reputed to be one of the top crime lords in New Seattle, one of the planet’s largest cities.

Too bad she was headed back for respectability when this was over, or she’d be tempted to try and get one of these for herself.
 

A huge Mau in leather studded with metal sat outside the cruiser, cleaning a big knife that already looked spotless to Scala. But maybe that was the point. The glittering blade certainly drew attention, along with the dangerous glower on the Mau’s slab-like purple face.
 

He rose to confront her at the bottom of the open gangplank. “What you want?” he demanded in a deep rumble that sounded like rocks grating.

“Just came to see how Trix is doing. This is her ship, right? She looked real sick last night when she left the bar. Is she okay?”

He grunted something, not moving from his guarded stance.

A compact blond man appeared at the top of the gangplank. Hands braced on the edge of the open hatch over his head, he leaned out to look her over, his brown eyes sly under his long bangs. “Looking for Trix? You slip her something so you could win at holodice, Serp girl?”

“Didn’t need to—we weren’t playing for credit. I guess she’s okay if she mentioned me.”

“She did, but she forgot to say how starry you are.”

The Mau shook his massive head and moved away from the walkway. “Since you’re so
negly
, you link Trix for her,” he said to the other man, and went back to his task.

‘
Negly
’, Scala’s com translated in her ear. ‘Mauritian for ‘sexually attracted.’ Not that Scala needed a translator for the gleam in the blond man’s eyes. He was negly, all right. She was used to that—any reasonably attractive female was out here. She just hadn’t expected the zing of returned attraction. He was cute, and that twinkle in his eye said he knew how to have fun.

“I’m Darry,” he said, straightening in a manner that was clearly designed to show off his physique. “Who’re you?”

“Scala.” She smiled at him. “No need to bother Trix, just wanted to check on her.”

“You here for long?” he asked.

“Hells, no,” she retorted. “Wouldn’t stay on this piece of floating space junk if they paid me in solid iridium. Just here until I get on with another ship.”

“Ah,” Darry flipped something in the air with one hand. Then he straightened. “Hold on, I’ll see if she’s awake.”

He disappeared inside the cruiser, and Scala canted one hip and waited, as if she’d nothing better to do. Which was the truth. She’d been bored as all seven hells hanging around on this floating rust raft, waiting for Darkrunner’s ship to dock.

The windows of the bay groaned with pressure as a new arrival whined to a stop just outside, the thruster wash boiling forward around the craft. A J-class cruiser, big enough to carry a sizeable crew.
 

The pilot, just visible in the cockpit, brought the vessel in a little too fast. Scala winced as one of the wings scraped the armorglass window between the bays. The vessel shuddered in protest, then settled to the pad. One of the station crew zipped out to the ship on a hoverpad, gesturing furiously at the gelpaint streaked window of the bay. That pilot was going to have to pay a damage fee before refueling.

Outside, an IGSF fighter squadron patrol screamed by, headed for Serpentia. An eerie flash lit the blackness of space, pale light streaking across the void in jagged waves, then receding. Another solar storm revving up.

“Hey!” Darry beckoned her with a grin. “Come on up, Serp girl. Trix is asleep, but the boss wants to meet you.”

Yess.
Scala swallowed a hiss of triumph as she climbed the gangplank.

She’d admired the exterior of the craft, but when she stepped on board the cruiser, she walked into luxury. All leather, cerametal and faux woods in dark tones, every inch gleaming and plush. The seats were skrog leather, smooth and soft. The craft smelled of some exotic spice as if she’d walked into a Serpentian bazaar, not onto the private cruiser of a ganger lord.
 

And waiting for her in the center of it all was the man she’d come to find. He did not look happy to see her. Well, he wouldn’t be. No one was happy, who had to spend more than a few secs here on Quol-Ray. It was a desolate spot at best. In the wee hours of a Serpentian night, with a solar storm already howling outside, it was a level of hell. The storm would only get worse when the sun rose, gaining in force, waves of heat and energy buffeting every planet, ship and station in their path.

Darkrunner had docked here at the busy fuel hub for fuel and information. She’d watched from a careful distance as he, Darry and Trix walked into the bar, and then split up, the two men heading out to the spaceport area.
 

They could have made it out before the storm, had Trix not succumbed temporarily to a bad case of dysentery. Scala knew exactly why the diminutive redhead had gone pale, and then dashed for the nearest lav, because she’d been the one to introduce the dose of bacteria into the woman’s drink at the Quol-Ray Bar and Grill.

After she and Trix had spent an amicable hour playing holodice and sharing a plate of fried fan-shrimp, of course, so Scala could pump the woman for intel about her ship and mission. She hadn’t gotten much, but that didn’t surprise her. Just meant Darkrunner didn’t hire fools.
 

Or perhaps his crew didn’t dare gossip. Now that she was face to face with him, she thought it might be fear that kept their lips sealed. She’d seen him in the holovids given her for background, of course. And she knew his history, how he’d emerged from the depths of the New Seattle slums to fight his way to the top of the lawless there.

But seeing him in person was another matter entirely.

Tal Darkrunner was a force of nature, the air around him a vacuum of icy calm in the midst of the storm outside. He was also one of the sexiest beings she’d ever encountered. She traced the ebony skirls of ink on his skin with her gaze, her fears and thoughts blown away, leaving heat and sheer lust in their place.
 

Her gaze trailed down over his lean, taut body. His long, leather duster, also black as the reaches of space, hung open to reveal a tight shirt and leather pants tucked into tall boots.
 

He was like the vision of some dark, sensual artist. The darkness of his tattoos, hair and clothing and his thick, black lashes emphasized the pale, crystalline beauty of his eyes, his straight nose and the thin, sensual curve of his mouth.

And he was looking her over in turn, except he didn’t look quite as impressed. His gaze traveled over her until she was ready to squirm in her own worn leathers. She forced herself to stand calmly, hands at her side. Ready for anything, because, yeah, he was supernova hot, but she couldn’t trust him, his pretty boy sidekick or his Mau thug. Lucky for her, she had plenty of experience with treacherous males.

“So,” the ganger said, his voice a quiet husk that she had to strain to hear. When she caught herself leaning forward, she froze, realizing that was precisely why he spoke so quietly. Tricky bastard. “You’re here to see Trix.”

“Well,” Scala smiled winningly. “Yeah, and I was hoping you might need someone to take her place—just until she’s back on her feet, of course. I don’t need anything long term, just want to get off this floating hell hole.”

Darkrunner didn’t look impressed by her smile or her candor. “You just happen to need a post when I need crew.”

“Yeah, how’s come you didn’t get food poisoning like Trix?” Darry asked. “You shared food, right?”

“We did,” she answered, patting her flat midriff. “But I’m Serpentian. Digestive system of pure cerametal, y'know? I feel terrible for Trix—those damned fan-shrimp. Shouldn’t eat ‘em on Quol-Ray.”

"She'll live." Darkrunner’s gaze gave nothing away. The skin on the back of her shoulders prickled. Did he believe her? Or could he somehow sense that she was the one who'd dosed Trix's drink with the bacteria?

“Why are you on Quol-Ray?” he asked.

“Jumped my last ship when the quarking captain refused to pay me a lunar month’s worth of wages. Bad luck it happened to be here. I’ve been earning my keep here, but I’m ready to be done with this hellhole.”

His gaze lowered, lingering on places that sprang to life under his gaze. Quark, didn’t make sense that ice could leave such fire in its wake. But no matter—he was attractive, and she knew she was too, didn’t mean either of them were going to act on it.

“Don’t imagine whoring pays much in a place like this,” the blond man said, his gaze laughing at her. “You’d do better on planet.”

Scala glared, no longer finding him amusing. “First, I don’t whore myself.” Not since she’d acquired other skills. She might dress flashy, but that was her choice. Never hurt to keep men focused on her body instead of her brain—although it did get boring trying to have conversations with males who were speaking to her breasts or even lower down. “And second, I’m not exactly welcome on planet.”

“Why not?” Darkrunner asked.

With a sigh, she cocked her head and pulled the woven leather choker away from her throat, revealing the scar there, and the inked ident symbol over it. Her mark of shame, and even though it was part of the plan, humiliation still crawled through her middle at having to show it.

Darry’s arching brows flew up. “Chipped as an undesirable? What’d you do, bite the High Governor of Serpentia?”

She showed him her teeth in a mirthless smile. “I wish. I was a guard on a big cruise ship. Got mixed up in a plot to steal the ship. Turned out my man was gonna kill everyone on board, but forgot to share that part with me.”

Darkrunner’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What ship?”

Okay, this was the tricky part. She must reveal her connection, however negative, to LodeStar and Logan Stark. But now that the ganger knew who she was, he could run a background check and find out anyway.
 

“The
Orion
,” she said. “A LodeStar vessel. I guess you heard about that, huh? Don’t worry, my ship-stealing days are over. They catch me doing something that big again, they’ll execute me.”

“Fuck me, you tried to steal a LodeStar ship?” Darry asked, his expression hovering between derision and delight. “That took balls.”

She shrugged, watching Darkrunner. He regarded her in silence, broken only by the winds howling outside, and the swift tappity-tap of his fingers on the butt of a sleek laser weapon holstered on his belt. Her gaze dropped to his lean hands, which bore tattoos as ornate as those on his face, and a ring on every finger. She wondered what those rings would feel like on her skin.

His inspection stretched, her nerves along with it until they were nearly to the snapping point. She clenched her jaw against the urge to scream at him to refuse her if he was going to, but just get it over with, when he finally moved.