Rebels and Lovers (46 page)

Right?

There was a black-brimmed cap on the top shelf in her closet. It would work well to cover her hair. She strapped on her utility belt with the handbeam and short-bladed knife, then added her weapons belt with her L7, spare power pack, and pocket comm. ID and credits she secured in her jacket’s inside pocket.

She was ready.

No. She ducked into the lav and found her med-kit. There were two painkiller hypos left. She took both, along with some anti-infective patches.

You’re overreacting, Kaid. This isn’t a slagging war
.

They don’t weigh anything. Shut up
.

She dimmed the lights in her bedroom, then in the main room, and stepped out into the corridor.

And almost plowed into Devin.

She stared up at him, startled, her right hand pointing down the corridor. “The airlock’s down—”

He pushed her back against the bulkhead, pinning her there as his mouth covered hers with a fierce insistence. His hands tightened on her shoulders. A sudden heat jolted her, and then she was returning his kiss with equal passion, clinging to him as if he was the source of her life. Her hands slid under his jacket. She could feel the pounding of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest. She grabbed a handful of his shirt, wanting him closer even though closer wasn’t possible.

He broke the kiss, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him as if he knew her need. His lips rested against her forehead. She nuzzled his face, the scent of his skin enveloping her.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Now we can go.”

She felt his absence acutely when he released her.

Get used to it
.

——————

Kaidee had been raised on ships and stations. It always amused her that dirtsiders thought their night was dark. Dirtside night was dim, shadowed, but it was never really dark. Not like the dark of space or the darkness of a cargo hold in a dead ship. The spaceport was close enough to Port Chalo that the glow from the city lit the sky. Vehicles—land and air—streaked by with headlights, taillights, and strobes. Night here was not dark.

What bothered her more was the wind. There was no wind on a ship, no wind on station. And the wind here carried smells, acrid and burning and oily. It was like Pisstown on Dock Five, except you couldn’t go up one level and escape it.

She hunched her shoulders under her jacket and turned up her collar. Tonight the wind was also cold, and it blew relentlessly through the cavernous hangar’s wide entrance. She could close the doors. It could provide security, but it could also trap them. So she’d opted to leave them open.

She and Devin stood in the shadows at the edge of the entrance, listening to the
Rider’s
ramp retract and close behind them. There were five other hangar bays here in Concourse D. Two were occupied—she’d done a visual check as she taxied in. But lights were on in neither.

In the distance, past the rest of the hangars, lights glowed in the building that housed General Aviation’s fixed base operator’s office. But they were dim.

General Aviation—being mostly private passenger craft—was less active at night. Cargo—where the
Rider
normally would have been assigned—never stopped. But their bogus church affiliation and the fact she was carrying passengers got her an assignment
that worked out exceedingly well—considering General Aviation was also where the
Prosperity
should be.

“I somehow thought there’d be more hangars for private ships here,” Devin said. “More people.”

“Cargo—which is on the other side of the spaceport—is triple this size.” That was where the
Rider
usually parked when Kiler came for his meetings with the people from Nahteg. “But there’s tie-down space for seventy just behind the row of hangars, including fixed-wing aircraft. We were assigned a bay because I said we needed repairs. Most people use Lufty’s or Uchenna’s. You’ll know why when you see the bill.”

A small glow pulsed against Devin’s hand. If she hadn’t been halfway watching for it, she would have missed it. It was his Rada, secure on his belt under his jacket but angled out slightly as they waited for the all-clear signal from Barty on the bridge.

“They’re set,” Devin said. “Let’s go.”

She stepped out into the wind, Devin at her side.

“Would be nice if they’re hangared next door,” Devin murmured.

“This bay next to us is locked—I saw the signal lights on the way in. The one next to that was open and empty.” She quickened her steps. “Still is. Right now I’ll discount any locked bays. The
Prosperity
has to know you’d be looking to leave quickly.”

“I’m not leaving.”

She let his comment pass. She wanted to listen. For night, the spaceport was noisy. Machines, land vehicles, whirred in the distance, along with incoming freighters and heavy-air jets. The wind against the hangars’ metal walls made its own sound—a whooshing almost like a hyperdrive coming online. All of that covered the sound of their boots against the pebbled
asphalt. She hoped it also didn’t cover anyone following them from behind. Or attacking from the side.

They checked the first three bays in Concourse C. None held a 220-ton Splendera.

“She’s in Concourse A, then,” Devin said.

“Unless, figuring you were coming in on a Compass flight, they finagled gate space at the main terminal.” The Guthrie name and Guthrie money could do those kinds of things.

Devin turned his face, staring at a gap between the hangars toward the main spaceport in the distance—a long, snaking, brightly lit glass-and-metal structure. “Barty would never make it there. I’m not even sure he’d make it to the end of this row.”

“You can’t walk there. There are runways and taxi-ways in between. We’d need to use the monorail. I’ve got a small antigrav pallet stowed in Cargo Four that could carry him to the station, but we couldn’t bring it on board. Canvassing the main terminal could take hours.”

They pressed on, staying in the shadows at the edges of the large hangars but other than that walking normally. It was late, but it wasn’t unusual to see crew coming and going at all hours. Especially in Port Chalo.

Lights flared suddenly, striping the wide taxiway in front of them. A four-wheeled land vehicle rumbled toward them, its headlights two intense beams spearing the darkness. She tensed, her heart beating rapidly, but Devin kept moving, slowing only long enough to drape his arm over her shoulder, pressing her against his side. “We’re on our way to find a decent pub, right, my darling? Keep walking, minding your own business, and they’ll mind theirs.”

A waist-high power panel jutted out from the side
of the hangar, just short of the next set of bay doors. She wanted to duck behind it, hide, but that was crazy. The darkness provided more-than-decent cover. And crew used this taxiway all the time to get to the monorail.

She tugged the brim of her cap lower, dropping her gaze as the vehicle passed. Relief flooded her as the rumbling faded behind them.

Devin loosened his grasp on her shoulder. “Security?”

“Don’t think so.” She chanced a quick glance in the direction it had gone. “Someone going to a ship out on the tarmac. Security would have been moving a lot slower.” And might have stopped to question them.

Devin dropped his arm from her shoulder, then moved his jacket aside, checking on his Rada. “All quiet,” he said, as they crossed the narrow alleyway between the looming buildings. “This is B. Do we bother?”

“The bays here are too small to house a Splendera. It’s got to be A.”

“Or the main terminal.”

“Then we’re dealing with the monorail.”

“Or we borrow a truck.” Devin slowed as they came upon a large, dark boxy shape parked to the left of a locked bay.

“I doubt the owner left it unlocked with its code pack on the console.”

He flashed her a grin. “Don’t need it. You forget. I’m your resident genius.”

She punched his arm playfully, then: “Lights ahead.”

The next bay door was open, and as they approached, a whirring and humming grew louder. “Repairbots,” she said, slowing.

He urged her on. “I told you. Keep walking, minding your own business.”

“And they’ll mind theirs. I know. I know.” Still, she gritted her teeth.

They stepped into the wide shaft of light spilling from the bay. Repairbots floated up and down the length of a ship half the size of the
Rider
. No one else was in sight.

“BGR-150,” she told him.

“Too cramped, don’t care for it. Rather have a Blackfire 225.”

“You already do.”

“Just checking.” He took her hand as they darted across the last alleyway leading to Concourse A.

For reasons she couldn’t quite pin down, her heart was pounding rapidly now. Part of it was the fear that wouldn’t go away of someone coming up behind them, dressed in an Imperial uniform, weapon in hand. But part of it was that finding the
Prosperity
—if they found the
Prosperity
—meant it was all over. Trip would be safe. The ship would head back to Sylvadae, hopefully with Devin on board.

Or not.

She was torn. Ending it now meant never having to deal with Tavia or the disappointment and disapproval she knew she’d see in J.M.’s eyes when Devin tried to bring her into his family gatherings, as she knew he would.

But ending it now meant never seeing him again. He might try, but there were ways to disappear—at least for a while—and she would use them. She needed to get her head on straight, her life back together, her ship’s ID reset. Ending it now made sense.

It also hurt.

She wanted to stay with Devin. Like an idiot, she’d
started to fall in love with him, and she wanted that chance to find out if this could turn into real love. It might not. It often didn’t. But she wanted that chance.

She pulled her hand out of his, slowing as they reached the first set of hangar-bay doors. Those were locked, but the next ones weren’t. As in Concourse B, a soft glow filtered out from the wide opening. More repairbots? Or was someone waiting for someone to return? The land vehicle that so surprised them could have pulled out of here. They’d been too far down the row of hangars at the time to be able to tell, but now she wondered if that’s where it came from.

She tugged at Devin’s sleeve. He slowed. “That vehicle that passed us ten minutes ago could have left from here.” She motioned to the open hangar.

“Crew going out for a drink or coming back in?”

But they were heading away from the monorail
, she almost said—but they were at the edge of the open bay. She stopped, ears straining.
Shit!
She heard noises and what might be voices. “Someone’s there,” she whispered.

“Repairbots or crew.” Devin patted her shoulder reassuringly. “We glance in as we walk by, then keep going and check the next one.”

“Right.”
Get a grip, Kaid. If it’s the
Prosperity,
that’s good news. If it’s not, we keep looking
. Girding herself with false confidence, she pushed past him into the opening. And froze. The large sleek form of a Pan-Galaxus Splendera filled the hangar, its polished white hull gleaming even in the diffuse light from the hangar overheads. A distinctive crest of two intertwined-Gs was clearly visible on its starboard flank. A servobot hovered by the ship’s extended ramp, but it wasn’t the ship, the familiar crest, or the blinking ’bot that stopped her heart from beating.

It was the dark-haired man on the rampway in GGS blues, arms crossed casually over his chest as he stared up into the
Prosperity’s
airlock.

He didn’t see her. But she saw him.

Kiler Griggs. Her ex-husband was alive.

Devin recognized the familiar outline of the
Prosperity
emblazoned with the Guthrie crest the minute he stepped up behind Makaiden. Relief flooded him. Here was Trip’s ticket back home, to safety. He grabbed Makaiden’s arm—she was almost frozen in place, no doubt as surprised at their good luck as he was.

“We found her!”

The look on her face wasn’t one of surprise but horror. And she wasn’t looking at him.

He followed her gaze to the ship’s rampway, where a crewman in GGS blues leaned against the ramp railing, watching someone in—

The man suddenly swung toward them. Dark brows lifted, then dipped into a frown Devin had seen before, on a face he shouldn’t be seeing now.

Kiler Griggs. Makaiden’s husband.

Fucking impossible
. Denials raced through Devin’s mind. Kiler couldn’t be here. Kiler was dead. Unless Makaiden had lied. … But, no, Devin couldn’t accept that. Didn’t want to accept that.

Makaiden shook off his grasp and took a few steps toward the ship. “Kiler?
Kiler?
What in hell is going on?” Her voice held a slight echo in the large hangar.

“I’ve missed you, too, sweetheart. I’m sure you have questions about the past year. Come on board and I’ll explain. You, too, Mr. Guthrie.”

Something’s very wrong here
. Devin tamped down his shock and confusion and forced his mind to
analyze. Kiler alive was one thing. Kiler alive in a GGS uniform was almost as if they’d gone back in time.