Rebels and Lovers (27 page)

“His levels dropped,” Trip said quietly after Devin roused him. “The unit said he needed another regeneration sleep period, and it knocked him out”—he glanced at the wall console—“about forty-five minutes ago.”

“Looks like you need downtime too,” Kaidee told him. “We all do. There’s nothing that has to be solved in the next few hours, unless …” She glanced at Devin. He’d made no effort yet to tell Trip about his grandfather’s scheme.

Devin gave his head a small negative shake. “Things will seem clearer if we’re all rested.”

Trip must have heard the weariness and frustration in Devin’s voice. “What’s wrong?” he asked, rising.

“Makaiden and I have been playing with a bunch of scenarios, that’s all.” He cuffed his nephew lightly on the shoulder. “Tired minds doing too much thinking. Let’s get some sleep.”

Kaidee followed Trip and Devin into the corridor, stopping when Trip turned left into the small mess area that led to the crew bunks. Devin hit the palm pad for the larger passenger cabin on her right. The door slid open, but he stood there watching Trip, then
turned his gaze to her when the door to the crew bunk area thumped closed.

“Are you going to tell Trip about the message source?” She kept her voice low, even though Trip couldn’t hear her.

Devin nodded grimly. “Eventually I have to. He needs to know that … things are not as they seem. That people he’s trusted all his life may no longer be trustworthy.” His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he shrugged one shoulder, as if pushing off the burden Kaidee very clearly felt he carried. “But not tonight. It’s been a very long day. For all of us.”

It had, but it wasn’t just fatigue she sensed from him. She tried to put a hopeful tone in her voice, because she knew Devin was worried. “Tomorrow Barty will be awake and able to help.”

Another slow nod. Then a sigh. “Makaiden …”

There was something about the way he said her name, something about the low rumble of his voice underscored by the quite thrumming of the ship’s drive. It caused a little flutter inside her, a flutter she couldn’t afford.

She took a step away from him. “It’s late. Everything you need should be in the cabin or here in the galley.” She made an aimless motion with her left hand.

The way he was looking at her was far more direct. “Thank you.”

She took two more steps toward the lift. “Good night,” she said, and turned quickly, before his smoky gaze and her growing flutters compelled her to stay.

Kaidee’s eyelids drifted open into darkness that shifted—as her muzzy mind looped in perplexing
circles—to a not-quite-so-dark darkness. There was a faint glow coming from the lav across from her bed, as there always was when she had her quarters set to shipnight. The low-pitched humming of the jumpspace drive was an ever-present reminder of her ship’s location. No alarms wailed, chirped, or beeped.

So what was wrong?

The dream came back to her, a jumble of images and emotions. Fleeing down dimly lit tunnels. The narrow-eyed gazes of suspicious stripers. These were dreams she’d had before, but, this time, Devin was there. Devin of the quiet strength, the unshakable surety, the deep loyalty …

Devin who owned her ship.

She rolled over with a groan. She’d slept only two and a half hours. Her mouth felt like tacky sandpaper and she craved a cold bottle of water or, perversely, a mug of hot tea. There was an ache growing between her eyes, and her mind would not stop.
Devin. Trip. Barty. Orvis. Dock Five. Frinks. Stripers. Devin
. Sleep was not going to return at this rate.

The hell with water or tea. She needed a beer.

She slept in an old long-sleeved gray thermal shirt that was several sizes too large. Normally she’d head down to the galley just like that, barefoot as well. But she had guests. The ship’s owner was on board. She rummaged through a drawer, found a pair of dark-blue sweatpants, then pulled them on. She should check on Barty while she was down there.

She doubted he’d care that she was barefoot.

After a perfunctory perusal of ship’s status from the console in her quarters, she stepped out into the corridor, then padded down the stairs. She didn’t want the rumble of the lift to wake Trip or Devin and, besides, the stairs led directly to the small mess hall. No need
to pass Devin’s door. But halfway down the stairs she hesitated. There was a noise that didn’t belong. She frowned, listening more closely. A click or a snick; a small sharp sound. Another. Then a quick series of three.

Then silence.

She moved softly, damning the fact that she wasn’t armed, but, hell, this was her ship. In spite of the spike in her heart rate, she knew an intruder or stowaway wasn’t a possibility. But something leaking, a loose piece of power conduit tapping against the wall—
that
was always a possibility and could be equally dangerous.

Another series of soft snicks. Then a ruffling sound, as if someone shuffled a deck of playing cards.

Shit
. She peeked around the corner of the bulkhead wall adjoining the mess hall and stared straight into smoky-blue eyes framed by silver-rimmed glasses. Devin, alone at the table next to the galley entrance, shirtsleeves rolled up haphazardly. Playing cards were fanned between his fingers. A bottle of beer was on his right.

The only consolation was that he seemed as startled as she was. A few of the cards fluttered away from him, falling to the tabletop. Then the stiffness of his shoulders relaxed. He scooped up the wayward cards. “Trip’s had a hard enough day. Barty’s sleeping peacefully,” he said, his voice low. “His stats all look fine.”

That would explain why he was awake; it didn’t explain the cards or the beer. Then she realized he was giving her an excuse. Not
I’m worried, I can’t sleep, I’m upset
. All of which were arguably true for herself as well, but not something she was comfortable admitting—and he seemed to know that, damn him.

At least he didn’t know that his appearance in her dreams was also a cause of her restlessness.

“Thanks for checking in on him.” She matched his tone so her voice wouldn’t carry beyond the mess area and stepped toward him, the layout of the cards catching her eye. Zentauri. But Zentauri-Jir, the solo game, set up in casinos as player versus banker. Not the multiple-player version she’d shared with him so many times in transit.

Devin had been blind-dealing, acting as both player and banker. She eyed the positions of the cards, doing a quick tally. Something told her that was better than discussing why else they were both awake and in the mess hall with very little sleep. “You should have held back the two and put the six here instead.” She pointed to the shorter line of cards on his right, just under the half-empty bottle of beer. He’d been here for a bit. Long enough to roll up his sleeves and unbutton his shirt halfway. Or else, like her, he’d failed at sleep and tossed on some clothes before heading for the galley.

“The gate shows a three low,” he said, using one finger to tap the middle stack of cards, in between the stack called the orbit and the one called the dock.

“Right, but you can double on a low gate in Jir.” She slanted him a glance, not missing the fact that Devin actually did disheveled well. “So much for all my lessons.”

He peered up at her over the rim of his glasses. “It’s been a while. Refresh my memory.”

Her mind screamed
no
. Her body and heart considered what was right and rational and pushed those all away. She held his gaze for a moment longer than was prudent. “Let me get a beer.”

——————

“The whole concept of Zentauri-Jir is control, not competition like regular Zentauri. The banker is a position, not your adversary.” She dealt the newly shuffled deck as she sat across from him, watching the cards and not his face.
Two, three hands
, she made herself promise. Enough to be social, yet not enough time to get talking about anything other than the game. But three hands went quickly and he was asking questions—good ones.

She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed playing cards with Devin Guthrie.

One more hand
. But one more meant one more cold beer.

When she returned from the galley, grasping two chilled bottles, Devin was standing. “Let’s move to my cabin. I don’t want our chatter to wake Trip.”

Her steps slowed.

Devin spread his hands in an innocent gesture. “Or not. Sorry. If you feel threatened—”

“Threatened?” She didn’t hide the derision in her voice, because she knew it was expected. It wasn’t that she felt threatened exactly, but—

“Uncomfortable,” he offered. “I can leave the door open.”

The look on his face was so guileless, she had to smile. “Leave it open, because if alarms start wailing, I don’t want to be looking for a palm pad to find out what’s wrong.” That wasn’t exactly factual. She knew where the palm pads were in every compartment on this ship. And since the passenger cabin Devin now occupied used to be the captain’s quarters, there was a command console integrated into the main panel in the desk to the right of the door.

He gestured to the other side of the corridor,
retrieving his beer from her as she padded by, the decking cool under her bare feet.

The door to his quarters was open. She put her beer down on the circular plastiwood dining table in the far corner of the small living area. He tossed the cards on top and chose a seat with his back facing the aft bulkhead. She sat across from him and sifted through the deck, choosing specific cards before she dealt a hand. “Okay, now consider this …”

By the next hand, he’d developed strategies of his own, winning the solo game quickly without any of her previous hints. She had to remind herself that Devin was a linear thinker but that once he had that down satisfactorily, he opened up his more creative side.

“That’s two in a row,” she said, after he won the next hand in ten moves. Damned near pro status, that. “One more and I’m letting you loose in the casinos.”

He grinned. “Bet I can do five in a row.”

She snorted softly. “Maybe. But not each in less than ten moves.”

“Bet I can.”

She tilted his empty beer bottle and peered down the neck. “No more for you. You’re hallucinating.”

“You doubt me?”

“I can win five in a row. Sometimes. But not in less than ten moves.”

“So you doubt me.”

“I think … the game can surprise you. You’re a good card counter. But no one’s that good.”

“What’s it worth?”

“Pardon?”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, then picked up a card and tapped it lightly against the polished
tabletop. “What’s it worth to you? Make a bet with me. I lose and … you name the prize.”

My ship back in my name
. It was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t say it, not in jest, which is what he had to be doing. “Seriously …”

“Seriously. What do you want? Your heart’s desire. Name it. I lose, it’s yours.”

Her heart thumped hard in her chest. This time there was no holding back. “My ship.” The rasp in her voice surprised her. “Clear title in my name.”

He nodded slowly, his face tilted slightly, not so much in puzzlement as in amusement. “Deal.”

Shock sizzled through her. “You have to win the next three hands in less than ten moves. You understand? Not just three hands but less than ten moves.”

“Understood.”

This was too easy. This was … Trepidation replaced her shock of a moment before. “And if by some fluke of the stars and heaven
you
win?” she asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

“Besides the fact I get to say ‘I told you so’?” His grin was calm, nonthreatening, but it didn’t decrease her wariness one bit.

He tossed the card on the pile, then leaned back, his expression shifting to thoughtful. He lifted one shoulder in a dismissive gesture. “I don’t know, Makaiden. What I want, you can’t put a monetary value on.” His smile faded slightly. “So given that … dance with me,” he said softly. “You taught me to play Zentauri. If I win, I get to teach you to dance.”

“Dance?”

“Don’t you remember? Two, three years ago we were on Aldan Prime. A meeting Jonathan scheduled with Donalt Eurek. We took the
Triumph
, made the
meeting on time, but afterward they had this big party.”

She remembered. A lavish affair—the Eurek family owned a number of upscale restaurants and supper clubs. She’d argued she was an employee, just a pilot, but the invitation included everyone. Even Makaiden Griggs, feeling definitely out of place even in her formal GGS uniform.

There was a band—really more of an orchestra. The music was slow, soft, lovely. Devin had asked her to dance. And she’d confessed she didn’t know how.

“I remember,” she said.

“Have you learned since then?”

She huffed out a laugh. “No.”

“Well, then.” His smile widened. “It’s about time. Deal?” He held out one hand.

She eyed his open palm. So he’d try to teach her to dance. Besides being embarrassing, it wasn’t going to happen. He’d have to win the next three hands in less than ten moves. It wasn’t going to happen.

She took his hand, let him close his larger, warm fingers around hers. “Deal.”

His smile warmed her and worried her at the same time.

She withdrew her hand and shuffled the cards, then stopped. She pointed to an area below the edge of the table. “Your Rada. Over here, by me. It’s not permitted in casinos.”

Grinning, he unclipped it from his belt, then pushed it across the table toward her.

Kaidee had experienced tension before, but nothing like this. Part of her applauded Devin’s skill at the game and wanted to see him win five in a row, just for the sheer pleasure of watching it happen. Yet with the soft slap of every card against the tabletop, she knew
she was that much closer—or not—to regaining the
Rider
. And regaining the
Rider
meant getting her life back—for good, for real.

He won the next hand in less than ten moves easily.

“That’s three down.” He held her gaze for a moment.

“You had a couple of lucky sequences,” she admitted, shuffling the cards a bit more intently. Three in a row—less than ten—was hard but not impossible. She’d done it.