Kicking Ashe (14 page)

He half shrugged. “I am making a list.” With a semi-brooding look, he added, “You are on it.”

Not surprised or offended. “I figured I was.” He might have looked a bit surprised. “If I was in your place, you’d be on my list.” Actually, even though she wasn’t in his spot, he was on her list, mostly because of several family mantras including one from the female side about men being trouble, sometimes more than they were worth. He frowned. So typical. Didn’t trust but expected to be trusted. “You did try to deport me,” Ashe pointed out, though she felt she shouldn’t have to.

“And why is it that I failed?”

It was a fair question. She should have expected it, cause it sure wasn’t unexpected.

He edged in next to her, creating all kinds of interesting tingles on that side of her body. “You emit no EM and yet you must have a transport inhibitor engaged.”

Nice of him to semi answer his own question, since thinking was not possible with him so close. He gaze traveled all over the parts of her hidden by the borrowed clothes, setting her nerve endings a flutter cause his gaze, while it was assessing, had a little that wasn’t that assessing. And his gaze kind of lingered in areas less likely to be home to an inhibitor.

“We never did find your space attire.” Now he pinned her in place with the gaze. “You claimed it was malfunctioning. A malfunction is not a total system failure.”

Not a bad theory. She should thank him for thinking of it. And she would, if they ever ended up on the same side. In the mean time, attack seemed the best defense.

“You gonna strip search me?” Ashe grinned as she fingered the top button of the shirt. If that attack involved distraction, well, that just made it work better.

Color scored his cheeks and his gaze heated like someone just turned on the after burners. He was close enough for her to pick up a heat spike from him. That fogged her brain some, though just around the edges, like a vid special effect. Almost gave him a halo—if he hadn’t been wrapped in leather. Cause he was no angel.

Now is not the time, she told herself sternly, but her lips didn’t get that memo. Her brain needed to work on its memo delivery speed. Of course the lips might have ignored the memo. They wanted the kiss and curved in invitation. She considered the question with what she pretended was dispassion and realized that around ninety-nine percent of her wanted the kiss. She almost flicked the button open, but Lurch and his drones chose that moment to connect.

No, connect was too tame a way to describe what happened. Data stormed into her head, masses of bits and bytes and images. A tracking screen, a different one from his, popped up between her and Shan. Star charts and timetables spun past her view. As distractions went, the data kaleidoscope was a good one. She blinked. She’d have to pay Lurch back for it later.

Shan half frowned, as if he sensed something had changed. Or maybe he just smelled the change.

“You are,” he paused to swallow, “iridescent.”

“Really?” She held out an arm and dang if he wasn’t right. It was faint, wouldn’t have been noticed in bright light, but in the semi-dim of the tent, she did have sheen to her skin. “It’s healing. My body is healing.”

It was a kind of truth, because the connection was as sweet as water. Was it enough truth to fool his sniffer? She saw his nose quiver and wasn’t sure. Could he parse half-truth? Now if she’d just get her time senses back—curious she tried to activate them. Tamped down the frustration when she got nothing, in case Shan could smell it. Pretty sure she didn’t manage it that well. Quelling wasn’t her strong suit.

True.

Low blow. Where are we? When are we?
The questions were need-to-know and not just a diversion.

Shan frowned. “You wish me to trust you and yet you shade the truth.”

“You shouldn’t trust anyone.” Did he miss the part where only someone he trusted had the power to betray him?

His frown deepened to his signature scowl. “One must trust someone.”

“That someone is probably your problem.” This came out automatically, cause it was one of the corollaries to the family mantra about trusting no one.

We are in the Keltinarian star system. On Designation 023456.

She’d guessed the star system and the designation didn’t tell her that much, but the accompanying star chart might help. She studied their location. Nope, not much help without a when and then—

I am still trying to fix an approximate date.

It wasn’t always easy to convert a system’s way of counting time to their system’s time management. It seemed this was one of those times.
Didn’t we know how they counted time?
And could one “fix” an approximate?

He ignored the sass with a bland,
their way of counting time has altered somewhat.

Of course it had. Would they ever catch a break?

“My brother would not betray me and he is—” His lips closed over the words, his expression taking a trip into grim.

Is what? She frowned. “Got a different vibe from Bana.” Not that she believed all she was told by anyone, Bana in particular, since she was part of his family. That put her in the column of those he probably trusted, which meant she couldn’t be trusted. Ashe always started her “not trusting” with family, which was yet another mantra. Okay, now that she thought about it, her family had some deep-seated trust issues. Of course, sibling rivalry took on a whole new meaning among the Garradians. It was almost an intergalactic pastime. She considered it further and deleted almost. Her people did like machinations and plots. Conspiracy theories were their mother’s milk. If the guy were a pretty Machiavelli, then hello new Leader of their galaxy. And probably not a coincidence that her family tree was littered with pretty Machiavellis who became Leaders.

“It amuses Bana to stir up controversy.”

“I have an aunt like that.” Ashe thought for a moment. Actually, they were all like that. Uncles, too. “We call it putting the catrick among the dorfinches.” He blinked at her. “It’s, well, you probably need to see it to get it.” She cleared her throat because his brooding presence kind of furred it. “We were talking about who might betray you.”

“If one wished to betray me, all they need to do is wait for me to deal with you,” he pointed out. “No exposure. Maximum outcome.”

“And yet you tried to set me free?” Did she totally believe he’d have given her control of his ship? Cause there was no way to know now. “Your team, Calendria’s team saw me. One of them will talk.”

“Not if I don’t make it home.” He looked and sounded fatalistic.

Sounded like he planned to throw himself on his sword. Her family didn’t do fatalistic, preferred throwing their enemies on their swords. “You don’t have to die if I do.” This made him frown again. Did he really think she planned to die? “If your people are convinced I’m dead, you’d be in the clear. Have to be something that doesn’t leave a body behind, cause you know they’d still want to cut me up.” She pretended to think. Paused a moment for an actual thought. It was possible that Time would clean up after itself when they did the job. The ripple effect could ripple her out of all their minds. Okay, that made her a bit sad, because she didn’t want to be rippled out of Shan’s mind.

Could you try to focus?

Sorry.

She cleared her throat again, hoping it would also clear her head. “Be nice if we could solve both your problems in the same operation.” Be tricky, but when weren’t time ops tricky? Not that she had an op in mind. Or a ghost of a plan. Even if she could have come up with a plan—which she couldn’t without getting inside his head and meeting all the players and seeing the risks—there was no point wasting her time since he’d had all night to ponder and plan and he was already inside his own head. Or something like that. Unless his plan was to just die. In which case, she needed to get cracking on a plan. Her family hated acts of futility—oh, who was she trying to kid? They pretty much hated anything that didn’t involve shooting or ass kicking—actual or implied. “Then you could go home free and clear.”

“Perhaps I don’t wish to.”

She did not expect that. Unless she misunderstood? His grim visage and the sad buried in his eyes said she hadn’t. She swallowed. Opened her mouth to ask what he did wish—the ground shuddered as if slugged by giant fist. Nothing showed on the tracking screens, not even a tiny blip, but the ground under their feet rippled like a wave rolling ashore.

FIVE

Shan stared through the abruptly transparent wall of the tent, looked into a world that felt like home, though it did not look quite right. It could not be real, but it felt real. It looked real. Did he imagine the smell of fuel, the sound of an in-atmosphere craft passing over? See its shadow track across the street? Not just any street. It appeared to be the main thoroughfare in Keltinar Prime. The familiar tall buildings lined each side, told him his eyes did not deceive, but the colors were brighter and more varied than would be allowed. Ground transport was more diverse, too and along the sides, people walked, a mix of men,
women and children
all mingling together. What struck him the hardest was their aspect, a lightness of being, their lack of fear in the way they moved and chatted in groups.

This was how it should be. He felt this in his core. Took a half step toward it, despite the rumble of the ground under foot that made moving difficult, but the tremor subsided abruptly, as if in reprimand. The sides of tent turned solid, shutting him off from that place, from—why did he feel loss? That was not his place, his life. The sharp pain in his chest was no more real than that Keltinar. But if that was not real, why did the smells linger in the air of the tent? Why could he taste fuel and sun and freedom?

“That was…interesting.”

He spun to look at her, felt shock go through him like an energy beam. The slender, curved shape of her body. The tangle of multi-colored hair. Eyes so green, so wide he could fall into them. The shape of her mouth—want built inside him, but not just want. Tenderness was there, too. And joy. Had he ever felt joy?

The controls were gone.
Not just turned down or off, they were gone from his body as if they’d never been there. He remembered what they felt like, realized now how they dimmed the way he looked at Ashe, at the world. They inhibited more than the sex drive. Took the edge off some emotion while boosting aggression and battle instincts. He thought she breached the controls, but she hadn’t breeched them. She’d only dented them. Free now, he felt other things stirring deep in his memory. Like waking from a long, dim dream to light and—what? His mind shied from knowledge. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. Not while she watched him. His hand went to his weapon, felt its reassuring chill as his hand curled around it. He took a deep breath but now his body inhaled her scents. Reminded him of the
Perisis
in his mother’s garden—

“My mother didn’t have a garden.” There were farms, but no gardens. Gardens were a waste of land, a frivolity they could not afford.

Ashe’s brows rose slowly. “I’m…sorry.” Her head tilted to one side, her gaze sliding up and down his body, leaving trails of heat and longing. “Are you all right?”

“Did you see,” he swallowed, “anything?”

“A street. People. I didn’t recognize it. At least—” She frowned, then shrugged. “I don’t know. It kind of felt familiar. Did you recognize it?”

“It was a main thoroughfare in Keltinar Prime, our seat of government.”

“There were women there—so we must have shifted again, or got a view into a shift, which brings me back to interesting.”

Interesting? His world had rocked, the foundation cracked and she found this interesting? “The gravitational shift must be intensifying. Calendria said there would be earthquakes as it draws closer to this planet.” He proffered the explanation, threw it in against this “shifting” she spoke of. Without the controls, he had to rely on his own strength to fight the desire to sweep her against him, to taste her mouth again. Was this part of the trap? Had his enemy figured out how to disable his controls? Leave him vulnerable to desire when he most needed his head clear? And if this were part of the trap, why did it feel like a gift? Why did his mind feel clearer and sharper than it ever had?

“No offense to Calendria but that wasn’t a gravitational shift.”

Her tone puzzled him. She didn’t sound bewildered or frustrated or frightened. She didn’t look awed. She did not even look curious, the least she should have felt. She could have been discussing their meal the night before, or whether the weather might be better tomorrow. Either she was insane or he was.

“Gravitational shifts can pull worlds apart, but not time.”

“Time?” The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He frowned as he noted a temperature change. By several degrees in just a few seconds. A storm? Nothing showed in the weather data. But he felt the change. He pulled up tracking. His ships had changed position. Instead of the defensive spread he’d ordered, they were in an arrival cluster. He tried to contact them through the link. Couldn’t. Why not? What blocked contact? Tension fizzed his insides, fueling a need to move, to get out of enclosed space and into the open. To see and to breathe air clear of her scent. He gave in to this need, stalked to the opening, burst into the clearing, though the relief he sought was not to be found outside.

The air out here felt different, too, it smelled different, but that was not what halted him in his tracks. The cloaking towers he’d deployed? Gone. His team’s accommodations? Gone. The sun? Not gone, but early morning had become late afternoon. Calendria’s original encampment was intact—

“The crater with the transmogrification machine is gone.” Ashe spoke behind him, her tone still matter-of-fact. “Could mean we’re being dialed back. Or moving sideways through alternate realities.”

He stared at where the pit had been. It was less complicated than looking at Ashe. The horizon shivered, losing focus for five beats of his heart, then sharpened, leaving a silence that seemed too deep…he checked the link and found that the arrangement of ships had changed again. Only the tents deployed by Calendria remained. It was if their arrival had been erased.