Rebels and Lovers (47 page)

That was impossible. But the possibility that Makaiden had lied about Kiler’s death wasn’t. Except Kiler had just acknowledged that Makaiden would have questions
about the past year
. So she hadn’t known he was alive. That was the only good news Devin could find at the moment. He studied the former GGS pilot, then put a blank expression on his face and a bland tone into his voice. Give nothing away. “Who hired you to fly for GGS again?” He really didn’t care about the answer. He only wanted to keep Kiler talking so he could try to make some sense of the situation.

“That’s another interesting story. It’s cold out here and a lot warmer in there.” Kiler swung his right hand toward the
Prosperity’s
airlock, but his gaze stayed on Makaiden. Then his chin lifted, as if he was looking past them out into the darkness.

Not into the darkness.
At
someone.
Shit
. Devin slipped his hand under his jacket toward the Carver in his shoulder holster. He should have pulled it the minute he saw a dead man who didn’t belong.

Something cold and hard with a distinctly metal feel pressed against the back of his neck. “Don’t try it, Mr. Guthrie.” The man behind him yanked on his arm. “Keep that out there.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Kiler said, his friendly tone a moment ago replaced by a firmer one. And underscored by a pistol in his hand.

Devin splayed his hands outward in a casual gesture. Under his jacket, his muscles bunched. Rage shot through him—at his stupidity, at this insanity. He tamped it down. Two drawn pistols right now
trumped two pistols still in holsters that the opposition knew were there. He had to keep his mind clear. With the barrel of a weapon pressed against his neck and one aimed at Makaiden, it was the only option he had right now.

“Kiler!” Makaiden switched a pained, confused look from her ex-husband to Devin, then back to her ex-husband again.

“Don’t you think about pulling a gun either, my sweet wife. Keep those hands out. Good girl.” He stepped quickly toward the bottom of the ramp.

Makaiden’s arms were out to her sides but she was shaking her head. “Kiler, this is crazy. The Guthries aren’t your enemy. There’s no reason to do this. Put the gun away. Tell Fuzz—your friend to back off.”

Fuzz
. Devin didn’t think her verbal stumble was an error. She’d just told him the identity of the man behind him. Fuzz-face from Dock Five. The man Barty knew as Munton Fetter.

Devin’s mind raced with scenarios, pulling clues from the exchange between Makaiden and Kiler. Did Kiler have some long-standing grudge against GGS because he’d been fired? Was that the impetus behind all the problems with Trip?

“Put the gun down, Kiler,” Makaiden repeated, more strongly this time.

Kiler ignored her. “Find that weapon he was reaching for, then check her for an L7. I’ve got them both covered, and as Kaidee can tell you, Guthrie, I’m a damned good shot.”

“What do you want?” Devin asked Kiler through gritted teeth as Fuzz-face groped under his jacket, finding the Carver. He wanted nothing more than to slam his elbow into the man’s windpipe, but the gun against his neck and the one pointed at Makaiden told
him that was unwise at this point. “Who put you up to this? The Farosians?”

“What the hell do I care about them?” Kiler’s mouth twisted in a sneer.

Then it wasn’t a political move against GGS—or himself as Philip’s brother. Both ideas had surfaced quickly and were now discarded. Devin needed data, facts to work with. And the only way to get them was to keep Kiler talking. The former GGS pilot was only a few feet from Makaiden now, and that fact shot a bolt of white-hot anger through Devin. He didn’t like the look on the man’s face, which was one of possession. Makaiden didn’t belong to Kiler.

“What the hell do you care about us?” he countered harshly. “Why the guns, the threats?”

The pressure of the gun on his neck was suddenly absent. Fuzz-face sidled up on Devin’s left, a Stinger in one hand and Devin’s Carver in the other.

Kiler smiled, his eyes narrowed. “Because it’s fun to be rich.”

“You want the
Prosperity?
That’s what this is about?” Had he and Makaiden interrupted a simple ship heist? But that wouldn’t explain Fuzz-face’s presence on Dock Five.

Kiler ignored him, his focus on Makaiden. “I’m taking that L7 now. You as much as blink, sweetie, and Guthrie’s dead. Understand?”

“No, I don’t, damn you!”

“Honey, I invited you on board. You waited too long.” He plucked the small laser pistol from Makaiden’s weapons belt. “And look what I found here. A knife.” Both went into his jacket pocket. He nodded to Fuzz-face. “Give me the Carver and check him for other weapons.”

Fuzz-face shoved the muzzle of the gun in the side of Devin’s neck and pulled at the front of his jacket.

Devin locked his gaze on Kiler as Fuzz-face patted him down with jerky movements. “Griggs, if this is about money—”

“Isn’t everything?”

“If it’s about money, let Makaiden go,” Devin persisted. “I’m worth a hell of a lot—”

“You trying to bribe me? We’ll just add that to your list of crimes for when the stripers get here.”

Devin would love to see a squad of stripers right now. Except something in Kiler’s tone and the haughty mien on his face told him the encounter would not go as planned.

That made no sense either.

“Holster’s empty. No knives,” Fuzz-face reported. “Nice microcomputer, though.”

“Leave it for now.” Kiler waved the pistol again. “Up the ramp. Let’s go.”

As Kiler moved behind him, Devin managed a brief glance at Makaiden, catching her attention. She was pale, but anger flashed in her eyes. He gave his head a small shake, hoping she understood.
Not now. Wait
.

Then he did a quick analysis of what he could see of the hangar while Kiler and Fuzz-face pushed them toward the ship. Fuzz-face had friends on Dock Five. Their whereabouts now concerned him greatly. On the ship seemed likely, but if they were, why hadn’t they disembarked to help out? Or were they to play the part of the stripers, to force Devin to …

He didn’t know. His mind frustratingly could come up with nothing.

Think, Devin. Analyze
.

If they were up against just Kiler and Fuzz, the situation was bad but not impossible. Two against two
was a fair fight. Two against four—or more—was not. And he would not go down without a fight.

Damn it. Of all the scenarios Philip had put him through, the ones he hated most were ones with hostages—and it looked as if that was where they were headed.

Their boot steps thumped hard on the rampway, then they were through the main airlock and into the familiar plush surroundings of the ship. Kiler moved quickly between Devin and Makaiden, the threat clear, but it was the only threat. The main cabin, with its three seating groupings forward and large dining table aft, was empty. No stripers. No Dock Five cohorts. Yet.

No crew. Was Kiler really the pilot or had he killed the GGS crew? Devin did a cursory examination of the cabin for signs of a struggle as they were herded toward the rear of the main room. Either they’d had time to clean up—he thought of Trip’s apartment and his family’s contention that ImpSec also acted as housekeepers—or there’d been no confrontation.

Unless they were locked belowdecks in one of the cabins. He expected that’s where Kiler was taking Makaiden and him—he hoped that’s where Kiler was taking them. He knew this ship. More than that, he knew her systems, her computers. And he still had his Rada.

“Sit,” Kiler ordered suddenly. “Behind the table. Seats against the bulkhead.”

Devin hesitated long enough for Kiler to bring his pistol—a powerful Stinger—up to Makaiden’s head. “Don’t be stupid.”

Devin slid into the bulkhead chair as directed, his back to the outer bulkhead. Makaiden sat catercorner to him, her back against an inner dividing wall. The
galley was behind her. Devin understood Kiler’s setup: the large, heavy polished wood table—bolted to the decking, as were the chairs—served as an effective barrier to prevent Devin from lunging at either man.

But it also hid his hands. He folded his arms across his chest, rumpling his jacket front, and dropped the lower arm down to his lap. Keeping his gaze locked on Kiler, he brushed his fingers against Makaiden’s thigh. Her hand found his only long enough for a quick, reassuring clasp of fingers.

“What now, Kiler? This is crazy, you know that.” She raked her other hand through her hair. Good distraction. The eye—in this case, eyes, both Kiler’s and Fuzz’s—followed movement.

Devin released her fingers and found the Rada in its holder. He tapped a quick-start low-function button he’d customized a few months back, when participants in meetings were often distracted by the Rada’s holographic display or when he simply found it convenient not to let them know he had the microcomputer on. One tap and it would record and, at specific data-load intervals, automatically transmit to GGS archives via whatever signal it could grab. If the
Prosperity’s
comm system was active—and he suspected it was—it would also upload to ship’s logs.

Whatever happened, someone somewhere in GGS would find it.

“We wait,” Kiler said, in answer to Makaiden’s question. “We have Guthrie. Saves us a lot of time. Shortly we’ll have Trippy and the old bastard, Barthol.”

We
. Then there were others. A chill raced up Devin’s spine. He shoved it away. He had to get ahead of Kiler’s thought processes here.

“If you’re looking for ransom,” Devin said, “my
presence is more than sufficient. Aside from what GGS will pay, I have personal funds. Let Makaiden go. Leave Trip and Barty alone.”

Kiler snorted. “There’s no ransom where you’re going. As for Kaidee,” and he tilted his head as if a thought had occurred to him, “that’s up to her. Yeah, I like that. What do you say, Kaidee doll? We had some great years. I’m willing to forget the divorce if you are. It’s just a stupid legal document anyway.”

Stony silence was his only answer.

That silence was broken by the sound of hard boot steps. Someone—or several someones—coming up the ramp. Makaiden, beside him, stiffened. She knew as well as he that the odds were rapidly moving in a bad direction.

“Griggs, got your message.” A man’s voice boomed through the airlock. “I’ll contact Tage and tell—”

Devin sat upright and, for the second time in less than an hour, his mind reeled in disbelief. And not because of the mention of Darius Tage. But because it was his brother Ethan who said the name.

“Ethan!” Devin half-rose out of his seat, which made Fuzz step closer, laser pistol aimed at Devin’s face. But Devin remained half standing, fists planted on the tabletop, the shock of Ethan striding into the
Prosperity’s
main cabin almost freezing him in place. Pieces of facts—hard, ugly suppositions he desperately didn’t want to be true—began to assemble in his mind. If Ethan was talking about contacting Tage, then Ethan was not here to help. And he’d known Kiler Griggs was on board.

“D.J.?” Ethan’s widened eyes narrowed quickly. He slowed, then, with one fist clenched, spun on Kiler. “Why the fuck aren’t they locked in a cabin, Griggs?
You damned well better tell me Trippy and the old man are below.”

Some of Kiler’s bravado wilted, his shoulders dipping under the blue uniform. Then he lifted his chin. “You said not to leave him alone, where he could get at ship’s systems.”

“Put Gerker—”

“Gerker and Vaughn haven’t come back from the cargo terminal yet.”

Devin dropped back into his chair as he listened to the exchange. He forced himself to shut down his emotions, to ignore the fact that—for some bizarre reason he couldn’t yet grasp—his brother Ethan was involved in all this. Kiler was taking orders from him.

No, not a bizarre reason. Ethan had revealed one very important clue when he said the name Tage. Tage wanted Philip, wanted revenge. Trip’s disappearance might well be the catalyst to bring Admiral Guthrie across the border, back into Imperial space.

But why would Ethan do that? Pain wrenched Devin’s heart. For God’s sake, they were brothers. Family.

“Do they have the kid?” Ethan asked Kiler.

“You have any idea how many freighters park at cargo?”

They were looking for the
Void Rider
. Devin’s rash action in not only buying the
Rider
but in using his own name, was not only the catalyst but the key. Ethan knew they’d been bumped from their reservations on Compass Spacelines but expected them to catch another flight. Somehow he found out—Orvis came to mind—that Devin had bought a ship. A freighter that would normally dock on the other side of the spaceport. He remembered Makaiden saying so.

A freighter that was now only a few hangars away on the far end of General Aviation.

“Ethan.” Devin put a hard but cold tone in his voice, pulling his brother’s attention away from his argument with Kiler Griggs. “What in hell’s going on here?”

His brother turned to him, a thin smile curving his lips. “You really don’t know, do you? So tell me, how does it feel to be the one left out of the plans? Don’t like it, do you?”

Devin stared at him, hearing the petulant undercurrent that surfaced every time Ethan thought he was slighted by J.M., just as it had in the library before Devin headed for Dock Five.

Just because I don’t have all the degrees you and Devin have doesn’t mean I’m stupid
.

That was Ethan’s constant complaint, that he was never viewed as smart or as worthy as Jonathan, Philip, or Devin.

So because of some childish sibling rivalry, he tried to kidnap Trip? And why would Tage want any part of that?

“I don’t like having guns pointed at me,” Devin replied evenly. “But whatever problem you have with me, fine, we’ll work it out. Makaiden has nothing to do with that. Neither does Trip or Barty. Let her go. Send them”—he motioned to Kiler and Fuzz—“away, and we talk. We’ll solve this together,” he added, then winced internally at his unintended condescension. But this was Ethan, and that’s the way one talked to Ethan.

Which was evidently why he was sitting here. To Jonathan, Philip, and Devin, it was childish sibling rivalry. To Ethan, it was his life. Some of Devin’s anger
cooled. A good negotiator fully understood the opposition’s position.