Stark Surrender (6 page)

He opened his mouth to tell her she could take care of him by moving just a little to the left and letting him inside her, to rock both of them into sweet forgetfulness. But luckily he swallowed these words, because his lady would not appreciate being treated like one of the camp followers who had preceded her in his life. A man could just fuck them, but he talked with his wife, before and after. And his Zaë was surprisingly wise at times. Maybe she could shed some light.

He sighed as he stroked her silky ass. “I’m worried about Logan. He seems ... tired, out of sorts lately. And now I can’t reach him at all. He’s probably out on the frontier, sleeping in a tont with a bunch of scientists, but ...”

“But with the new satcom system, you should be able to link him anywhere on Frontiera.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll talk to Creed in the morning, see if he’s heard from him.”

“You could try Kiri,” she suggested.

“Nah. They’re off.”

She raised her brows delicately. “Even after he brought her long-lost brother home to her?”

Joran grinned at her. “Would that do it for you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Huh. Do I get any stardust for facilitating Kai’s return?”

His woman giggled quietly. “You gave me back my memories, Il Zhazid. And my parents. Yes, you are positively coated in stardust. In fact, you glow.” A note in her voice said she meant this, metaphorically at least.

His eyes grew heavy, and he pulled her soft hand down across his hard abdomen and curled it around something else just as hard. “That’s not all I gave you.”

She hummed with pleasure as she stroked him. “M-mm, how could I forget your beautiful cock?”

“I was just wondering the same thing,” he said. “But let me refresh your memory one more time. And maybe give you a new memory.”

He pulled her up higher on his chest, and she bent her head to kiss him. “If I let you give me a new memory, then will you sleep?”

“Guarantee it, my Zaë. So will you.”

But even though their love-making was as hot and satisfying as always, afterward Joran woke with a start, staring into the darkness.

Then he rose, threw on a pair of pants, and padded off to his home office, driven by a strange sense of urgency.

Logan.

Chapter Five

Kiri opened one of the cupboards in her small galley and stared blearily at the contents, unable for a sec to remember why she was here. It was only sunrise, but she’d finally given up on sleep.

She hadn’t slept well since that evening Logan had appeared, made love to her with such strange desperation and then disappeared without a word. She’d tried to go on with her life, enjoying her time with Kai, the success of Kiri’s Kaffé II, and the last of the Frontieran summer, but Logan’s face, the haunted look in his eyes, the way he’d held her so tightly in his arms, but shared nothing of his turmoil, was a constant ache in her heart.

She’d tried linking him a few times—just to hear his voice, she assured herself, and to know what he was well and safe. He hadn’t answered, and this bothered her too. Logan had never failed to respond to her links within hours, even after she’d left him. Kai was right that the man would never change, but part of this was his utter reliability.

Her espresso machine emitted a puff, and she inhaled the fragrant steam gratefully. Thank God it was on a timer, like the large ones at her shop.

She poured cinnanut creamer into her mug, filled it with strong, dark brew and sipped it as she padded out onto her tiny patio to sit in the morning sun, already warm although it had just breached the tops of the mountains to the west.

The door of her guest room—Kai’s room now—was still closed. Kiri yawned hugely, and wiped her eyes with the heel of her free hand. She’d like to be asleep, herself. She scowled at the rocks and plants in her tiny garden, familiar anger and grief flooding her.

Logan was probably waking up right now beside one of his progression of beautiful, sophisticated women, and she herself had a head full of space rocks, to be worrying about him. She needed to forget him and get on with her own life. Accept another of the offers she’d had from attractive, single men here in F City for dinner, and more.

But instead, she sat at her small patio table and used her com to link Joran Stark. He was now the High Sheriff of the Frontieran plains, and had contacts all over from his earlier days as a wandering quasi-pirate. He’d know where Logan was, and if he was all right.

While she waited for him to answer, she made sure her yellow summer robe was belted, and combed her fingers quickly through her hair, which was no doubt sticking up in all the wrong places. And what if she had sleep drool dried on her face? That would be just her luck. It was already semi-awkward speaking with Logan’s brothers when they knew exactly why she’d left Logan.

When Joran appeared in a hololink, his face held its usual smile of greeting, but it was a half-hearted attempt. Despite the early hour, he sat at a large desk, his long hair tousled around his shoulders, as if he’d just tumbled out of bed. 

“Kiri. What can I do for you?”

She ignored her self-consciousness to get on with it. “Joran. I wondered ... if you’ve spoken with Logan lately.”

His gaze sharpened, and for a moment he looked so like his brother her heart squeezed painfully. “Have you?” he countered.

“Two evenings ago. He stopped by my place. Said he was on his way out to the frontier. I thought you might know where.” And why.

“The frontier.” Joran’s heavy brows flew up. “You sure about that?”

She set her mug down slowly. “Well ... I thought so. That is, he was wearing leathers, and he had a duffel. I’ve never seen him clothed like that. I assumed he must be going out with one of the expeditions Lodestar is funding. He’s so proud of the projects.”

Of course she only knew this from the news press conferences she’d watched. He probably would have been pleased to share it with her personally, if she’d let him, but she’d refused to answer his links after she’d left him months ago, and finally he’d stopped trying.

Only to appear on her doorstep and present her with her heart’s desire—her long-lost brother. This was the only reason she hadn’t been able to turn him away when he returned, looking so tired and distraught—because she was grateful. Right, and there were tropical jungles on Serpentia.

“He said he was headed out with the ATC expedition?” Joran repeated, jerking her out of her painful self-awareness.

“Well, no. I think I did, actually.” She ran a hand through her hair, thinking hard. “He replied something like ‘You’re right, I’m leaving.’” She stared at Joran. “You don’t think he’s out with one of the teams?”

Logan’s brother scrubbed a hand over his face, and for the first time she realized he looked as tired as she felt. “Not sure. Haven’t heard from him for a few days. No one has.”

She wasn’t aware that she’d leapt to her feet until her coffee crashed to the pavement, the cerametal mug bouncing, hot liquid splashing on her bare feet. She barely felt it. Logan would never be out of com range with his LodeStar people or his brothers.

“Oh, my God. Something’s wrong,” she said. “I just know it.”

“Why so concerned?” Joran’s gaze flicked down to the spilled coffee and then back to her face.

Kiri waved away his skepticism. “Because, when I saw him, Logan wasn’t himself. He seemed exhausted and yet on edge, as if he was filled with some horrible tension. I’ve never seen him like that before. It frightened me. For him, I mean, not myself.”

She couldn’t imagine ever being afraid of Logan. Furious enough to smack him, yes. But never afraid. He was too controlled, too civilized to ever hurt a woman—physically, at least. He was hells on a woman’s heart though.

“Quark. Wish I’d known this sooner.”

“I’m sorry,” she said miserably. “It’s just that ... he’s so—so self-sufficient. As if he can handle anything. And you know how proud he is ...” She hadn’t felt she had the right to intrude, not when she’d left him.

Joran waved her apology away. “I get it, Kiri. You’re right, Logan would have us all believe he’s in charge of his quadrant of the galaxy. Ah, did he spend the night in your bed?”

Her cheeks flamed. “Yes—or at least most of it. I don’t know when he left. He didn’t say goodbye. And that’s not like him, either.”

Joran shrugged as if to say he wouldn’t know about his brother’s sexual courtesies. “You remember him saying anything else that seemed important?”

“Yes. He—he asked me to go with him. Said he was leaving.” She took a shaky breath and told Joran the rest, incredibly embarrassing as it was. “And I said, not if he couldn’t commit to me, and he said he could never do that, because of—of who he is. No, he said ‘because of the rest of who I am’. And that was strange too. I don’t know what he meant.”

Joran frowned, his gaze distant. “The rest of who he is. I don’t know. Listen, I want to talk this over with Creed. I’ll get back to you, okay?”

“I’d appreciate it. Any time of the day or night.”

Joran nodded, his face softening. “You got it, honey. And thanks.”

Kiri expected it would be at least a few days before she heard from Joran Stark again. But instead, it was hours.

His face was somber. “Kiri, Creed and I believe Logan is in trouble of some kind.”

“Oh no,” she breathed, hand to her heart, which seemed to be under a heavy weight. “Can you go after him?”

Joran shifted, eyeing her carefully. “Planning on it. Would you be willing to help us search for him?”

“Me?” she asked, shocked. “I’m not sure what I can do, that you and Creed and the rest of Lodestar can’t do with all your tech and staff.”

Logan’s brother cocked his head, acknowledging this truth.

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” he said. “You’re the one he went to when he was troubled. If something is wrong—whatever that may be, I think it’d be good if you’re there when we find him.”

Oh, quark. When Joran put it like that, how could she say no?

“Of course I’ll come. I just need time to pack a few things, and make sure my employees can work enough hours to keep Kiri’s Kaffé open while I’m gone for the day. Or do you think it may take us longer?”

“Might want to pack for overnight,” he said. “Meet you at the space port this afternoon? I’ll send a hovie for you. Say one o’clock?”

She nodded. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

New Seattle, Earth II

The man glided from the cruiser to the cold, drafty docking bay behind a group of loud humans. A Mau hulked along nearby. Half the glowlamps in the corridor leading to the port were out, the others struggling to illumine the foggy twilight that enveloped the New Seattle Space port.

This was not the new, upscale part of the port, but that suited him. The fewer who noted his arrival, the better.

The damp chill and the malodorous air, even the constant shake of the concourse under his boots as he followed the other passengers out of the tube and into the space port, were all as familiar as his own skin—hells, more so at this point, he thought with dark humor.

He was among beings from all corners of the galaxy. Humans and outlanders, families, couples, groups of business-suited travelers, even a gaggle of Pangaean tourists being herded along by their handler, a yellow holotag glowing above her head, green above theirs.

He knew this place. Knew that the constant rumble throbbing from the passage overhead were heavy ships and public transport airbuses. The lighter whines were private cruisers, the zips punctuating the din were hovies darting in and out of the more ponderous traffic.

Just as he knew that the skinny human slinking along the edge of the concourse was harmless as long as one stayed out of the shadows, whereas the pretty young things wearing white robes and beatific smiles were the draw for some fake mission where the unwary would be drugged, robbed of all they possessed and if lucky, tossed in a distant alley otherwise unharmed.

The flashy whore posing in the lights of a concourse bar was as likely to be a transvestite or an alien humanoid. She’d have a stunner in her garter, probably a blade in her wide bracelet. Her customer might get sex, or a painful wound. He’d certainly be relieved of his credit.

The prostitute gave Stark a come-hither smile, but as their eyes met, hers widened and she looked away, her stance casual to show she hadn’t meant anything by the gesture. He smiled grimly to himself, knowing she’d glimpsed a risk too great to take.

She was right.

He set a straight trajectory along the concourse, ignoring the hoverwalks zipping overhead, carrying travelers to all points in the port. After a look at his face, passersby moved out of his way. In this older, shabbier section, travelers were either on a no-frills budget or in need of transport with no questions asked. Most just wanted to get safely through the port.

From the raucous crowd in the open-fronted bar, and the small, brightly lit coffee shop across the way, to the shabby homeless shuffling slowly along, only here to find a warm, dry place for the night, this area was familiar. Not that he remembered any of the names on the holomarquees, or any of the faces that passed, but he’d been here before.

And this instinct was all that he had left.

On the voyage here, the blackness had overtaken his mind to the extent that he barely recalled the visage staring back at him from the holomirror, much less the lists of names, faces and business addresses on his com. He assumed he had these links for a reason, but none of them meant anything. And he didn’t know which of them he could trust, so he wouldn’t contact them.

Perhaps one of them—or even all of them—was responsible for the blackness overtaking him, the pounding pain in his skull that nearly drove him mad at times.

Whoever he’d been, he was no longer that man, the civilized creature in the neat business suit with the careful lists of contacts and the massive credit accounts. He’d left behind all the faces on his com links—even the two most familiar ones. The two men, one blond and the other who resembled his own reflection, were either in on the conspiracy or he needed to stay away from them for their own protection. He was on his own.

He’d even chosen a new name—Lode. He’d gotten it from a space port holovid advert, but it felt right, somehow. And now Lode was back in a viscerally familiar hunting ground.

A Mauritian with a tangle of ebony hair and purple skin, and a skinny human slid from a service passageway, and fell into step behind him. Lode ignored them until he reached a shadowed area where the hololights flickered erratically in front of an empty storefront.

Here he turned on them. The pair skidded to a halt, the human’s pocked face twitching spasmodically under his shock of unnaturally yellow hair, the Mau showing his sharp teeth in a defensive snarl.

“Whatever I have isn’t worth dying for.” Lode showed them the weapon in his palm.

Yellow Hair grunted something, gathering himself to attack, but the Mau slapped him back. “Leave ‘im.”

“Better listen to your friend,” Lode advised. “Laser wounds are painful.”

“I need a dose,” Yellow Hair whined. “I gotta have it. I’m comin’ apart.”

“Then go earn it elsewhere.” Lode jerked his chin toward the concourse behind them. “Unless you want their attention.”

“Quark,” the Mau grated, peering over his shoulder at two helmeted and uniformed space port guards on hovercycles cruising slowly toward them. “Run.”

The two dashed into the darkness of the empty storefront, and Lode continued on to the brightly lit transport hub just ahead. He could easily have killed them—he was certain he’d killed before, although he couldn’t recall the particulars—but that would certainly mean answering questions from the space port guards.